Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
“I just love little kids. They're so enthusiastic about everything. It makes me happy.”
“Your parents must be very proud. Being a teacher is an honorable profession.”
Her expression changes as sadness comes over her. I don’t know what I’ve said wrong, but I quickly apologize. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If you don’t want to talk about it…”
“No, I’ve been avoiding it for a while now. Maybe it’s time to let it out. If you don’t mind listening. I don’t want to be a downer or anything.”
“Hey, don’t think like that. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen. It doesn’t matter what it is.”
“Okay. Let’s just say that my parents had very high aspirations for me, and I fell very short of meeting them.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father is a surgeon. My mother is a high-power attorney. Together, they have a lot of money and a lot of power. They expected the same from me, you know? I’m their only child, and they wanted me to continue their legacy so they could brag about me at cocktail parties the way their friends have always done about their own kids. Instead, they tell me that I wasted their money on college just to land a low-paying job. They think that my lack of ambition is a sign of laziness.”
I nod. “I know a thing or two about people with money and power. Sometimes, they become blind to the things that really matter in life.”
Her eyes brighten, and her voice goes up an octave. “Exactly. That’s exactly how I feel. I ask myself all the time why they can’t just love me for me. Why is how I look to the rest of the world more important than my happiness?”
“Because how they look is more important to them than their happiness. They don’t realize it. They think that these things make them happy, but in the end, they’re just hollow shells. I don’t mean to speak about your family that way, but I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t have experience with it myself.”
Her expression changes, and she looks down at her bowl of soup. I think I see tears in her eyes. I did it again. I made her cry. Damn it all to hell. I slide my chair across the floor until I’m seated beside her, and I take both of her hands onto my lap.
“Look at me, Tess. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
She looks up at me and all that I see is a lost, lonely little girl.
“You didn’t make me sad. The whole situation does. You’re right about them.”
She starts to say something else, but I pull her onto my lap and kiss her. Her body stiffens for a second, then she wraps her arms around my neck. I rest my hands on her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh. I don’t just want this girl. I need her like I need air and water to survive. I slide my tongue into her mouth and taste the sweetness that accompanies the smell of sugar cookies. I don’t want to stop. I can’t bring myself to let her go.
My manhood rises and presses against the warm space between her legs. A burst of air comes out of her nose when she feels it, but she doesn’t try to move away. Tess moans when I drag my tongue and suck on her neck. I slide my hands along her waist, over her ribs, and squeeze her firm tits.
The need grows inside me like a hungry beast, and I reach down under her top and open her bra. Her nipples are hard, and I need to taste them. I lift her shirt and lick the taut peaks. She caresses the back of my head and whimpers softly as I suckle and squeeze her tits.
I reach down and unbutton her pants. She wiggles in my lap, unsure if she wants me to go there, so I pause and wait to see if she’s going to let me proceed. She settles down again so I lift her off my lap and push her pants and panties down to her ankles. I use my left hand to push her bowl of soup aside then set her on the table.
Her face is pink and her chest heaves as I part her thighs and lower my head between them. I lick her hard little clit, and she cries out, grabbing a handful of my hair. I reach up, taking both of her wrists in my hands, and pin her arms by her thighs.
My tongue laps voraciously at her sticky, sweet lips, and she whimpers at every pass. Her legs quiver as I gently slip my index finger inside her, and she struggles to lift her arms.
I raise my head and say, “Hush now, baby girl. I’m gonna make you come.”