Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I slip out of my bedroom and make my way down the hall. Mom’s moans are louder as I approach. Their door is closed but not locked. It’s never locked because one of the little kids is always having a bad dream and crawling into their bed. Twisting the knob, I hold my breath to see if they’ve noticed the sound.
When I realize it’s safe, I gently push open the door. I peek my head inside, searching the darkness for them. If Mom won’t go into specifics of what goes on between a man and a woman, I’ll find out myself.
Mom lies on the bed with the moonlight illuminating her naked body. Dad, also naked, has his face buried between her legs. Wet, slurping sounds indicate he’s licking or sucking or kissing her there. On her vagina.
A flurry of butterflies flaps around in my stomach.
“Your pussy tastes so fucking good, Pip.”
Pussy.
The guttural way with which he says those words has heat flooding to my own vagina—er, pussy. I shift on my feet, rubbing my thighs together.
“Reed,” Mom rasps. “I can’t take any more. Fuck me already.”
“I want you to come all over my face,” Dad commands as he reaches up to grope one of her small boobs. “And then I’ll split you wide open with my fat cock, baby. Promise.”
Their words are filthy but send exhilarating shots of desire coursing through me. I try to imagine me and Ronan in that bed. Ronan’s lips on my pussy. Ronan’s commanding words promising what sounds like pain with his hard cock.
“So fucking wet,” Dad croons. “You’re so goddamn needy.”
Mom whimpers and then cries out. Her body arches up off the bed as she trembles. I’m mesmerized by the way her pleasure seems to consume every fiber of her being.
“Good girl,” Dad praises. “My good, sweet girl.”
He crawls over her body, hiding her from my sight. All I can see are the sculpted curves of his back muscles and his firm ass. He reaches between them in the shadows and then his hips thrust hard. Mom’s resounding moan leads me to believe he’s put his penis—er, cock—inside her.
My pussy throbs.
As though it craves attention too.
I want to make myself moan like she does. As Dad continues to thrust inside of her, I let my fingers dance along my belly over my nightgown to my pussy. I seek out the throbbing part of myself, rubbing it with the tip of my finger.
Oh, God.
That feels good. Really good.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from making sounds that would reveal my lurking. I watch as Dad forcefully pushes Mom’s thigh up and starts grinding slowly against her. It’s dirty, but I time my own motions with my finger to the way he moves.
My skin prickles and heats as my knees weaken.
I feel like something wonderful is close.
All I need to do is keep rubbing.
Unable to keep going at their pace, I massage the throbbing spot faster and faster. Touching myself over my clothes doesn’t seem good enough. I want to feel the bare skin. With a silent gasp of air, I push past the material, sliding my finger along the slit. My vagina is slick—from sweat or something I don’t know. Though I’m curious to see why or discover the source, I ignore it for the time being, seeking out the good place again. My fingertip is wet now, so when I touch it, it’s the most exquisite sensation I’ve ever known.
I rub in frantic circles, no longer interested in what my parents are doing, but instead finding what happens when I plummet over the edge that’s near.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
God, so close.
I try to think of Ronan’s mouth on me, but my distracted mind keeps flitting back to Ryder on top of me, his cock hard.
What if his cock was naked and wet, rubbing against me here?
The image is not the one I want to think about, but it’s there, and it makes my body sing. I’m about to leap off the edge when the baby starts to cry. Dawson, who still sleeps in their room, in a crib in the corner, fusses.
Seriously?
Dad makes a sound like he’s found his own pleasure and then chuckles. Mom joins in, softly giggling. Why are they laughing? I’m on the verge of something great and the baby messed it all up.
Flustered, I give up and abandon the throbbing between my thighs. Anger swells up inside me, chasing away all the lingering pleasure.
Dad’s footsteps thud over to Dawson and he can be heard whispering sweet things to the baby. Irritated, I creep back to my bedroom and fall back into bed, unsatisfied.
Why wouldn’t Mom tell me about all that stuff? Maybe, if she did, I’d actually want to find a husband and get married. I’d probably try to make babies all day every day if I knew it felt that good.