Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
And then, he kisses me, and I don’t feel the cold anymore. All I feel is warm and safe and a little overwhelmed, but in a good way.
An amazing way. And before I realize what I’m doing, I have his pants open and his cock in my hand.
What can I say?
Big feelings apparently make me want to fondle a big cock.
“Fuck, Clover,” he says, as I stroke him and he squeezes my ass again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but I don’t stop. I swoop my thumb over the tip of him, spreading sticky pre-come around the plump head of his cock, before stroking him again. “I’m not usually like this. I think you’re turning me into a sex addict.”
“Same,” he says, walking me back until my bottom hits the wall in a small alcove tucked out of sight of the door. “Think you can get your dress down fast if someone else decides to visit the roof?”
I nod, fast and loose. “Yes. I can. I absolutely can.”
A moment later, my dress is up around my waist, and my panties are tucked into Dean’s front pocket. Then, he shoves his pants and boxer briefs down just far enough to set his erection free before lifting me and guiding my legs around his waist. He somehow manages to get his cock lined up without releasing my thighs—skilled, the man is so very skilled—and then he’s inside me, sending my breath rushing out with an increasingly familiar surge of arousal and relief as he takes me against a wall for the second time tonight.
Third time, if you count the shower as a wall…
“Yes, yes,” I chant, clinging to him as my hips buck harder into his. I’m already so sensitive, so well-fucked that my pleasure spirals fast. “More. Deeper. Please, oh, God. It’s so good, Dean. It’s so good with you.”
“So good,” he says, his breath coming faster as he gives me exactly what I need. “Fuck, you make me want you so much, baby. All the time. Every minute of every day, Clover. I just want to be inside you, making you come for me.”
“I love it,” I say, biting my lip as the unwinding begins. “Love it so much, so… God, I’m coming. I’m coming again.”
He groans his approval into my neck as he joins me, his cock pulsing so deep inside that I feel it in places no cock should be able to reach.
But I like that he reaches those places.
That he reaches all my places…
Even my heart, that place I’m beginning to think I’ve been guarding too hard. At least as far as he’s concerned.
“I like you,” I confess as he wipes my thighs with a tissue from my purse, insisting on performing the clean-up crew duties, as usual.
He looks up with a shy smile that does further damage to my guardrails. “I like you, too. And I want to be your boyfriend for real. Maybe we can tell Blue next week? Together? And let the rest of them find out whenever they put two and two together?”
I cup his perfect face. “Yeah. That sounds good. I’m not nervous about telling Blue, though. He just wants me to be happy. If I tell him I am, then he’ll be happy for us. Easy-peasy.”
“I hope so,” Dean says, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Eleven years is a meaningful age gap.”
I nod seriously as I accept the panties he presses into my hand. “Yeah, you’re super old. It would be gross if your cock wasn’t so rock fucking solid. But it is, so…”
He laughs, his eyes glittering. “All the time, woman. You keep me up so often, I’m starting to worry about my brain. I’m not sure it’s getting enough blood flow these days.”
“Who needs blood flow to the brain when there are orgasms?” I step into my panties, shimmying them up before shimmying my dress down.
“Hot and smart as hell,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of here. I need to feed you crepes at Sylvester’s. Then I need to take you home. To bed.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, giving him a teasing salute as we head for the door.
We hold hands until the very last second before parting ways, agreeing to take separate routes back through the party to the elevators.
I breeze past the shrimp without feeling tempted—orgasms trump shellfish every time—say goodbye to Makena and a few other people on my way out, and am on my way to the elevator when I spot a familiar bald head by the poker tables in the corner.
I pause, stomach flipping as I do a double take, realizing I don’t like this guy for some reason, before I remember how I know him.
Maybe Dean’s right. Maybe I’m not getting enough blood flow to my brain, either, because it takes a solid thirty seconds to connect that bald head and bulldog features to the pictures Plato showed me yesterday during our meeting with his dad.