Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 38202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
So, so fast, I can feel my eyeballs threatening to roll black at the sheer beauty of it.
“Oh God. Please—-”
One finger finally slips inside of me, and I whimper.
It’s good. It’s so good. It’s so damn good.
My eyelids drift shut as his finger starts thrusting in and out of me.
So good. So damn good.
Another finger joins in, and I find myself clutching his shirt as I start to feel full.
“You like that, don’t you, my dear?”
I bite my lip hard, not wanting to make his already huge ego even bigger.
When it becomes clear I’m not going to answer, Mr. Rochester’s fingers pause right before my entrance, hovering but not quite penetrating.
Another whimper escapes me.
“Don’t you?”
Bastard. “Yes, damn you.” The words are torn out of my throat as I clutch his shirt more tightly. “I like it—-”
And Mr. Rochester rewards me with a third finger.
Aaaaaaah.
The combined width of his fingers force the walls of my pussy to expand and I can’t help moaning as I find myself feeling so deliciously stretched.
God. God. God.
I feel so full of him, and to think these fingers of his are nothing to his massive cock—-
The thought has my body jerking, and the gesture works like a cue for Mr. Rochester, with his other arm wrapping carefully around my waist before ushering me closer—-
And then he’s ramming his fingers harder and faster into me.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
My head starts to reel, and I let out a cry. “D-don’t stop!”
“Never.” Mr. Rochester’s tone is hard. “Not until you cum all over my fingers.”
Aaaaaah.
And to keep his word, Mr. Rochester starts shoving his fingers relentlessly inside of me in a furiously spiraling cycle of pleasure.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
My body starts to tighten. One moment I’m suspended in the air, suffering from the most exquisite agony. The next moment I know and I’m falling, heavy and weightless at the same time as the most beautiful feeling sweeps over my body.
Wave after wave, my orgasm strikes me. I’m coming so hard I become unaware to everything else. Nothing exists except the pleasure that Mr. Rochester’s still-plunging fingers inside of me—-
And I don’t want it to end.
WHEN THE HAZE OF PLEASURE finally clears from my mind, I come out of it appalled.
Oh God!
What happened to all my talk of not liking bad boys?
Why did I let him fuck me with his fingers just like that?
And why, dear God, have I enjoyed it so much?
A hazy answer tempts me from afar, asking me to chase it, but I can’t. In a blink of an eye, I’ve found myself once again distracted, and it’s entirely his fault, of course. My boss is still holding my body tightly to him, his fingers still plunged in the depths of my pussy—-
More questions swirl in my mind.
Does he think I’m a slut?
What do I say?
What do I do?
A knock suddenly sounds on the door, and I jerk—-
Shit.
I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late, with the involuntary movement of my body causing Mr. Rochester’s fingers to slide deeper into me.
Mr. Rochester’s eyes glint, and I bite back a whimper.
“You’re starting to get wet again,” he rasps under his breath.
Another knock sounds on the door before I can answer. “Mr. Rochester?”
Shit. I recognize the voice. Virginia.
“May I come in, sir?”
I hear the doorknob rattle, and the sound reminds me of one alarming fact.
Neither of us had locked the door.
SHIT.
I shove Mr. Rochester away unceremoniously, and even as the sound of his fingers popping out of my pussy makes me cringe, I don’t waste another second, running as fast as I can to the washroom. I make it inside just as I hear Virginia enter the CEO’s office, and the last thing I hear before the washroom door swings shut is the receptionist’s simpering voice as she apologizes for the intrusion.
Yeah right, bitch.
Silence encases the washroom, and it takes all my willpower not to childishly press my ear to the door to hear what she has to say. Instead, I focus quickly on attending to myself, a grimace twisting on my lips as I find out just how sticky I am between my legs.
Is it normal to come this much from finger fucking?
The answer to this grazes my thoughts, but again I find myself deliberately shying away from it when I realize it’s not what I want to hear.
Shit, shit, shit.
I distract myself by repairing my appearance and start with pushing my skirt back down to its respectable length. Turning to the vanity, I wince when I catch sight of my flushed expression—-
Gah.
I don’t only look like a woman who’s just been fucked, but I look one that’s been fucked pretty good—-
And that’s bad.
I start pacing the length of the washroom, which by my standards is palatial, considering how it’s the same size as my entire flat.