Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“It isn’t over until we leave the room,” I tell her, letting my fingers trace down her arm until I’m able to clasp her hand.
I stand, pulling her to her feet and ushering her across the room and into the bathroom.
It only takes a minute for the water to warm after turning on the shower, and once we step inside, I don’t hesitate to run my hands along her wet skin.
I kiss and taste her skin, some part of me wishing we were in her shower. I love the way her skin smells when she uses her own products. I don’t care how spa-like these hotel products claim to be, they have nothing on whatever it is she uses at home.
“We’re out of condoms,” she says, an echo of last night when I woke an hour after falling to the bed, needing her again.
I’m certain there’s some kind of clinical explanation for why I can’t keep my hands off her, but we don’t have the time to seek professional help. Besides, that would mean leaving the room, and this ends the second we step out of here.
“Guess you’ll just have to come on my tongue rather than my cock this time,” I tell her as I squat in front of her.
Her eyes widen at the first swipe, and I fucking love just how shocked this woman is at feeling pleasure. It tells me that her previous lovers were selfish as hell and deserve to go a couple rounds with a rabid dog for not treasuring what they had.
The hours we spent together last night do nothing to impede her orgasm, and the headache she gives me while her body convulses against my tongue is well worth the pain.
She looks dazed and a little blissed out when I stand. I commit that look to memory as I press my lips to hers. I discovered last night, after that first arousal-drenched kiss, that she likes the taste of herself on my lips. I’ve given her that as many times as I could, and the way she sweeps her tongue in my mouth in search of a little more taste will be one of many things I know I’m going to think about once we get back to the house.
I hiss my own pleasure when she wraps her hand around my erection. I stop her from hitting her knees when she tries to pull away. I want her mouth right where it is, against mine. She whimpers as if unable to control herself when I flex my hips, pushing myself into her hand.
She’s no different than I am, taking so much joy in my pleasure the way I do hers.
I want to beg her to change the rules once again. I want to confess that I won’t be able to have this night with her and never have another one. I want to change everything I said last night, erase the line in the sand we mutually agreed on, but that’s not fair to either of us.
I come on a grunt, my hips snapping back and forth as she draws out my orgasm.
My lips find hers and we kiss for what seems like hours before getting around to actually cleaning ourselves. By the time we climb out of the shower, her lips are cherry red and a little irritated from my morning stubble. I know mine can’t be much better, but neither of us complain.
The atmosphere changes a little after we dry ourselves, and by the time we start pulling on last night’s clothes, something unfamiliar settles in the space between us.
I clasp her hand one last time as she reaches for the door, pulling her into my chest and burying my nose in her still damp hair.
“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting the urge to argue when she nods and pulls away.
As we promised each other, the fun ends the second we step into the hotel hallway and the door closes behind us.
We’re silent as we leave the hotel and make our way to my vehicle. I open the door for her, and as tempting as it is to slide right between her legs like I did at the bar last night, I maintain control of those urges.
She has to clear her throat before thanking me, but I can’t let myself read anything into it.
The drive back into Lindell proper is also silent, neither of us bothering to find anything on the radio.
Traffic is slow, our shower putting us right on the edge of people getting out and heading to the Sunday morning service at the Baptist church.
I try not to read anything into the way Madison props her elbow on the window and covers most of her face. I doubt she’s embarrassed to be with me, but maybe she realizes what I did at the first wave from one of the townsfolk as we slow to let them cross the road at the stop sign that people have no doubt already been talking about us.