Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“Hammer and the girls are coming to pick me up.” Hammer has a truck. How she drives it in downtown Toronto amazes me, but it’s big, and all my stuff will easily fit in the back, and no one has to eat their knees, so it’s a win.
“Tell them you don’t need a ride.”
I cross my arms. “Why do you want to drive me?”
His jaw clenches. “Because I just do.”
“So we can fuck guilt free?” I press. I need him to meet me halfway here. I can’t be the only one admitting this turned into something else. “When this started, we agreed that Flip couldn’t know, and it would stop when I found an apartment. I’m moving, and Flip has found out.” Not to mention the whole part about no feelings, which I definitely have a lot of, some positive, some negative, but there are feelings, and they are real. “Based on those two factors alone, that means this has to stop.”
“Fine. It stops when you move. But you’re still here, and Flip is at some promo thing for the rest of the day, and you can’t just fucking leave with no warning.” He steps into my personal space.
His chest is heaving, he looks like he wants to break something, and he’s tenting his gray sweats. He has a point. My departure is sudden, and while it shouldn’t be entirely unexpected, I didn’t give him much in the way of a warning. But he hasn’t given me a reason to stay and fix this.
“When will the girls be here?” he grinds out.
“An hour.”
“A fucking hour? That’s all you’re giving me? One goddamn hour?” One hand wraps around my throat and the other snakes around my waist, dragging me against him. He crushes his mouth to mine in a punishing kiss.
I spear my hands in his hair, suddenly frantic. This is it. This is the last time. My chest aches in a way that’s become unpleasantly common this week, and my pussy throbs in a way that’s familiar and comforting. My heart, head, and vagina are all on separate pages, but my vagina is clearly winning this fight.
“You’re a fucking liar.” Tristan bites my lip, then sucks it before releasing it so he can bite his way across the edge of my jaw.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said you weren’t in the mood to fuck and you’re humping my goddamn leg.”
I realize I have one leg hooked around his and I’m grinding for all I’m worth. “My pussy wants to fuck, and apparently she’s in the driver’s seat.”
Besides, I’m not the only liar in the room. It annoys the hell out of me that Tristan maintains all we’re doing is fucking when it feels like more than that. But maybe that’s all this is for him. Maybe I’m the only one who feels anything other than lust. And if that’s the case, it’s good this is the last time.
He releases my throat, grabs the hem of my shirt, and yanks it over my head. I’m wearing a boring black bra. He pops the clasp and tosses it on the floor, groaning as he cups my breasts in his palms and pinches my nipples. And then we’re back to kissing, aggressively, desperately.
Like reality is finally setting in.
We tear at each other’s clothes, shove each other’s pants down. My thong doesn’t survive removal. And then he grips my ass and hoists me up. I wind my arms and legs around him, and his shaft glides over my clit. I wiggle around until the head nudges at my entrance.
“You don’t get my cock yet.” He shoves all my crap off the futon—I honestly won’t miss sleeping on it because it’s not particularly comfortable—lays me out on it, and grinds his hips, cock sliding through my folds. I’m wet and needy and there’s no barrier between me and the futon. We’ll probably make a mess, but I can’t find it in me to care.
He squeezes my ass. “This was supposed to be mine.”
“So take it now.” The words are out before I fully consider what I’m saying.
“I’m too pissed off to be nice about it,” he snaps.
“So take your anger out on my pussy, then.”
“Oh, I plan to.” His hand circles my throat, kneading gently as his nostrils flare. His gaze moves over my face like he’s trying to memorize this moment.
I know I am.
He shoves the coffee table out of the way with his foot, so aggressively that it bangs into the entertainment console and several things topple over and land on the floor. He grabs a pillow and drops it on the floor. Then he grips my ass and shifts, so he’s sitting on the couch with me in his lap.
I’m dizzy and disoriented as I grip his shoulders. But he doesn’t give me time to get my bearings. Instead, he tips me backwards, hand splayed between my shoulders to guide me until they hit the pillow on the floor, along with my head. I’m halfway to somersaulting backward off the couch, but he grips my thighs and pushes my knees over my head to the floor, so my ass is in the air. This is a position I’ve seen plenty of times in porn, but never experienced in real life. I’m completely at his mercy, exposed and on display. Unless I tell him I don’t want or like this. Then he’ll stop, adjust, and make sure I’m good before he keeps going.