Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
So much. So much.
“Fuck. I’ve never been this stiff without coming. Don’t go any faster or I’m going to explode.” His forehead is shining with sweat now, along with the slopes and swells of his muscle, which are bunched with tension. “Swear to God, I’m going to be dragging you into the laundry hut ten times a day for this.”
“Not if I drag you in first.”
I’m on my back before I can take another breath, the man of my dreams pinning me to the area rug, his hips moving faster now, and he’s audibly panting, his thickness driving in and out of me, harder each time. “Is this too much?” He kisses me while I frantically shake my head no, moaning over a particularly deep thrust that causes my knees to jerk around his waist. “My plan was to go slow, but the way you move . . . I can’t.”
“Good. Don’t stop.” I move my fingers down between our bodies, touching myself where he left off, ominous tingles racing up the backs of my calves, thighs, culminating in a rippling strain in my belly. Yes. “I th-think . . . I think I’m . . .”
“Me too.”
“Oh my God.”
“I feel you. I’m feeling you finish.”
My nails dig into the breadth of his back, the intense constriction of my muscles making me arch my back, but I can’t, because he’s there, holding me down so perfectly, our bodies molded so tightly that we’re like a single being. There’s no recourse against the rush, and he takes it a step further, pinning my thighs open while I orgasm, and I’m totally vulnerable to pleasure, to him, to the final quakes of my foundation.
But it’s my insides that quake when he pushes deep inside of me, his breath catching, stuttering, followed by a prolonged guttural moan against my mouth, his frame vibrating on top of me while he climaxes, his abdomen flexing and releasing, hips jerking involuntarily. I decide then and there that I want to watch Dean come every day for the rest of my life. There is simply nothing more satisfying in this world.
Except, maybe, finding out he loves me the way I love him.
Hearing those words out loud someday.
Who knew someday would come sooner than expected?
Chapter Eight
Dean
Is this normal? To be suddenly tongue tied around a girl I’ve known for eight years?
Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.
But after I carry her piggyback style up to my room and lay her down in my bed, I can’t do anything but stare at her. She wraps herself around one of my pillows, still one hundred percent naked, and proceeds to speak to me in this sweet, silvery whisper that I will never be able to live without now. There is whisker burn on her neck, her lips puffy from being kissed, hair loose and wild . . . and I’m a changed man.
I can’t describe what’s happening, I’m just not the same person I was this morning.
There are stakes now.
Huge ones.
Margot-shaped ones.
I’m barely able to wrap my mind around the sex. I would say it felt like an out-of-body experience, but no, I was definitely in my body. Because I felt everything. Every little lift of her hips, every stroke of her hands, every breath she released against my fevered skin. I was grateful and protective and selfish and desperate all at the same time.
I’ve had sex before. Once with a girl I met on vacation three years ago—a Scout retreat, naturally. There was another girl that I met locally a while back, the one time I tried to go out and be social. Those encounters were fine, if functional. A little impersonal.
What Margot and I did wasn’t sex. It was making love.
We looked each other in the eye, without flinching, and gave everything.
I gave her everything, but I still want to give her more.
A relationship, to start. A permanent one.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to lie here across from her now and pretend like I’m not petrified she’ll go away. Surely my house will collapse now without her spirit inside to keep the roof elevated. Her laughter, her spontaneity and whispers in the dark. It’s in these moments in my bed, where she tells me about school, her irrational fear of oversize submerged objects, and a fun art project she has planned for tomorrow, that I realize I have been in love with Margot for a long time. In total denial about it.
Maybe because deep down, I knew one day I’d have to convince her to stay, and the anticipation of that was too much, too scary after the repeated blows of loss. The beautiful part is . . . I don’t need to guess with her anymore. She made it easy for me to ask for permanence between us, maybe because she knows I need love I can rely on.