Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I’m glad the place is soundproof, because I wouldn’t be able to hold in my voice. My hole is as raw as my throat, but I swear he’s added lube at some point to make the glide smoother. He rides my ass as if his life depends on breeding me. I guess I did tell him it does.
I don’t know what I’m doing, because he controls the moment, and just take it, my cock drizzling pre-cum all over the blanket.
“You like that stretch?” he rasps. “You love a big dick?”
Dalton pats my ass as though it belongs to him. Maybe it does. Right now at least.
And then I feel it, there’s more, he pushes a slippery finger into my hole, right above his machine of a dick, and I fucking lose it.
I fall apart into a million pieces.
For all I know, the floor is floating above me as I lose my mind, at the very center of whirring reality. The only thing I care about is Dalton’s grip on my hips, the slap of his balls, the warmth of his breath on my neck.
I’m screaming.
My throat feels raw, as if it’s bleeding, but what would help me now if not Dalton’s warm cum? I want to taste it. I don’t want him to go. I want to savor every bit of him before—
It’s hard to breathe, and he wipes moisture off my eyelids, leaning over me like the majestic beast he is.
Unbelievably, he’s still fucking going, even as my ass clenches on his cock while I come.
“Oh yes… so fucking good, milk me with that tight pink—” He lets out a long grunt, soon followed by a moan so hot I’d suck him off every day for a chance to hear it.
He’s coming. Balls-deep in me, and I swear I can smell his cum as he makes the final few thrusts.
My legs are spread wide and I enjoy the tremble of his thighs against mine.
My head is empty. My balls are too. I can hardly catch my breath and the room won’t stop spinning, but Dalton’s embrace is steady as his breath calms.
My insides are like heated velvet, and I almost whine when his cock starts to deflate, still inside me. Fatigue sinks into my flesh with each passing second, but while I know it’s time to get up, Dalton’s weight feels so comforting on top of me. I don’t want him gone yet.
My own breath is scalding as it passes through my open lips, the inside of me still burning while my skin cools. I’m sinking deeper into the mattress, wet with my own drool and spunk when a loud snore makes my eyes pop wide open.
Has he… fallen asleep with his cock inside me?
I might have just finished, but that thought still makes my balls buzz with arousal. This man is so rough around the edges, so simple in his needs. Surely, it’s not normal to find that titillating?
I remember he’s wearing a rubber, and if his dick pops out of me, the condom will likely stay in, which is not only embarrassing but also defeats the whole purpose of wearing one.
I start tapping his hand.
“Hm?” Dalton wakes up. “Fuck. That was so good. Best you ever had?” he teases as I try to gather my thoughts about what just happened.
I don’t owe him the truth. But I can’t lie to myself. It was fucking life-changing, and I don’t know if it’s because he had no one to compete with in terms of skill, or because Dalton Cross is a sex god. A sex god my family will put to death tomorrow for the crime of owing us a lot of cash.
“There’s always room for improvement,” I say, but my heart isn’t in it, because my entire body is still buzzing with latent ecstasy.
In those last few minutes, he took me to another plane of existence, and this ugly room might as well be a gothic cathedral after dark, lit up with candles and colors dancing in the stained glass.
The used condom lands on the floor with a wet slap, bringing me back to reality in which I am a well-fucked mess, struggling to regain composure.
Dalton helps himself to my cigarette off my desk and lights it with my lighter. He does look pretty glorious with the black cig, I’ve got to give him that. Eyes half-lidded, satisfied smile, and wearing nothing but his ink. I can practically smell the dark particles forming the patterns on his flesh, char, and the sourness of blood.
He’s so damn beautiful I wish to compose a hymn for him, which I would then play on my violin while he smokes.
“Good enough for that antidote I hope?”
The antidote.
Right.
I shoot up, trying my best to appear graceful, but the mattress calls to me, and I stumble onto it like a calf learning to walk.