Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
My shirts spreads open; skin is exposed, hands tangle with my bra. His head bends, and his wet mouth covers me with more kisses – this time on my stomach, ribcage and breasts.
Call me lazy, but I lay there like a tart - unmoving, letting him lavish me with attention.
Soon his shirt disappears; followed by my bra… lots of panting and moaning… roaming hands… our underwear and pants.
Everything lands on the floor, clothes tossed haphazardly about the room. The only light is streaming in from outside, casting shadows on our entwined, naked bodies.
One of us has the good sense to put on a condom – I’m assuming it was him (but I may have helped) – and now he’s on top of me, his beautiful pelvis hard at work, forearms flexed and braced on each side of my head.
I let out a gasp, then a moan – he feels so good and it’s been so so long. Matthew dips his head, seeking out my aching lips in the dark, sucking on my bottom lip and grinding his hips into me at the same time.
He gasps my name in a long, anguished sigh.
I can’t tell yet if we’re just having sex, or making love, but raw emotions are taking over in depths of my soul that I’ve never explored yet, so it’s no surprise I feel tears escape from the corner of my eyes. I thank God it’s dark in here (although I’m not sure I should be praying during this particular activity, if you know what I’m saying). It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out “I love you” – but sex ‘I love you’ can have absolutely catastrophic effects… so I keep it to myself.
A few more moans, more gasping; soon we’re laying side-by-side, chests heaving from the exertion. Matthew reaches down and pulls the covers up and over us, reaching for my hand and bringing it up to his mouth. He kisses my palm before laying it on his still heaving chest.
Hope blossoms in my heart, and I snuggle up next to him. We don’t talk… but we don’t fall asleep either (like so many romance novels like to depict when a couple finally ‘does the deed’). I mean – it’s not like it’s two in the morning or something; it’s only eleven o’clock for crying out loud.
“Sweetie, don’t get too comfortable. I have to go get rid of this thing,” Matthew whispers in the dark, sliding out of bed and disappearing into the master bathroom. A few seconds later I hear the toilet flush, the sink run, and he’s climbing back into his big, comfortable bed.
He slides in next to me, planting a kiss on my naked shoulder, and I shiver before he pulls the covers back up over both of us. Like he did earlier in the evening, he buries his nose in my hair and takes a whiff. “I’m not really tired,” he chuckles. “Are you?”
My mind is reeling. Honestly; I hardly know what to say or how to proceed. I mean, I just had sex – really, really incredibly amazing sex - with Matthew Wakefield. And now, we’re laying naked in his bed and he’s talking to me like we’re discussing the weather.
Or like… the casual banter you’d have with a boyfriend or girlfriend after just having had sex with them.
I let my head fall against a pillow and sigh, throwing my arms up behind my head. The motion pulls the covers down, and the cold air of his bedroom hits my exposed breasts. I giggle nervously, quickly pulling the covers back up: I mean - I’m comfortable with him, but not comfortable enough to have ‘the girls’ exposed to his roving eyes.
Even if it’s dark.
As if he can read my thoughts, I can hear him smirking in the dark, and his hand moves under the covers to graze my stomach, roaming gently and hitting all my sensitive spots. “I could stare at your boobs all day,” he teases before palming one lazily, then the other. I have to bite my bottom lip and concentrate to stop myself from moaning out loud. “Hell, I could stare at you all day… that is, if you’d let me.”
Oh lord.
CHAPTER 34
MATTHEW
“Sometimes I miss him. But then I remember what a douche he was, and how awesome I am.”
– Jenna about her ex-boyfriend Aaron.
Even sitting in just her plaid flannel shirt, Cecelia is sexy. Cross legged on my couch and clutching a white carton of Chinese take-out leftovers in one hand, she has my remote control in the other.
“Anything look appealing?” she asks, flipping past CSPAN, CNN, and ESPN, her head bent at a cute little angle as she studies the screen over my fireplace. “There isn’t shit on,” she grumbles. Her eyes get real wide and she looks at me, guilty from her vulgar slip. “Um, sorry?”