Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 80653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
To mark that smooth, olive skin with my handprint is tempting, too fucking tempting. Turning, I head toward the door. Stopping at the bike as I watch her for a moment.
“She’s so wrong for you, Grayson.” Her pout is adorable, and I regard her with a smirk.
“And why is that, sweetheart?” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I watch her gaze trail down my torso.
“Because, she’s just not right for you. I don’t have to have a reason.”
Leaning in close to her, I hear the hitch in her breathing. Her chest heaves as her movements falter. “And who would you suggest I fuck?” I study her carefully and notice her squirm at the word fuck. I’d love to bend her over this machine and drive into her.
“Someone other than her,” she grits out in frustration, turning up the bike a notch to an uphill climb, and I wonder if she’s working out her frustration the same way I’ve done. But then again, the thought of her lying in her bed rubbing her pussy, thinking of me, doesn’t help my erection. She turns her head in indignation and meets my gaze.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, tell me exactly why you don’t like her, and I may reconsider.” I lean in farther, planting a soft kiss on her cheek, and I whisper in her ear, “I’ll even reward you for your effort.” With that, I leave her in the gym and think about what I just offered.
In the guest bedroom, I head into the en suite and push down my shorts and boxer briefs. My cock is hard, and it’s all the little kitten’s fault. She does things to me that I should deny. I should tell her it’s wrong, but I can’t find the words when she’s near me.
Even our messages have become something of an addiction for me. At first, it started innocently. And over the years, she’s become more than just a teenager I remember meeting when Gabe married her mom.
She’s a woman.
All fucking woman.
Pushing the button on the automated shower system, I wait a moment for it to heat before stepping under the warm spray.
Every muscle in my body is tense, needing relief and release. Gripping my shaft, I stroke it to images of her in those tiny skirts she loves to flaunt her ass in. Her breasts — a perfect handful — taunt me from her skin-tight tank tops. Her long, jet-black hair, which I’d love to wrap around my fist while I’m pounding into her for being a naughty little girl, has my body shuddering with a release that elicits a groan from my mouth.
Opening my eyes, I lather up and try to wash the memories of what I’ve just done away; however, I know I can’t. Once I’ve rinsed the suds away, I turn off the shower and step out into the chilly bathroom, grabbing a towel. Wrapping it around my waist, I place both hands on the basin and stare at my appearance.
When did it all change?
How did she weave herself inside me?
I’m a man-whore, I love women, I love pussy, but right now, the only one I want is her. It’s been a life of being the playboy, but the thought of doing that doesn’t please me anymore. What does bring me satisfaction, is seeing Mila smile.
“Grayson.” A sweet, melodic voice jolts me into the present, and I turn in time to find Mila standing in the doorway. “Can I get a ride to the mall? If you’re going into town?”
She’s changed already, dressed in a white tank top that hugs her tits like a glove, and a pair of shorts which stop high on her slender thighs. A pair of ballet flats adorn her pretty feet, and her long hair is loose down her back in waves.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Stepping toward the door, her green eyes flit down my chest, which is still wet from the shower. Heat burns in those moss-colored pools. “Was there something else?” I question, my body only inches from hers.
She peers up at me with wide, innocent eyes. Her small frame would fit perfectly in mine. “I, uhm . . .” Her words taper off, and I wait for it, hoping with everything I am she’ll say something, to give me consent to kiss her. “I’m sorry about last night. And thank you for giving me a lift.”
They’re not the words I want. The hope that was bubbling in my chest dies like a dried-out bud, and I know I can’t do much unless she gives me the response I need.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart. I just worry about you. And you know I’d do anything for you.” I lean in, inhaling her scent. Sweet like candy, bubblegum, and cookies. And I’ll be damned, but I want to taste her.