Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
He’s deeper than before, each of us leading up to the point of trying anal. Boston’s size and girth is the one thing holding us back. His hand slides from his grip on my hip to cupping my breast, thumb and finger pulling at my nipple, creating a delicious burn with each twist, pinch, and tug on my sensitive nub.
“More. I need more.” He bottoms out inside of me, more of him going faster, more of him going harder, more of him going deeper. All I know is that my brain is going into a fog, full of sensation, the receptors unable to string more than a handful of words together. Boston gets it, though. The hand that was moments ago cupping my breast is now moving upwards, cupping my shoulder, using it for leverage with every plunge of his cock. A wake of goose bumps quivers along my flesh.
“Come on my cock, beautiful. Squeeze the cum out of me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Boston says an inch away from my lips. My exhale is his inhale. The moment is one that will stay locked in my memory bank, the feel of him surrounding my entire being.
“Yes, Boston!” I rip my face away from the covers, crying out with the soul-shattering orgasm, head tipped back, eyes slammed shut, and I feel each punch and swivel of his hips. I don’t care that I’m practically screaming the Inn down. The looks I’m sure the employees will give me are a worry for the future. Right now, I’m living in the present. Thank goodness we had the presence of mind to keep my room here as an office for Boston and a bed for me to rest if I get too tired. The bossy man behind me is the only reason I’m even tired, and for reasons like today. A mid-afternoon romp with a nap is exactly what I need.
“Fuck, Amelie, take my cum, my body.” I hear his groan, feel it prickle along the outer shell of my ear, knowing it’s me who makes him lose control. Jesus, what do they put in these men from New York? Boston allows his body to drop on top of me, careful of how much of his weight he gives me.
“I think you’ve fucked my cock to death, Amelie.” He pulls out and rolls onto his back, bringing me closer until I’m practically on top of him. A mess oozes from between my legs, but neither of us cares.
“Give him ten minutes, and he’ll be ready for more,” I say before he takes my mouth with his, dominating the kiss much like he dominated my orgasm.
TWENTY
Amelie
“Are you feeling okay?” Boston asks me the next day. I’m on my stomach, still naked from the night before where he had no problem wearing me out, keeping the wolves at bay by wringing my body with a copious amount of orgasms. It worked, too. The tips of his fingers trail up and down my back in zig zags, circles, all kinds of different patterns, it doesn’t matter. All I know is that it feels amazing. I grouse when he stops the movement, and he picks it back up almost instantly.
“I am. Mom isn’t cooking eggs, thank goodness, and I’m in your arms. The only niggle in the back of my mind is you’re having to wade into my pile of shit, taking care of an issue that you were thrust in. I really hate that part.” Today, we’re supposed to meet with Sylvester, Boston’s friend and attorney, for multiple reasons—my father, Mom’s divorce, the building he’s purchasing, and then because Boston is an overachiever, he wants to go take a look at furniture for his new place. A place where Boston has stated I’m moving into. I ignored him. The demanding fool attempted to withhold an orgasm from me while insisting that’s where I’ll be. I held my own. He might have pulled out, but it didn’t last for long. His mouth attached to my clit, my hands clamping down the back of his head, then I was coming on one long moan. Needless to say, no more talking happened.
“That’s good. I don’t want you worrying. The pregnancy book said an expectant mother shouldn’t have a lot of stress in her life. It causes things like an increase in high blood pressure; pre-eclampsia could happen.” I tip my head toward his, rolling my eyes the entire time. I’m going to kill his friend Parker for overnighting that damn thing. Literally, the next time I’m near a lighter, I’m going to set it on fire.
“I’m fine. Women have been carrying babies for centuries, and I’m sure they’ve had way more stress than I’ve experienced.” Okay, maybe not quite as much, but I’m willing to bet it’s right along the same playing field. At least I’ve got a massive support system, minus a father, who’s a raging prick.