Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
So. Fucking. Good.
The sheikh started shoving in and out of me. Slow and steady at first, then gradually picking up the pace until he was hammering into me, just fucking me really hard and good that my tits were shaking with every thrust, and I felt myself starting to unravel at the sheer pleasure of his possession.
I heard myself start to moan, and the sound had him growling with pleasure.
Too fucking good, dammit.
Just too fucking good, and every second I could feel my control slipping further and further away from me. My hands were all over his body, gripping his hair and clutching his shoulders, and when this wasn't enough, my legs snaked up to wrap around his waist as my fingers dug into the muscled cheeks of his ass.
And throughout it, he just kept pounding into me, his stamina showing no fucking signs of flagging, and just when I thought we had reached our peak, I felt his hand snake between our bodies—-
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—-
His fingers found my clit, and I moaned and buckled as he began tweaking and pinching the swollen nub.
God, too fucking good, so damn good, that when he raised himself up to kiss me, I was like an eager little puppy as I kissed him back with unrestrained passion.
His fingers on my clit, his cock pounding my pussy...
Just too fucking good, too, too fucking good...
And as much as I wanted it to last—-
It was over the moment I heard him whisper into my ear.
Raj.
My eyes flew open, and oh God, there it was again.
That flash of emotion in his eyes that couldn't possibly be real.
"Make good use of my name, habibti."
And that was it.
His thumb flicked against my clit as his cock sank back into my quivering pussy, and all I could do was sob his name as I started to cum.
Raj.
Raj.
Raj.
See you in twenty.
My favorite cum tank needs refilling.
Message received at 1155h from Asshole.
Chapter Thirteen
His favorite cum tank?
What the fuck did he mean by calling me his favorite cum tank?
Shouldn't I be his only cum—-
Shit.
Fuck.
Wait a goddamn minute.
I was supposed to take offense at his choice of words, dammit, instead of becoming spitting mad at the possibility that he could have another cum tank besides me.
This was all the piece of sheikh's fault, dammit. Once an asshole, always supposed to stay an asshole. That was how it should be with guys like him. He wasn't supposed to fucking change and be disarmingly sweet, like telling me his real name just when I least expected it or surprising me with a bouquet of exotic roses on the dreaded morning after. Of course, he did pre-empt that by waking me up by squeezing my jaw open, and by the time I opened my eyes, his fully aroused dick was already halfway down my throat. Asshole almost had me fucking choking, but when he started tugging my nipples at the same time, and I started getting wet...yeah, well, it didn't seem right to complain when, after cumming in my mouth, he had finger-fucked me into an arousal in thirty seconds flat.
In the three weeks I had been with him, there hadn't been a day that we didn't have sex, and most days, we did it at least thrice. So I guess, when he called me his cum tank, it was kinda accurate, but still. It was a very offensive word, dammit, and I should be—-
Oh, who was I kidding?
I abso-fucking-lutely loved it when he talked dirty, both inside and outside the bedroom, and it was all because this time I knew where the asshole was coming from. I'd accompanied him to several business functions by now, and the damn sheikh hadn't been lying at all about those masks he told me about.
He was like a fucking chameleon with it, and honestly, he had me gaping that first time I attended this la-di-da ball as his date, and I finally saw with my own eyes how he'd slip from one persona to another, depending on who he was talking to or what he wanted to achieve.
When talking to a couple of fresh grads eagerly talking about their tech startup, he had acted like the Arabian version of Ashton Kutcher: smart, friendly, and so relatable with the way he'd casually
use terms like 'FOMO' and 'EPS' in one sentence. But then with a couple of snooty old rich white dudes, he had unleashed the full power of his lip-curling contempt and exposed their stupidity by dismantling their opinion on the U.S. economy point by fucking point.
One moment he was evil, another moment he was not-so-evil. Just so many masks, really, except for one thing. He had never played the womanizer when I was around, and when I had demanded suspiciously if he did so when he was alone, the asshole had only smirked at me.