Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
So did the familiar tightening in his balls.
It should have been embarrassing how fast Malachi orgasmed by nothing more than Gracen’s hands—considering his own had been his only source of getting off for way too damn long—but in the moment it barely registered.
His hard pants of breaths and choppy moans gave her a little bit of warning for what was to come when he spilled into her hand. Malachi tightened his grip on her knees, feeling the flinch race up her thighs at the force before he crushed his mouth to hers once more.
He shuddered through every pulse of pleasure, every spurt of warm cum she used to lubricate him for her next stroke. Like she knew he needed those extra twenty seconds to let the shivers race through his body while his dick softened, Gracen only slowed a little.
She never stopped until he made her with one of his hands catching hers at the head of his shaft. Body electric, every touch from then on would feel like sparks under his skin if he didn’t relax for a damned minute.
“Whoa,” he muttered, nuzzling his face into the side of Gracen’s neck, so she wouldn’t see his squeezed shut eyes.
Softly, her cheek rubbed along his.
He didn’t need to tell her.
Probably shouldn’t.
What did it even matter?
Malachi came in mere minutes while Gracen sat on a stool and jerked him off. Fuck his ego—he loved every second of it, too.
“That was the best orgasm I’ve had in years,” he admitted under his breath; his words were still thick like the muscles tight in his throat.
Gracen’s pleased smile made him think she was heaven sent when her big doe-eyes glanced up at him, and she still had his semi-hard, semen-stained cock in her hands. She only confirmed it further, cementing the fact he was the greedy fish chasing after her dangling hook, when she said, “Tell me when—I’ll do it again.”
Malachi cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “Shit, just use your mouth to clean me up. That’ll do the damn job, too.”
Gracen didn’t blink a lash at the request, and her sly smile said she wouldn’t refuse. “I think the wrong person is sitting down for that, huh?”
Well ...
She wasn’t wrong.
“Let’s fix that.” He nodded at her, his tongue flicking at his upper lip, unable to disregard her slick fingers sliding along his slowly stiffening shaft. There clearly wouldn’t be an issue getting in a round two.
Chapter 8
“We need another drink for this.”
The echoed words bounced through Gracen’s aching head as her eyes peeled open to the darkness of a strange space. The second she was awake, blinking away the dream that was replaying the events of the night before, she was able to hear the real reason that she’d been pulled from a rum-soaked slumber. It was then that Gracen knew she had screwed up.
Just a little.
She remembered exactly how she found herself snuggled in a quilt with Malachi on a ratty couch that had seen better days, and how she’d ended the late hours of the morning burying fits of alcohol-induced giggles into Malachi’s muscled chest. The rum hadn’t been a bad idea after Gracen finally convinced Malachi to climb inside the back of his friend’s car to use one of the only things that looked brand new inside the shell of a car other than the leather-wrapped steering wheel. He all out refused to tell her how much the two items, taken from a wreck at a junkyard down the highway, cost his friend.
In the end, it wasn’t that important when the only thing they had planned for the mint condition seat would do nothing to help the value. At least, they put Malachi’s shirt down. She’d let him get her totally naked for that; the bench seat deserved a proper christening, even if it wasn’t hers to do.
Who would tell?
She could still feel the red leather of the back seat acting as a cushion for her knees as the memory of Malachi’s intent gaze slammed back into Gracen’s head while she replayed through the night before and what lead her to this moment.
All things considered, she should have said no to a drink with forty-proof liquor when she was a notorious lightweight, but rum was her weakness. Blame it on the fact her Mimi—the grandmother who took Gracen in—loved a splash or more of rum in her tea at night, and it was the only available liquor readily available just a locked cabinet away for her rebellious teenaged self.
Nearly a half hour or more since her last drink, she figured the rum and coke wouldn’t be that bad. It took half the glass, and easy conversation that they took inside the apartment while they cleaned up, for her to realize how hard the liquor hit.
And when it did?
Whoa.
“My roommate hears everything,” a slightly buzzed Gracen had told Malachi the night before. It was just her luck that she also happened to be a loud, clumsy drunk. As soon as the liquor hit, she tended to lose things as much as she became acquainted with walls and furniture. Her sense of coordination had never proved great when she got tipsy.