Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"You're doin' it on purpose," she breathes.
Yeah.
I am.
I push inside her slow.
Just the first inch. Just enough to feel her open around me, feel her body deciding to let me in, and then I stop.
Hold there.
Her breath comes apart at the seam.
"There she is," I murmur against her throat. "That's the pussy I been thinkin' about for five days straight."
I pull back out. All the way. Savannah makes a sound like something's been taken from her, which it has, and I slide through her lips again slow, coatin' myself in her, and she's so wet it's runnin' down my cock before I even push back in.
I do.
Same inch. Same stop.
"You're so fuckin' warm," I tell her, low, like I'm just noticin' it for the first time even though I've known it for years, even though it's the thing I think about in every cold room I've ever been in. "Every time. Like you were built to feel good around me."
She tilts her hips, tryin' to take more.
I pull out.
"Legion—"
"Shhh."
I drag the head of me up through her folds, find her clit, circle it slow with the tip, and she bites her lip so hard I watch the color leave it.
"You're so wet," I say into her hair. "Feel that? Feel how wet you got just from my kiss? From my hands? You do that. You make yourself that wet just wantin' me and I—" I push in again, deeper this time, two inches, three, feelin' her stretch around me, feelin' her take me— "I think about that. When I'm gone. I think about how your body just—opens for me. Like it knows."
I stop again.
She whimpers.
I pull back slow.
"I think about your mouth," I tell her, and my voice is doin' that thing now, unspooling, I can hear it, can't stop it, the poet takin' over when the demon oughta be in charge. "I think about kissin' you first. Before everything else. Just—your mouth. The way you taste right when I get there, before anything else happens. That's the part I think about most."
I push in again. Slow. Slow. Slow.
Halfway now. Feelin' her squeeze around every inch I give her like her body's got opinions.
"And then I think about how you feel like this." Another inch. I hold. She shakes. "How you feel exactly like this—around me, on me, with me—like you were supposed to be here the whole time and everywhere else you ever been was just—" I pull back to the tip— "waitin'."
She drops her forehead to my shoulder.
"Please."
The word lands in my chest like a coal.
I push in.
Stop.
She lifts her head off my shoulder.
And she looks at me.
And then she starts talkin'.
"I think about your hands," she says, quiet, unhurried, like she's been holdin' this a long time and just now decided to let it go. "Before your mouth, before anything else—your hands. The way you put them on me like you already know every inch and you're just—checkin'. Makin' sure it's all still there. Still yours."
I don't move.
"I think about the first time you touched me here—" her hand covers mine where it's hooked under her thigh— "and how you weren't gentle about it but you weren't rough either. You were just certain. Like you'd already decided and the only thing left was me catchin' up."
My cock is still pressed at her entrance. Still not movin'. Barely breathin'.
"I think about your mouth on my throat," she says. "I think about the weight of you. Just pressin' me into whatever surface I'm against and how I don't want to move. How I never want to move when you're on me like that. How I just—stop."
She tilts her head back against the silo wall. Exposin' her throat. Deliberate.
"I think about how you taste," she says to the ceilin'. "After you've been smokin'. After you've been ridin'." Her voice drops. "I think about how you say my name when you're close. How it's the only time it sounds like that. Like it's the only word you know and you're grateful you know it."
Don't move. Stay still. Let her finish.
"I think about your cock," she says, simple and direct, and the word in her mouth does something to me I'm not prepared for even after everything. "How full I feel. How I walk different after. How I'm aware of my own body in a way I'm not any other time. Like you remind me I have one."
I push inside her.
All the way.
No warning. No more slow. Just—in, deep and full and buried, and she gasps so sharp it echoes off the metal walls above us, both hands slammin' flat against my shoulders, head droppin' forward.
I pull back and do it again.
Hard.
She cries out.
I do it again. And again.
The silo wall takes the force of it and doesn't care, old metal rattlin' faintly somewhere above us, fairy lights swayin', and she's loud now—she gets loud when it's like this and I want the whole county to hear it, want every jackass who ever looked at her wrong to hear exactly whose name she's sayin', who she's callin' for, whose cock is buried so deep inside her she can feel it in her spine.