Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I capture her mouth next when she’s ready and panting. I kiss the heck out of her and also the breath out of her. She wriggles against me, and somehow, my cock ends up exactly where it needs to be without either one of us guiding it there.
“Are you okay?” I whisper against her mouth, a thread of control left.
“Definitely.”
“You’re not sore from yesterday?” I ask, feeling concerned.
“Oh, I am. But that’s what’s going to make it good.”
I want to make a startled sound, but she tugs my face back to hers and kisses me hard as I flex my hips and sink inside her. She rides me just as hard, bucking between the glass and my drenched body while taking all of me in one smooth stroke. I’m not so worried about fitting now because last night we proved that I’m able to. She’s clearly not worried about it either because she’s not hesitating in the least. She’s rolling her hips against me, which produces a long growl that rumbles out of my chest before tearing straight into her because she kisses the sound out of my mouth.
She’s heaven. So fucking tight and so fucking epically right. It’s too good, and I know it’s going to be over too soon. She’s too tight, gripping my dick just right, whimpering and thrashing against me, and still riding me even though she’s the one pressed against the wall. Her hips roll into me and hit the glass, over and over. The shower is already hot and steamy, but I’m pretty sure I might actually be sweating with the effort of holding back. It’s noisy in here. Our breaths are loud, and the sounds of our bodies are also loud and perfect and beautiful.
“Going to come,” I growl, really hoping that she gets there first, seeing as we only have about ten seconds if we’re lucky.
“Me too,” she pants.
Thank every galaxy out there.
She somehow manages to get her hand between us, and while I’m thrusting in and out of her, she circles her clit, not rubbing gently. She throws her head back, the water pours over us, and she shatters just like that. Her walls clench around me, doing things to my cock that feel like paradise. The spasms of her climax also feel like they’re going to tear the condom off, and while I know that won’t happen, it also makes me panic a little, and I feel justified in lasting less than a minute because we can’t afford any condom slippage or accidents.
I come with a roar, gasping out my pleasure as I pin Everleigh to the glass and bruise her lips with mine.
She grips my shoulders, still writhing around me for a few seconds while we both come back from the brink of ecstasy. “Shit,” she pants into my ear and then playfully licks it so I don’t feel like I need to freeze and salvage my dignity with a manly show of some kind of other prowess that makes her come over and over again. “I thought we were supposed to be punishing each other. That wasn’t a punishment. That was really good. Oh my god, that was so good.”
“Thank goodness for that. Sorry, I—” really need to work on my stamina.
“Don’t say sorry. It was perfect and so, so good, Darius. My pussy is perfectly happy, thank you very much.”
I throw a hand against the glass and let out another feral groan. “I wish we had more condoms.”
“Later. Store. I’ll get more.”
The thought of her having to buy them makes me feel embarrassed, even though I don’t know why. Certainly, a woman can purchase a box of condoms. I put her down carefully and gently and then step out to take care of the condom. When I’m back, she’s ready with the shampoo—already in a pile on her palm—and one raised brow.
“You can dish it out, Mr. Hottie. Let’s see if you can take it.”
I can take it. I let her work the shampoo through my hair, and she kneads her fingers into my scalp, which feels like heaven. I do the same for her, washing her hair carefully and making sure I don’t get suds in her eyes. Then, I turn the shower off, and we both wrap up in the huge white bath towels that I love. I might not care about much else in the house, but I have a thing for towels. They have to be huge and fluffy. I guess I’m a bit of a towel snob.
After we leave the bathroom with both of us wrapped up in identical towels—mine at my waist and Everleigh’s tucked under her armpits—I feel a little bit like the levity of earlier has worn off, and the things I need to talk to her about, the things I started to say last night, should probably be said. I wait until we’re both sitting on the edge of the bed, and then I just start.