Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“More?” he asked, slowing down and pulling out again. Eyes wide, I nodded frantically. His mouth tugged. He thrust in all the way again, I clenched around him, and this time, he was the one who shut his eyes and groaned. “God damn it, Lenora. I want to draw this out for you, but you’re too fucking tight. Fuck.” He groaned as he thrust into me again. I wrapped my legs around his hips, telling him I wanted more. He let out a forced laugh, his blue eyes clouding as his hand found my clit again. I gasped.
“You feel like fucking magic.” He pinched my clit and swiveled his hips, giving me that devious smile again as if he knew what it would do to me. Limb by limb, my entire body tightened. He leaned down as he swiveled his hip again.
“Come for me, baby,” he growled into my ear, and I lost it.
My body spasmed out of control. He hissed and muttered things I couldn’t make out as he pumped into me a few more times. I felt his seed fill the condom inside me, but little white dots clouded my vision as the aftershocks of my orgasm rolled on. He set his forehead against mine and took a harsh breath, then another.
“Jesus Christ, Nora,” he breathed.
Somehow, I smiled at him and said, “You’ve never called me Nora.”
Then my eyes shut, and I fell asleep.
14
ROCCO
Brunch was just an excuse for people to day drink without being judged. I hated it. The food situation was fucking stupid. It was Rosie’s birthday, though, and she loved brunch, so here we were, sitting in a little Brooklyn restaurant that was hipster central, eating fucking waffles with a side of french fries. The birthday girl smiled wide as she set a mimosa in front of me. She was already drunk. I took it only because I loved her and pretended to drink even though I hated pulp.
“I’m going to get us some real drinks,” Dominic said, slapping his napkin on the table. “The acidity is killing me.”
Thank fuck.
I looked up and caught Lenora’s eyes for the first time today. She blushed and looked away. I brought the stupid mimosa to my lips to hide my smile. I’d returned to my room as soon as she fell asleep last night, and after tossing and turning for an hour, I went right back to eat her pussy one last time. I wasn’t sure any amount of food or drinks would ever rid me of her taste. No amount of pussy would rid me of the memory of it. Any of it. I was a bastard for taking her virginity. Even as a virgin, I’d had no interest in fucking one. Lenora was different, though. She was in an abnormal situation, being married off to some stranger. I didn’t blame her for wanting to give this piece of herself to someone of her choice. It just happened to be me. It was practically a favor. I kept telling myself that this morning when I woke up with my cock hard, ready to walk over there and fuck her again. It was a one-off. Or three-off, if you counted me eating her pussy and fingering her that second time as a different occasion. I heard my friends talking around the table, but I was replaying the night, the sounds she made and the conversation we’d had afterward.
“How are you so. . .unaffected by all this?” she’d asked.
“What do you mean?” I stilled at her words. Was this the part where she asked me for more, and I told her that more would never happen?
“Like, despite everything you’ve been through, you’re not angry all the time,” she said.
My brows rose in surprise. I got that question all the damn time, but I didn’t expect it from her. “I’m not happy all the time either. You just haven’t seen me when I’m angry.” I shot her a look over my shoulder. “Count that as a blessing.”
“Still.” She sighed. “How are you happy at all?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I turned to face her but stayed on this pillow while she stayed on hers. “Happiness is a choice. Why would I choose to be angry?”
“No one wants to be angry. We just are.” Her brows were pinched. “How do you make that choice despite everything?”
I realized she was probably asking so she could have this in her arsenal when she married that douchebag, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have time to sit here and recount all of the shitty years I’d gone through before getting to the place I was at now. I didn’t want to tell her that I used to be very fucking angry all of the time, and the only thing that helped was using people as punching bags. If she was going to keep one image of me, I wanted it to be this one but saying I was happy all the time was total bullshit.