Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Why the hell not?
“Fast is okay,” I pant, desperate to convince him. “I’m a big fan of fast. Go, Team Fast!”
He grinds his forehead into mine. “Two months, Win. Two months of imagining you moaning my name. Imagining the way you’d feel beneath me. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and there are a thousand different things I want with you that I haven’t done yet. And those all come before I get inside and take you in every position, on every surface imaginable, until you beg for release.”
“I’m already begging, Michael. And I never do that, so you should feel really good about your skills right now.”
I’m trying to tease, but he’s not willing to be distracted.
“You said it was different with me?” he grits out. “Well, until you, I didn’t think about my cock every other minute. I’m thirty-eight years old—I shouldn’t have to worry about my dick getting hard in public every time you cross my mind. Shouldn’t be ready to come the second I touch you.”
I want to tell him I understand, but he starts stroking me again, faster now. Yes. Like that. “Michael.”
“I shouldn’t want to see my fingerprints on your smooth skin because we got carried away and I fucked you too hard,” he continues as he jacks us off, punctuating the confession with an open-mouthed kiss. “Shouldn’t imagine spanking you and spooning you and bending you in half to pound into you so deep you’ll never get rid of me.”
“Oh God. Oh, shit, Michael.” I’m seconds away from coming. His touch, his words are sending jolts of lightning down my thighs, my balls pulling up tight and hot.
He claims my mouth in another short, hard kiss. “Tell me it won’t be just this once,” he demands.
I shake my head frantically, the climax reaching for me in his tightening grip. “It won’t. All night. You said we’ll be here all night. Please.”
“I found you,” he pants as he stares deep into my eyes and gives us what we’re both dying for. “Found my siren in the woods and brought you home. Come for me, Win.”
“Michael!”
Our dueling shouts ring in my ears and my back arches off the bed with the force of my climax. I’m coming so hard it hurts, and he’s right there with me. He gasps my name over and over into my neck as his release coats my chest and slicks up his hand.
Long minutes later, he hasn’t moved and I’m still shaking. Not just from the climax or its aftershocks, but from the emotions that I’m not used to coming along for the ride.
Something just happened between us. Not that. I mean, of course that happened. But this something is new and tender and achingly fragile. I want to share it, and maybe I would if I understood it, but instead I bite my tongue as he rolls away and reaches for his shirt to wipe us both down.
I close my eyes as the soft cloth strokes my oversensitive skin, breathing deeply and listening to the wind howling outside. I can feel him watching me. Is he waiting for me to speak? To tell him I’ve never come that hard before or felt that connected to anyone? That I want him to pull me close and make promises that I’ll actually believe? That I hope the storm never ends?
It’s all true, but there’s no way I’m willing to say it first. Or ever.
Falling for the dream of Michael is one thing. Falling for the man himself? The real one, who could get tired of me and leave me? I can’t. It would never work out. We’re like that fish-and-bird love story. Or maybe the prince and the pauper, if that were a gay romance instead of Freaky Friday meets The Parent Trap.
Semi-interesting celebrity fact. Lindsay Lohan was in the modern remakes of both of those classics.
Yes, I just made that reference. That’s how much I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling about Michael Demir right now. At least I didn’t mention another president’s penis.
“Awfully quiet, Win.”
My eyes pop open in time to see him smile devilishly and lick a bit of my cum off his fingers. I shiver, unable to look away, but something inside me relaxes. He’s obviously not thinking about relationship conversations or tossing out emotional confessions if he’s doing something like that, right? I can handle this. Playful sex. Casual sex. Just sex.
I’m not even disappointed.
“I’m waiting patiently for a presidential anecdote about kinky activities in the Lincoln bedroom, but you’re oddly silent on the subject. What’s stopping you?”
What the hell? Is he a mind reader now? “Actually,” I start hesitantly, “there have been rumors that Lincoln spent a few years sleeping in the same bed as his—”
“Wait, stop. There’s really an anecdote? I was joking,” he laughs, and it’s like the sun comes out again. I hardly notice when he stretches out on the mattress beside me and drags me up against his chest. And then I can’t stop noticing, because this is cuddling.