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)
I’m shivering now, at his words, at his soft kisses. At him unhooking my bra and taking it off in the next breath. Before whispering against my mouth, “I tore off your wedding dress, didn’t I?”
I clutch my eyes shut and nod, still hurting from that.
He cups my breasts and squeezes, making me moan. “And made you ride my gun instead of my cock like you wanted. Like you deserved for being my sweet”—a small kiss on my mouth—“slutty”—another kiss—“glorious wife.”
“Arsen,” I whimper against his lips.
And he swallows it with another kiss as he whispers, his hands going down for my jeans, “Your body’s my crime scene, isn’t it, baby, so on our wedding night, I pay for violating it instead of worshipping it like I should’ve done from the start.”
I arch my back and he makes quick work of pulling off my jeans and panties. And then I’m naked.
I honestly wouldn’t have known about it at all—which is a marvel in itself—if I hadn’t heard the rustle of my clothes falling onto the floor. Because as soon as I’m all bare curves and rolls—another thing that I’m very chill about—he leans over and lowers me down onto the cool sheets, draping me with his body. I guess he was right when he said he’s all I’ll need to stay warm and covered.
Besides, he’s doing the thing he said he would.
Worshipping me.
With his lips on my lips. I know everyone calls it kissing, but this is worshipping. He’s worshipping my lips, sucking and sipping on the taste of my mouth like that is his religion, before moving down to the side of my neck. He spends some time there, around my pulse, doing the same thing, taking little bites of my skin, savoring my taste as my limbs wrap themselves around him. My arms go around his neck and my thighs hold on to his hips. And it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.
My bare body tangled up with his.
My heels digging into the backs of his thighs, scraping against the dusting of his hair. My nails scratching his shoulders; his hard, leaking cock throbbing against my tummy. I’m so busy reveling under all these new sensations that I don’t realize he’s gotten down farther.
To my tits. Until he takes a nipple in his mouth and I arch up.
Holy fuck.
I didn’t know how fucking sensitive my nipples are. Or how fucking sensitive my breasts would be when he lets go of my nipple and sucks on the flesh itself. It’s like there’s a direct line from my tits to my belly and down to my pussy. And that line is tugging with every suck of his mouth and every pump of his fingers as he squeezes my flesh.
So much so that I’ve completely come off the makeshift bed and now I’m hanging on to him. I keep scratching him with my nails as he sucks on my tits, plays with them, and I drag my wet—soaked—pussy along his stomach, the ridges of his abs, the thick thatch of his hair. I’m moaning and twisting and leaking, quite possibly as much as he is, my toes curling in ecstasy.
God, yeah, this is what worshipping is.
This is what a goddess must feel like. Cherished and devoured in the same breath.
But he’s only halfway done because after he sucks on my tits, he moves down to my belly and does the same thing. I’m not going to lie; I’m the most conscious about my tummy. About its endless rolls and doughy flesh and impossibly pasty skin. But the second his mouth touches my belly button, I forget all about it and moan so loud that the roof seems to shake.
God, how is it that my belly button is so sensitive?
I’m about to snap my thighs closed and practically jump off the bed, but he holds me down. He grabs my hips like handlebars, his blunt nails making dimples in my flesh as he laps and laves at my rolls, eats them up like he’s been starving for ages, for eight years, six months of which he spent dreaming about me, and I’m his first feast. My body and its abundant curves are his sustenance.
I swear to God, just that thought—the body that I always hated being his meal—makes me come. Or maybe it’s the fact that while he’s been feeding on my belly, I’ve been humping his chest. I’ve been writhing and grinding against him, and I’ve finally fallen over the edge. God, it’s still so embarrassing, how easily he makes me come. So it’s almost a relief that he’s finally down to the place that’s actually supposed to be this sensitive.
My still-pulsing pussy.
Although my relief is short-lived because gosh, I never stop coming. The whole time he’s down there, eating me out, I keep climaxing. My orgasm stretches out like a coil of rope that seems endless. My thighs keep shaking. My belly contracts, and I’m undulating like a wave in the ocean.