Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“I love sleepy sex with you.” Unwilling to break our connection, I secure her against me and roll to my back, and she hisses as she settles above me, straddling my waist. Her chin drops to her chest. She’s struggling with the position. Struggling to accept me. Not for long. Soon, I’ll have had her in every way and position known to man, and that sweet place of hers will know nothing but me. It will accept nothing but me.
“Ride me, Ava.”
Her hands meld to the muscles of my chest. “I’m in charge?” she asks, a certain level of delight in her tone. She is one hundred percent in charge. On the odd occasion that I’m not.
She senses that, and I feel she gets a kick out of me holding the power. But I also know she’ll fight me on it. “Do your worst, baby.” And, fuck, she could do some damage.
I egg her on with a jolt of my hips, sending my dick plunging deep and hard. Her jaw tightens, and she slowly rises, hovering above me, the tip of me skimming her delicious heat. She’ll milk this for all it’s worth, make me beg, send me wild, and I am fine with that. My current view is unmatchable, her expression a mix of determination and craving. The craving I understand. Appreciate. Love. The determination? She’s wasting her fucking time. I’m already hooked. Already at her mercy, and I’m at peace with the fact that I always will be. So do your worst, Miss O’Shea.
And she does.
She lowers carefully, watching me acutely, so obviously relishing the strain on my face. And she grinds down beautifully, rendering me incapable of holding back my sounds of pleasure.
“Again?” she asks, and I curse, the tips of my fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of her thighs, anchoring me. “Mind your language, please.” She starts rising lazily again, and I have not one fucking clue how she’s maintaining her controlled moves, because I already feel set to bounce around the room on constant yells. Up. Down. A precise grind. Over and over, each move sending my mind and body further into bedlam. I moan, my head thrown back, my hands reaching for her boobs.
She stops moving, her thigh muscles tense as she holds her position. I swallow hard.
“Down?”
I’ve never seen such a sight, and I mumble my plea for her to indulge me, my hands clawing into her perfectly formed, perfectly sized breasts. She catches me by surprise when she suddenly changes her tactic, smashing down hard. “Jesus fucking Christ!” She doesn’t relent, crashing up and down, and I’m quickly catapulted to the edge. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I’m going to explode. See stars. “Ava, I’m going to come!” I’m completely dumfounded when she tells me to wait. She does this, makes me lose control, and then expects me to have control? I’d admonish her, if I could string a sentence together. Lucky for Ava, I’m incapable of nothing except fighting back the imminent detonation of my dick.
She continues to roll, lift, lower, grind, moan. “Ava, I can’t,” I mumble, feeling my limit come and go. There’s nothing I could do to hold myself in check now. Not when she’s looking like that. Not when she’s doing this to me.
“Shit!” she gasps “Wait.”
“Watch your mouth,” I shout, frustration joining the barrage of feelings holding me hostage.
“Fuck off, Jesse.”
What the fuck? I choke on my shock, outraged and disappointed, though I’m incapable of voicing it. All I can do is glare at her with all the threat I can muster, the vision of her riding me with so much purpose making my eyes cross.
Then she screams, “Now,” and pounds down, and all thoughts of swearing and punishments disappear amid a fog of pleasure. My vision fails me. My hearing distorts. I am absolutely and completely out of my mind, being seized from every direction by an unconquerable force. My cock rolls relentlessly, my groans sound distant. I can’t control my breathing. My heart is working overtime. My body overheating.
She splatters onto my front, her breathing erratic, and I hold her to me while we recover. “I love sleepy sex with you,” she rasps, her throat undoubtedly sore after her screams. Sleepy sex? The only thing sleepy about that sex is the sleep I’ll need to recover.
“Except for your filthy mouth,” I murmur. Her face appears, her chuckle sweet, even if I’m unamused. She strokes my cheek, and I smile at the tender gesture. “I don’t think we can call that sleepy sex, baby,” I whisper.
“No?”
“No,” I sigh. “We’ll think of a new name for that one.” Something like, Kill-Jesse-Sex.
She agrees, flopping onto my chest again. “How old are you, Jesse?”
I look down at the precise circles she’s drawing around my nipple. “Twenty–nine,” I answer, and she huffs. I roll my eyes, insulted. Clearly, I look older, which should be fine because I am. By a considerable amount.