Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Pen,” he says, stroking my clit just enough to make me squirm and grind into him.
“What? Yes?” I tug on his suit, dragging down over that fine ass so I can grab it.
A dark chuckle huffs against my neck. His hand moves to cup my butt with equal greed as he pushes himself between my legs. The hard length of his cock slides over my slippery sex like a taunt.
“You ever fuck in a pool?” Rhetorical question given he’s my first and only. But I appreciate the sentiment.
A smile dances on my lips as I brush them against his. “No. You?” It comes out breathless and weak. I’m too distracted by the way he rocks his hips, the fat crown of his dick nudging at my opening.
“Nope.” He pushes just enough to breach me then holds steady. “Want to try it?”
My eyes flutter. I catch his earlobe with my teeth. He shivers, and holds me tighter, as I wiggle my hips, trying to get him inside me where I’m empty and aching. But he won’t let me get my way. Not yet.
He presses firm kisses along the curve of my neck, sending shivers down my skin. “You didn’t answer the question, sweet Pen.”
I find his mouth, kiss him with messy need. “Yes, please.”
“So polite.” He grins against my lips. “Now, be a good girl and wrap those legs around me. That’s it. Just like that.”
With a dirty grunt, he moves those powerful hips and thrusts in slow and deep. I am filled. And there’s no more talking.
Twenty-Eight
MadMarch: Question. If Plankton is serving chum, and Mr. Krabs is serving krabby patties, & we ALL know it’s ground up crabs. Does that make the populace of Bikini Bottom a bunch of cannibals?
BestLuck: Back in my day, I studied during midterms
MadMarch: Your “day” was last year, broho & why do you think I’m watching SpongeBob? My brain needs a break
BestLuck: Needs more than that
Penny: If Bikini Bottom was created from the fallout of Bikini Island being destroyed by a nuclear bomb, then it would fit that the inhabitants might be a little . . . different.
JuneBug: They’re talking sea creatures. Obvs they’re different
MayDay: WHY is Pearl almost the same size as Mr. Krabs? She’s a WHALE
BestLuck: SpongeBob has been on boats. That SINK. Underwater. They have campfires on the beach. Underwater. Suspend your disbelief, MayDay. It’s the only way
( . . . )
BestLuck: And shouldn’t you ALL be studying?
MadMarch: We’re having philosophical discussions here, old man. Go throw some balls or something
BestLuck: How about I throw you?
MayDay: I’m gonna start calling you Dad, Augie
Penny: Pls don’t. He’s my boyfriend. I can’t cross the streams
JuneBug: WHA?
MayDay: Like for reals???
MadMarch: knew it
Penny: Um
BestLuck: ;-)
Pen
Though we haven’t formally discussed things, August comes over every night he’s not out of town. I guess we’re living together in a way, but it’s more like we can’t seem to be apart and make the effort for that not to happen. And I like it. I really like it that he comes home to me.
The thought enters my mind again when I hear the front door open and August call out, “Where’s my girl?”
A happy smile forms as I shout back that I’m in the kitchen.
It’s evening now. Golden light sits heavily on the trees and glitters on the pool’s surface. I’ve spent the day studying and writing papers—despite August’s chiding—and then vacuumed the house, which is my least favorite chore. Now I’m relaxing by listening to Goldfrapp and cleaning off the vegetables I harvested from the garden earlier. It isn’t something I ever thought I’d enjoy but here we are. These tomatoes are thriving because I tended to them, and I find it satisfying. Besides, they taste damn good.
A pair of big hands settle on my hips, as soft lips find the exposed column of my neck. “Hey.”
Smiling, I reach back to cup his cheek. “Hello.”
His mouth roams over my sensitive skin. “Whatcha doing?”
“Prepping dinner. I hope you’re ready to eat.”
“As it happens . . .” With a deft move, he spins me around and sets me on the counter. A grin flashes before he kisses me. Soft, deep, luscious. I melt into it with a gasp, my hands wrapping around his neck to keep him close.
I haven’t fully disclosed everything to August regarding sex. He doesn’t know that I never got involved with anyone else because I only wanted him. Confessing that might sound stalkerish. And, in all honesty, I didn’t want to be so hung up on August that all others left me cold. I’d found myself annoyed by my body’s stubborn resistance to alternate lovers, and its equally stubborn insistence on having him. It’s an awful thing to crave someone who never looks your way.
Now that’s changed. And there are times—many times lately—that I feel as if I’m navigating a dream. He wants me as much as I want him. There’s a heady joy in that. But it’s not like the pretty fantasies I had as a teenager. Sex is messy, sweaty, tiring, addicting. Freaking perfect.