Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
As a man, I had sex with exactly one woman. My wife. And I don’t even remember it.
As a scion, I’ve had my share over the decades. But I can honestly say, Syrsee from the diner parking lot is the very first woman I’ve wanted to be with in the entire sixty-five years since Paul sentenced me to Hell.
And I’ve known her all of ten minutes.
I lift my head up and look at her. I can’t even see her tits, she’s still got her shirt on. But I know that everything about this girl is magnificent and no matter what happens next, I’m going to keep her. I’m going to know her.
This is what I’m thinking when I stand back up, pop the button on my jeans, drag my zipper down, and pull out my dick.
Her striking, mossy eyes are wide open, her breath ragged and fast as she watches my hands jerking on my dick. I step forward, grab her knees, pull her towards me, and slide inside her.
She bites her lip again, harder this time. Because she draws blood.
The world suddenly goes hazy and my mind… skips for a moment. I get dizzy watching that pinprick of blood on her lip.
And in this skip, something happens that has never happened before. Not even with Paul.
I feel hunger.
Not lust, but… an ache. Not just for her body but for her blood.
I almost pull back. Almost pull out of her, that’s how much these feelings startle me.
But she sees something in my fraction of hesitation, and then Syrsee has a fraction of hesitation. And I know that these two fractions added together are more than enough to stop whatever it is that’s happening here.
And I don’t want this to stop. So I stop hesitating, which makes her stop hesitating, and then I just fuck her. Hard. My legs slapping against her ass. She cries out a few times, her fingers white-knuckle tight on my hands as I hold her legs open.
She’s wet, and warm, and then I lean down, pressing my chest against her breasts, and before I can hesitate for the both of us and stop what’s coming, I kiss her.
But I’m not really kissing her.
I am sipping her.
That little bit of blood. Just the tiniest few drops.
I am sucking her.
And as I do this, she comes.
The next thing I know, my eyes are opening and there is a sound of a door closing.
I sit up quickly and look around, trying to piece together the time I just lost. I’m naked and under the covers and I’m alone.
What the fuck just happened?
Then I remember the blood.
Holy fucking shit. Did I drink this girl? Is she dead? “Syrsee?”
“Oh, my God, Ryet. Your bathroom is nice.”
I smile a little. She’s still here. Still alive. Also, I’m thanking some god I don’t believe in that the first renovation project I did was my bathroom. Isabella was fucking pissed over this decision, but she backed down when I growled at her.
Before I got my hands on that bathroom it wasn’t fit for pissing. It’s not high-end, or anything. I literally did the whole job over a weekend. But it’s new, and it’s clean, and it’s bright.
Syrsee comes out and I almost fall over dead from the cuteness of her. She’s still wearing her sage-green, long-sleeved, tightly-clinging thermal shirt. But her hot-pink panties are peeking out from under the hem and she’s wearing her boots—unlaced and without socks.
I grin.
She leans against the wall, momentarily side-eyes it for filth, decides it’s fine for now, then flashes a grin back at me. “You lied to me.”
I lean back against the Magic Fingers headboard and take her all in. “About what?”
“You do not have food here. I found one can of soup and it expired back in 2005. What are you eating? The diner is closed until May.”
I’m not eating. Like… anything. Not since Paul came to see me in Miami. That can of soup was here when I moved in and I just haven’t had time to mess with the kitchen because it’s not important to me.
But I always have a cover story just in case I have to explain why I don’t have food in my house. “Would you believe the food bank?”
She laughs, then skips over to the bed, plops down, kicks her boots off, and climbs under the covers with me.
How is this my life?
I’m certainly not complaining, but seriously. How did I get here?
She snuggles up to me and I automatically reach my arm around her and pull her close.
I don’t know how this happened, but I’m definitely keeping this one.
“That’s kind of brilliant. Where does the food bank live? I might have to start shopping there too.”
“First Methodist back door. It’s on the corner of Second and Elm.” For some reason, I picture her bleeding lip during sex when I say this. Then I remember that I don’t remember how it ended. I know she came, but… what did I do?