Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
How the fuck am I supposed to make a goddess fall?
Maybe Google can help.
Google is no help. It gives lame-as-fuck advice like "be your authentic self" or "create positive shared experiences". My authentic self is a pain-in-the-ass professional athlete—her least favorite thing. And fucking my kid into her would be an excellent shared positive experience. It's also one likely to get me murdered.
I toss my phone onto the hotel bed to scowl up at the ceiling, contemplating the merits of voodoo. I quickly decide I probably shouldn't go that route. I mean, it could undo whatever magic her cootie catcher put into the universe. Best not to risk it.
"Jesus Christ," I groan. I'm losing my mind. I fell for a goddess and immediately lost it. No wonder Kingston is always smiling now. He's dicking down his girl every day, living in this weird, happy bubble of fuckery. It's unnatural for motherfuckers like us.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message.
I reach for it, then sit straight up, grinning like an idiot when I see Emelia's name on the screen. She's texting me.
No.
She's thinking about me.
Future Wife: I sent your team the contract.
Me: Interesting.
Future Wife: ??
I scoot back against the headboard, getting comfortable.
Me: You were thinking about me.
Future Wife: Do you even live in reality, Royce?
Me: Admit it, you were.
Future Wife: Was not.
Me: Liar. You didn't have to text me to tell me you sent over the contract, but you did.
Future Wife: Yes, I did. I NEED YOU TO SIGN IT!!
Me: No. It's because you were thinking about me.
Future Wife: Whatever.
Future Wife: What are you doing?
I chuckle, glancing at the hand on my cock.
Me: Well…
Future Wife: That sounds ominous.
Me: Only if you have an aversion to dick pics.
Future Wife: OMG.
Me: Do you?
I wait, barely breathing, for her response. It takes so long, I'm almost positive she isn't going to reply at all. And then:
Future Wife: No.
I groan out loud, practically ripping through my goddamn fly to get my cock out. I don't even have to jerk off to get the bastard hard. He was ready to go as soon as her name popped up on my screen. I wrap my fist around him, fumbling with the camera until I manage to get a decent angle.
Before I can think it through or talk myself out of it, I snap the photo and send it.
Me: You did this.
Future Wife: Jesus, Royce.
Me: He's hurting for you, pretty baby.
Future Wife: Do something about it.
I groan her name, hitting the button to dial her number.
"Hello?" she whispers, her voice shaking.
"Say it again," I order, squeezing my cock hard.
"D-do something about it," she says.
"Fuck, Emelia," I groan, sliding my hand up my shaft. "Are you touching yourself too?"
There's a little gasp on the other end, all breathy and sweet. "Maybe."
"Yeah?" I rasp. "Tell me where your hands are right now, baby."
She whimpers, the sound hitting me right in the balls. "In my panties," she whispers.
"Let me hear it," I demand, already half-wild for her. I can picture the flush on her cheeks, her eyes all glossy and unfocused, hair messy and wild. God, I want to see it for real. I want her under me. I want to bite her lip and hear her scream when she comes. "Tell me what you're doing."
She doesn't answer, but I hear a tiny moan, then a shaky sigh. "I'm…"
I stroke my cock harder, squeezing the head. "You're what, Emelia?"
"I'm rubbing my clit," she breathes, her voice barely audible, but I hear every fucking syllable echoing in my skull. "God. I want your mouth on me, Royce."
"You'll have it," I promise, working my cock through my fist harder, faster. "Next time I see you, I'm going to eat you until you can't stand."
"Promise?" she whispers. I can practically hear her biting her lip, stifling a moan.
"Yeah," I growl, loving how desperate I sound. "And you're going to come on my cock over and over until you forget your own fucking name."
She gasps, and I hear the rustle of sheets and then her keening whimper.
"Oh my god," she moans, her voice hitching like she's about to sob. "Royce, I'm—" She doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, she just breaks apart, crying out my name.
It's perfect. It's fucking perfect, and it wrecks me. My own orgasm rips through me so fast it's almost a surprise. I grunt into the phone, her name on my lips. I stroke myself through it, milking every last drop until I'm wrecked, boneless, and panting.
There's a long, shaky silence. I hear her breathing, soft and sweet, and I wish like hell I could reach through the phone and pull her into my arms.
"I miss you," I rasp.
She's quiet for a long moment. "I miss you too," she whispers then, so soft I almost think I imagined it.
But I didn't imagine it.