Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
My hands fall to his sturdy shoulders, my hair falls across my face. I catch my lip between my teeth as I ride him. He grips my ass to help, pulling me on and off, meeting my rhythm with upward thrusts of his own.
It feels so good. I had no idea how good this could feel. I cry out and throw my head back, my breasts bouncing as I take his cock deeper.
“That’s it, Nadia. Take what you need from me.”
My pussy gushes lubrication. My nails score Flynn’s skin as I ride him faster, like we’re in a race to the finish line. Breath rasping, teeth clenched, a wild determination fuels my movements.
“Da…Da,” I cry, forgetting which language to speak.
“Take it, Nadia,” Flynn encourages, giving me all the power. Making this all about my pleasure. My enjoyment. “Use me to get where you need to go.”
“I will,” I pant, “I will! Gospodi, yes!”
My movements grow erratic, and I babble in Russian then scream. My internal muscles squeeze and pulse around his dick.
He thrusts up into me, seeking his own pleasure now that I’ve found mine. “Yes, Nadia. Fuck, yeah.” Lights dance before my eyes when he comes. The room gets hot. It spins a little.
And when my vision clears, my face breaks into the biggest smile possible.
I’m totally triumphant.
I must be glowing.
Flynn pulls me down for a kiss, and that’s when I know: I couldn’t have screwed this up more.
Because I don’t want Flynn as a friend.
Not at all.
I want everything from him.
Heart. Body. Soul.
I’m flying like one of those kites people carry along the shore of Lake Michigan. Buoyant. Aloft. Flapping and fluttering in the wind.
I’m a new woman. Capable of being intimate with a man. Capable of orgasming–twice!
I feel like I just won a race. Or the lottery. Like I completed some spectacular feat that I never thought could happen for me.
I straddle Flynn’s hips and smile down at him. “I did it.”
He smiles back. “You did. We did. You’re beautiful.”
He makes me feel beautiful. More importantly, I don’t feel frightened over him finding me beautiful. I don’t want to disengage from my body.
“I’m so happy.” It’s an understatement. I’m downright ecstatic.
Flynn holds my hips and undulates his beneath me a few times, with satisfying, unambitious thrusts.
I climb off him, pull on my panties, and flit about his room on shaking legs.
I just had sex. I just orgasmed. I swear to God, I didn’t even know if it would ever be possible to feel sexual pleasure again, but I did it!
I investigate everything in his room, wanting to absorb all that is Flynn. Wanting to somehow hang onto and keep this sense of happiness that’s overcome me.
It’s a guy room. An acoustic guitar stands in the corner. A blown glass pipe for smoking weed is on the dresser, along with a library card and a Starbucks gift card.
I open his closet and investigate his clothing.
“Are you going to style me?” He rolls his lanky form off the bed and disposes of the condom.
“Will you let me?”
His chuckle is warm and rusty. It ignites tiny explosions under my ribs. “Sure. Yeah. Of course.”
So easy.
Everything with Flynn is always so easy. There’s no pressure. There’s no agenda.
Even when things got heated during sex, he was so damn present with me. His passion carried me along. Or ignited mine.
I examine the clothes in his closet. Mostly button-down shirts–not the expensive crisp ones that Ravil or Maxim wear, but worn flannels and just a couple dress shirts. He has a few pairs of dress slacks. I open his dresser drawers and peek inside. They are packed with more comfortable shirts and pullovers, jeans and khakis.
Flynn pulls a pair of boxer briefs on and picks up the guitar, folding his long body into a cross-legged position on the bed. He starts to play. The lamplight falls across his face, lighting his boyish good looks. This could be a music video–Flynn shirtless and happy, hanging out playing music in the bed where he just made love.
In fact…
“Hang on.” I pull a pair of flannel pajama pants out of his dresser. “Put these on.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t ask me why. He doesn’t protest. He just climbs off the bed to put on the pants. “Now what?”
I turn on another lamp. “Go back to the bed and play.”
He leans over and brushes his lips across the bridge of my nose. “I like you bossy.”
I laugh. “I’m not bossy. I just have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“You just play the guitar, like you were.”
I find his phone where he dropped it with his keys and open up the Tiktok app. Flynn has a profile there. I know because I follow him. He doesn’t post that often–usually just clips from their live shows–but he has a decent following because of Skate 32’s videos and the Storyteller’s growing local fanbase.