Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
But it’s not over because in the next moment, he falls on me. He knocks my hand aside and replaces it with his mouth. He latches on to my clit and sucks and sucks and makes me come again.
Harder than the first time.
Because he’s not only eating me out, but he’s also tasting himself on me. He’s tasting his own cum and I think that’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done to anyone.
No, I spoke too quickly, because when he’s done lapping his cream off my pussy, he goes up and swirls his tongue over my belly, right where more of his cum has landed. He laps at it, and before I can contend with that, that he’s eating his own cum off my body, he climbs up even more and in the next breath, grabs my jaw. Putting pressure on it, he forces me to open my mouth, and before I can gauge his intention, he spits his cum onto my tongue, making this the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
So much so that I moan, and winding my arms around his neck, I latch onto him and kiss him. He shoves his tongue inside my mouth, and then we’re both tasting each other. We’re both swallowing each other down. And our flavor mixed together becomes my instant favorite. We’re sweet and tart. Like sugar and lemonade.
He stays kissing me for a long time, and I’m sleepy and satiated once again. When we finally stop, he tucks his face in the crook of my neck and breathes me in, his heavy arm draped across my chest, fingers playing with my hair all lazily and possessively. I swear he feels like a sleepy, satisfied beast right now as he mutters on a grunt, “Fuck, you always smell so fuckin’ good.”
He drags his “good” out as if he never wants it to end. He never wants to stop smelling me. Biting my lip, I tilt my head to the side and rub my chin in his hair. “Were you able to sleep last night?”
He breathes out, his chest moving over mine, and grunts. I’m taking that as an assent, and I smile. “Will you take me to see those buttercups that you talked about?”
His grunt is accompanied by a nod this time and a whiff of my neck, as if he’s smelling those flowers right now. And I smile even harder than before. “Is that what you did? Before? When I’d be sleeping.”
He hums.
I keep rubbing my chin in his hair as I whisper, “You know, you could’ve just…”
He turns his head and looks up at me, his eyes all stoned. “I could’ve just what?”
I trace his jaw, his cheekbone, with my thumb and reply, “Fucked me.”
I’m not going to lie that it does feel freeing, saying these things, talking to him in this way. But at the same time, I can’t help but blush when his eyes go slightly alert and he roves his gaze over my face. “Fucked you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, nodding, caressing his beautiful face. “I was right there, my pussy all open.”
He flicks his eyes over my face for a second before his mouth lifts up in a lopsided smirk. “So what, I fucked you once and you’re all grown up now. That how it works?”
I blush harder, but I’m determined not to back out. “Uh-huh. You’ve made me a woman.”
“That so?”
“Yup.” Then, I think of something better and say, “Actually no, you’ve made me a wife. So get ready for all the wifely things.”
At this, he goes totally alert and maneuvers himself away from my body so he can prop his head up on his palm. “And what are these wifely things?”
I turn on my side, too, as I crane my neck to look up at him. “Um, let’s see. Okay, starting now, I’m always right.”
“You’re always right.”
“Yes. So if we fight about something, you’re the one who has to say sorry first.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re the husband.”
“So?”
I pat his jaw as if he’s an idiot. “So it’s always the husband’s fault.”
He grabs my wrist and squeezes it. “Startin’ to see why that is.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You always have to say yes to everything I want to do.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Like, if I want to buddy read a romance novel with you, you have to do it.”
At this, he frowns. “What the fuck is a buddy read?”
“It’s when two buddies”—I motion to him and me—“read the same book together and freak out about plot points and such.”
His frown thickens. “Yeah, no.”
“Arsen. You have to. It’s the rule.”
“Fuck rules,” he grunts. “I ain’t readin’ jackshit.”
“Fine, whatever.” I roll my eyes again. “But you’re writing me letters.”
He grabs hold of my wrist and keeps it pinned to his chest. “What?”
“You’re still paying for your crimes, aren’t you?” I remind him. “All those letters you wrote, they didn’t even have your right name on them.”