Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Say it,” I grate, pounding forward.
“No.”
My God, she’s really asking for it. And I’ll relish every smash and drive until she backs down. I take in air, knowing I’m going to need it, and let loose, indulging in her defiance. It won’t be the last time. “Fucking hell, say it, Ava!”
“No.”
“Ava.” My hips piston, my body instantly dripping, and she screams over and over, every high-pitched yell fueling me, along with the tightening of her muscles around my dick. It’s coming. Her submission and her orgasm. I drop my mouth to hers and give her a kiss to match my frantic pace. “You like that?”
“Yes!” She moans, screams, moans and screams.
“You want this every day?”
“Yes!”
God, yes. She can keep putting her spanners in my works if that’s how she wants to play it. I’ll never get tired of removing them. “Say it then,” I order, gripping her hair hard, plunging and retreating on constant yells.
“Yes,” she screams, the sound piercing, and I grin on the inside, finally letting my body’s demand for yet another release take me as Ava literally bursts. And it’s not only her body that loses all control, but her fucking mouth. “Yes, yes, fucking hell, yes!”
I’m out of my mind, unable to see straight, but I can still fucking hear. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I bark, punching the mattress, trying to gain some stability. Fuck. The pain. I clench my teeth and ride it, focusing on the end game, hissing with each breath I take, and though I’m expecting it, as ever, I’m far from ready. I sink into her, holding myself deep while holding my breath, and I’m gone, taken out by the pleasure, my moan long and strangled. Crazy. My limp head drops and hangs, beads of sweat trickling from every pore. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I wheeze, still dizzy, tingling everywhere.
“I was under the influence.” She’s breathless, and I smile. Drunk on me. That’s what she means. I kiss her softly and fall to my back, bringing Ava with me. “I can’t be with you every second of the day,” she says quietly, sounding a little worried.
“I know you can’t,” I breathe, semi accepting of that. “I wish you could.”
“I have a job, a life.”
And there’s the problem. Dependence. Or in Ava’s case, independence. “I want to be your life.” I’m unable to keep the dejection from my tone.
“You are,” she says, but she’s wrong. She has a career. Friends. Family. A thirst for self-sufficiency, whereas I only have a thirst for her. I look down at the back of her head as she strokes over my chest delicately. I feel like I’m asking to have my cake and eat it. Everything Ava is, how she’s wired, is why I fell for her so hard and fast. It’s not fair for me to expect her to change that to appease me, I know that. So I must try my fucking hardest to give her what she wants and at the same time feed my need. Compromise. I can do that. But can she?
I chew on my lip thoughtfully, resting my head back, feeling her everywhere as her breathing becomes shallow and her body heavier on my chest. There’s no question; if old ghosts weren’t loitering on the peripheral on our existence, I might feel more confident that she truly means it when she says she’ll never leave me. So until they all fuck off, I’m just going to have to suck up the anxiety, hide it, keep Ava away from my past, and make sure she sees nothing but strength and stability in me.
Piece of cake.
10
I sleep like a brick. There’s no point asking myself why. The answer is still in my arms come dawn, snuggled as deep as she can get, breathing lightly. I sigh, contented, and squeeze her closer. I could gently turn her over. Wake her up in the best possible way.
But I need to kick my piece of cake plan into action. So, and it fucking hurts, I carefully start peeling her body from mine, so tense, my dick protesting. But needs must . . .
Leaving Ava splayed on our bed, I find some boxers, yank them on, grab some cash and my phone, and hurry down the stairs and out of our penthouse. When I make it to the lobby, Clive is on the phone. He trips up over his words when he spots me exiting the elevator in my boxers, his old eyes wide and shocked. I put myself in front of his desk, a big, fat, cheesy grin on my face. Clive and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye since we met. I need to change that.
“Yes, sir,” he says down the line. “Well, that’s definitely doable, sir.” He picks up a pen and pulls a pad toward him. “I’m ready to take the details, sir.”