Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.” Any other time I’d launch myself across the shower and bury my face between her thighs. But I haven’t done anything but hobble-groan my way to the kitchen and back the last few days. I’m sorely regretting that now.
“That’s good to hear.” Her fingers drift down her stomach and circle her navel. “I’m looking forward to sitting on your face in the near future.”
“If you grab my crutches, I’ll get back into bed and give you a beard ride.”
She laughs. “Your sheets need to be changed, but thanks for the offer.” Her fingers glide lower, circling her clit before she eases two inside. Her head falls back, and she moans softly.
“Fuck me.” I’m already hard again. Obviously, I’m feeling better.
“It’ll probably be a while before you’re ready for that.” She withdraws her fingers and circles her clit again, adding a third finger. “But I’m sure we can be creative.”
“You’re not playing fair, Snowflake.”
“I know.” She grins. “You give me what I want, and you get what you want, which is me sitting on your face later.”
I stop pleading my case and enjoy the view. She’s damn well magnificent, and she’s mine. I murmur words of encouragement, telling her how sexy she is, how much I love the way she sounds when she comes, that I can’t wait to have the taste of her on my tongue again.
Her soft whimpers turn into needy moans. I know she’s about to come when her hips start to roll, and she bites her lip, head thrown back as the orgasm sweeps over her. I come again a few strokes later and sag in the chair. Winter leans against the tile wall, a grin spreading across her face. “That was fun.”
“You should bring those fingers over here.”
“Should I, now?”
“Little added motivation, just to tide me over until I earn the right to the real thing.”
She withdraws her fingers from between her legs and moves across the shower to stand in front of me. She drags her index finger along her bottom lip, then leans in to kiss me. “How’s this?”
I catch it gently between my teeth and suck softly. “Best motivation ever.”
The water is starting to cool, so Winter turns the shower off and helps pat me dry before she hands me my crutches. She wanders around my room naked, grabbing me fresh clothes and helping me into my pants before she gets dressed too. She also changes my sheets and picks up all the random clothes scattered on the floor, tossing them into a laundry basket.
“I bet you’re hungry now, huh?”
I arch a brow. “You offering a pussy-buffet appetizer?”
She laughs. “That can be dessert, if you’re not in a food coma after dinner.” She opens my bedroom door. “Come on, let’s go hang out with our friends.”
“Hey. Hold on.” I grab her hand and tug her closer.
“What’s up?” She settles a hand on my chest.
My stomach flips with nerves, but I need to do this. I stroke a finger from her temple to her chin. “I love you too. So fucking much. I didn’t get the chance to tell you before,” I explain. “I wanted to say it back, but I didn’t get the chance.”
She laces her fingers with mine, her voice a whisper. “I didn’t realize you remembered that part.”
“I thought I dreamed it at first.”
“I needed you to know how I felt, just in case.” Her eyes turn glassy. “I was scared it was the only time I’d get to tell you I love you.”
“I couldn’t go anywhere without making sure you knew I felt the same way.”
I stop being a mopey asshole and start going to class again. Getting around on crutches gets easier the more I move. The shittiest part is how damn itchy the injury becomes as it heals. And there’s nothing I can do about it, because so much of it is internal. Thankfully, Winter proves to be excellent at distracting me when it gets particularly intolerable.
It’s Tuesday morning, and Quinn has the pleasure of driving me to class. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling cereal into my face while he polishes off leftover pasta Bolognese.
“How are classes?” he asks conversationally.
“Eh. Okay. I’m still playing catch up, and I’ve fallen way behind in Advanced Research Methods. I don’t know if I can recover enough to get the grade I need, but we’ve already passed the deadline to drop courses.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m pretty sure they’d make an exception if you need to go down to part-time this semester.” He sets his fork on the edge of his plate and laces his hands behind his head. “Your focus needs to be on recovery, not stressing about your grades. It’s better to keep the classes you’re doing well in and drop the ones you’re struggling with.”