Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
And—oomph!
He pushed me against the door, reaching down and locking it.
He moved in, almost touching me.
Nope. He was touching me.
His hand was on my hip and it slid up to my stomach, moving under my shirt. He bent in, his lips grazing my shoulder and I was already melting. I reached out, both my hands to his waist, just holding him there. I needed to anchor myself to him in some way.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Even the question, said against my neck, was making me want to jump him. I didn’t need any more ammunition.
“What?” A slight hitch in my throat. My pulse was skipping all over the place, too.
He grazed his nose up my jawline, moving over until his lips were lingering just over mine. Not touching. But there.
“You didn’t say a word in the car. Are you having second thoughts?”
I had to bite my lip to keep a half-hysterical laugh from bubbling out. If only he knew. But I shook my head, still biting my lip, not trusting myself to say much else, all I could muster was, “Nope. I’m good.”
His hand moved to my neck, palming my head and tilting me to look up at him. He drew his head back, his eyes watching me from the full moon shining through the window. “You sure?”
I nodded, my eyes lost as I moved over his face, falling to his own mouth. I just wanted that on me, anywhere, everywhere. I’d been wanting that for ten years.
“Good.”
His hand moved.
I thought he would kiss me.
He didn’t. He so didn’t.
His other hand moved south, bypassing my skirt, pushing my thong aside, and he found my opening in point two seconds. And oooooh!
I gasped as he slid in two fingers right off the bat, sliding all the way in and up and up and up. He was almost lifting me off the ground because of how deep he was, and I wasn’t mad at all. His mouth dipped to my throat, he was already panting, and a second later, as I was breathing loud, a third finger joined in, but he didn’t kiss me. Not on the lips.
Those fingers were working me.
In. Out.
Sliding. Thrusting.
Thumbing.
Tweaking me.
Caressing me.
I was going blind.
I was going mad.
I was going to scream and then he grated out, “Up.”
I jumped and he caught me, so easily, as if I weighed nothing. My legs went around his waist, and he held me against the door, still pumping into me.
My head hit the back of the door, but I wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling anything except him, except those fingers inside of me as they continued to move in and out. Pleasuring me first.
He was working me like a professional.
Good God.
I was going to combust.
It was coming.
Rising.
Building.
A scream left me and I arched against him, feeling his mouth on my throat again as I surged over the edge.
There’d been no help from me, it was all him, all his fingers as he literally held me in place.
Holy shit.
I was so out of my comfort zone.
I wasn’t even thinking normally.
I was like a regular person. That’s how scrambled he’d made my brain.
Then a soft chuckle as he held me in his arms, and I trembled as I came down from a volcano.
“Good. Now we got that out of the way.” He lifted his head, leaning me and trapping me against the door with his hips. His free hand went to my chin and he tipped me back so I could see those eyes of his blazing at me.
Like diamonds.
“Dude,” I whispered, a ball unfolding inside of me.
He narrowed his eyes. “Dude?”
“You made me think normal.” No one did that. Ever. Like ever ever, but I was me again. I was back and he was about to get a glimpse of how weirdo Cheyenne I could be. “Dude. It’s a rightio dealio with me. It’s stupendous. I was normal.”
He frowned at me, stiffening.
He mouthed my words back to me. Rightio dealio. Stupendous. Then asked, “Normal?”
I grinned at him, slow and sated because I saw stars. I was still seeing stars. “Junkie mom. Dead now. Messed up all my life. That means I don’t think or talk like regular bros and hoes. I’m a different calendar.” But I could pull it together, like for meetings at work or grant writing. I was an ace typist. “Stars. You made me meet them.”
I was still seeing them. His eyes. So smoldering.
He continued to stare at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
I tensed.
Maybe he was regretting this? Was my one-night stand a one-night finger bang instead?
I tried to stem the disappointment, but… Okay.
A girl had coping mechanisms. I could pull mine up, if I needed to.
I was hoping I didn’t need to. I didn’t know how I’d handle that either.
Then he must’ve made his decision.