Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
There’s no denying the way the words make my muscles swell.
Constrict.
Capture his cock and sloppily slather it with more and more white-hot stickiness to showcase its pending surrender.
I wildly bounce the entire length, head thrown forward in determination to see the sight of me being rapaciously split wide open and to be mesmerized by the view of juices leaking down to his balls that are unremittingly slapping against my pussy.
Having the thin fabric rub against my hard nipple each time its pulled calls for the airy moans bouncing between us to amplify in volume.
Intensity.
Sounds of need transpose to sounds of greed and that greed gets revealed through gritted teeth.
Barked curses.
Nails dragged along his collarbone.
The side of his neck.
Brendan hammers into me harder, lifting his hips up to meet every buck while using his other hand to push me down, to force me to feel the full strength of his hits. Between the incessant brushes against my nipples and the continual ones from our frenzied fucking against my clit, the voraciousness to come as well as have him come reaches a pinnacle so high and so pleasurable that I literally struggle to breathe.
All of sudden, my husband’s lips bump against my ear to purr, “You’re gonna walk around the rest of the party fucking full of me, understood?”
It’s no surprise to me when my body responds faster than my brain.
A mirror shattering scream is attached to the climax that splinters me into a million tiny shreds. I tempestuously buck and cry out. Brazenly buck and bang my open palms against his solid chest. Uncontrollably buck and buckle until my orgasmic bursts are bulldozed by boiling rushes being buried as far as they can possibly fucking go. Heavier huffs of rapture simultaneously escape both of us yet are almost instantaneously replaced by squeaks courtesy of the stool collapsing underneath us.
The unpredicted event quickly has me shifting gears from the mindless fuck machine he turns me into back to the strong, sassy bitch I need to be to face the waiting crowd downstairs. “You’re the reason we can’t have nice things, Nick Jr.”
“Don’t make me fuck you on this pile of broken shit, Joanie Loves Cocky.”
The squawk of shock from the well-played chirp encourages him to laugh loudly.
Give me a good game pat to the ass and pull me down by the nape of my neck to kiss him.
Our kiss while short and messy—kind of like the quickie we just shared—is exactly what I need.
That’s the craziest thing about Brendan.
No matter the day…no matter the place…no matter the situation…he always seems to know exactly what I need.
Of course, I love him.
How could I not?
Brendan
Fuck, I love waking up like this.
One hand on my wife’s tit while she grinds her ass against my swelling cock.
The only thing I think might be better than this shit is when I open my eyes, and she’s already on my sac.
Why?
Because I married a woman who believes swallowing cum is the real breakfast of champions, not Wheaties.
God, getting her to switch to wheat anything has been a hard season in itself.
You’d think I cost her a chance at The Cup for having her eat her sando two nights ago on wheat bread instead of white.
Harlow releases an intoxicatingly soft whimper at the same time she begs, “One more time before you have to go to work?”
That’s also what she said when she straddled me at two a.m. having just rode my dick two hours before that.
And because I’m a gentleman—and not one to complain—I most certainly handled that shit until she was yet again passed out.
You know what? I’ll just fucking say it.
I love this part of fucking pregnancy.
Even if it means I’ll be going to the teambuilding trip today running on fumes.
And I do mean fumes.
I swear to our cooking lord and savior Gordan Ramsey that every time I finally drift back asleep, she senses that shit like a sex assassin and wakes me up to fuck.
I pretended to work late yesterday just so I could take a decent nap in the breakroom before coming home.
Giving her nipple a brutish tug is done in tandem with taunting, “I didn’t hear a fucking please in that shit.”
“Please,” she airily pleads, body arching into the pulling motion. “Fucking please, Brendan.”
Rolling Harlow onto her back requires little to no effort, much like relocating myself between her widespread thighs. “You know when you beg like a good little slut, baby, I can’t say no.”
Her lower half rises so that her soaking wet pussy can tease the tip of my cock.
“And you’re already so fucking wet for me…”
“So fucking wet,” she needily echoes while I lift her ankles to rest on my shoulders.
As much as I would love to prolong the session with a bit of teasing and edging, I know that I can’t.