Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
As I tongue her clit while milking her G-spot, her moans shift from breathless murmurs to husky screams. A fine mist of sweat covers her body, and she shakes more with every flick of my tongue.
“Christ,” she murmurs, her tugs on my hair now cruel.
“Close, angelo. Very close. But we can do better.”
After pinning her hips to the ground, I eat her like a man starved of taste. I bury my face between her thighs and go to town on her greedy cunt.
I can’t stop licking her, tasting her, fucking her with my mouth. It’s almost manic. Brutal. It’s borderline caveman-like.
“Christ… shit… fuck…”
My dick will be covered in carpet burn by the time she comes. That’s how firmly I’m driving it into the carpet. We’re moving in sync, fucking with the rhythm of two people who’ve been intimate for years.
It is the best sex I’ve ever had, and I haven’t even entered her yet.
“You’re still not there yet, angelo.”
With my spare hand, I reach down and spread her pussy lips, exposing the little nub aching with the desire I rewarded it.
It only takes one lick to push her over the finish line again.
Pleasure shoots up my spine when she whispers my name as waves of ecstasy flow through her.
“Better, angelo. Much better.”
Even while orgasming, Lucia moves with seemingly effortless precision, but beneath her lust-filled eyes and sweaty face, I see the hours, dedication, and grit it took for her to reach this level of comfort. She hasn’t always been this confident in her skin. Is that why Camille immediately took to her?
There’s a comfort in similarities overlapping, as there are strengths in differences.
My proposal could offer Lucia the best of both worlds.
I just have one matter to attend to first.
The intense throbs in my cock and discovering just how tight Lucia is.
Chapter 6
Lucia
The pulsing ripples of my second climax are still shimmering through me when Dante bands his arms around my sweaty back and lifts me onto his lap. His cock is curved upward and protruding toward his stomach, and his balls rest between his mannish thighs. I’ve always loved football players’ thighs. They’re chunky and durable, capable of withstanding any test.
After parting me with his fingers, he demands my focus by swiping the head of his fat cock over my clit. A low moan escapes me when my body picks up the thin layer of latex. I would have mourned if Dante hadn’t come prepared.
I would never have forgiven myself if I had to stop this now, but I wouldn’t have had a choice.
If I want to escape the circumstances of my past, I can’t repeat the same mistakes.
“Ready, angelo?” Dante asks, eyes fixed on me.
My head bobs, our closeness almost overwhelming. It’s so intimate being this close to him. I see every subtle change in his features as he slowly enters me, the relief that flashes in his eyes when tearing doesn’t interrupt his entrance.
I sway my hips side to side, trying to adjust to the sudden but much welcomed intrusion. A mix of pleasure and pain spasms in my womb as tingles spread low in my stomach.
It’s painful to be with a man as well-equipped as Dante, but also euphoric because this time, I’m no longer a virgin.
“Don’t rush,” Dante says, clutching my hips when I try to dismount him. “Give your body time to adjust.”
His slightly parted lips catch my moan as he flexes his dick, stretching me without removing his cock.
“That’s it,” he coaches as the rekindling flames licking my insides loosen the frantic clutch on my pussy. “Just like that.”
The rhythm of my hip thrusts is now painless enough to slowly slide me up and down his impressive cock. Our pace isn’t close to making love. I don’t even think you can call it that, but it feels incredible. It reminds me that sometimes pain can also be linked to pleasure.
Without the storm, we’d never see a rainbow.
A moan of relief that I finally get to choose instead of being forced slips from my lips as I wrap my arms around Dante’s neck. His leverage lets him move me easily, and in seconds, the fear of tearing turns into lust, and our rhythm quickens.
“Let me ride you,” I beg, craving a bit of control.
Dante sinks another two inches when he shifts from a praying pose to one that mimics sitting in a chair. After shoving his pants and boxers down to his knees, he leans his back against the only chair in the room and then waves his hand across his body. “Take what you need, angelo.”
I adore his nickname, but it couldn’t be more wrong.
I’m far from saintly.
Some choices were made for me, but others I chose myself.
They ensure I’ll never be mistaken for angelic.
Like now. This is about correcting my wrongs. I’m being selfish, and although I will hate myself for it the moment it ends, emotions are a poison to any goal.