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)
She bats my hand away. “I’m not awake enough for you to stuff your fingers in my mouth.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” I brush the strip over her lips.
She grabs my wrist. “What is that?”
“Breath strip.”
“Ooh. Smart.” Her lips close around the end of my finger.
When she releases it, I reach for the water bottle and take a sip before I pass it to her, along with the cap. While she takes a drink, I reclaim her boob. She puts the cap back on and moves my hand to her throat.
“Why does this one thing make my clit feel like it has its own pulse?” She shifts her hips, and my cock glides between her ass cheeks.
“It’s dominating, but not in a way that makes you feel out of control, maybe.” I don’t tell her it isn’t a go-to move for me. That, for reasons I don’t understand, I’m a little obsessed with how graceful her neck is. That I want to feel her pulse pound under my palm when I fuck her. That I want to bite her and mark her as mine. Even thinking it makes me sound like a caveman.
“Maybe.” Her fingers trail over mine. “Why aren’t you fucking me yet?”
I roll her onto her back and fit myself between her thighs. She’s wet already. My cock glides over her clit, and she wraps her legs around my waist, arching. I claim her mouth, rocking against her while our tongues tangle.
And then I kiss a quick path down her body, licking up the length of her and latching onto her clit as I loop my arms around her thighs.
“Oh, God.” She fists my hair, and then it hits her. The mint on my tongue registers between her thighs. Her eyes go wide, and she gasps. “Oh my fucking God! You asshole! It burns!” She keeps trying to rip out my hair, so I unhook my arms and grab her wrists, squeezing to make her release. I keep a firm grip and settle my forearms on her inner thighs, pressing them into the mattress.
“Relax, Bea. You just need to get past the initial shock. I promise it’s going to blow your mind.”
“My pussy feels like it’s on fire!”
“Let me make it better.” I kiss her inner thigh, then lick her again, softly.
“Oh, that’s better.”
And then I blow on her clit.
She jerks and shrieks.
I lick her again, and she moans. I swirl my tongue, alternating between suction, hard strokes of tongue, and cool air. She comes so hard she bows off the bed. I grab a condom, roll it on, and fit myself between her thighs again. I push in on one smooth stroke and find an easy rhythm. We went hard last night, nice and hard, so this morning I take it easy on her. She comes twice more before I do.
When it’s over, I lie on top of her, breathing in her vanilla and citrus shampoo. I consider what it would be like if this was how I woke up every day—not with some random whose last name I don’t know, but with someone like Bea. No. Not someone like Bea...
She runs her fingers through my hair. “Let me up so I can pee and get breakfast started.”
“You always make us breakfast. I’ll make it for you today.” I roll off her, needing space.
“Pouring a bowl of Frosted Flakes doesn’t count as making breakfast.”
“Ha ha. I’ll make egg sandwiches. How does that sound?” I remove the spent condom and tie a knot in the end, tossing it in the trash.
“I do love a good egg sandwich.” Bea stretches and log rolls to the end of the bed, where she pops to her feet.
I hold up a hand. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”
Her eyes flare. “I thought my brother wasn’t coming home,” she whispers.
“He said he wasn’t. I’m just making sure.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders come down from her ears. “Okay.”
I poke my head out. The condo is still empty. “You’re in the clear.”
“I’ll get dressed.”
I hook an arm around her waist and pull her against me as she passes, kissing her before I let her go. I watch her ass jiggle as she rushes across to the ladder and quickly climbs to the loft.
Our clothes from last night are still lying on the bathroom floor. Thank God Flip didn’t come home. I gather them and shove them into my laundry basket to deal with later.
By the time I return to the kitchen, Bea is already there, wearing a pair of shorts and one of her tanks, making a pot of coffee. I pull items out of the fridge so I can start breakfast. Flip was always about easy food. Before Bea, I made most of the meals, unless I wanted frozen pizza or noodles. I had to learn how to cook early on, and I resent having to do it sometimes. But this is different. I want to feed Bea. Especially since she’s the one usually taking care of meals these days. And grocery shopping. And almost everything, really. It’s been nice not to be on the hook for everything the last little while.