Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
My heavy eyelids begin to close as he swiftly disrobes himself. I want to watch, but I’m so tired.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he laughs, lifting me from the toilet and into his arms. I hear the sound of water running and cringe. Why do I have to shower? I just want to sleep.
“This is the first time I’ve had the chance to see you naked and I can’t open my eyes.”
Chuckling, he places me under the warm spray and holds me tight to his nude body. Well… almost nude. Why is he wearing boxers?
Soapy hands move over my body as I lean back onto the wall.
“You have the most amazing body I’ve ever seen in my life,” Nathan says as his hands cup my breasts and squeeze gently. “I could worship you with my hands for hours.”
He continues stroking me, his soapy hands gliding over every inch of my skin. When one of them parts my folds and a finger slides over my clit, I groan loudly and my back arches. “Make me come, Nathan.”
His mouth meets mine as his middle finger pushes into me. “With pleasure.”
I gasp and writhe as he rubs the heel of his palm against my sensitive nub, the hot water cascading down over both of us. His finger rubs the inner wall, pulling at the magic spot in my sex that sends waves of euphoria through my muscles.
“I’ve never done this before,” he whispers in my ear, taking the lobe into his mouth and nipping it gently. A shudder wracks through me. “You’re the first. You feel amazing. So warm and wet. I never understood the appeal until now.”
He presses his arousal against my hip as I push my tongue into his mouth and smooth my hands over his chest.
Using his free hand, he lifts my leg and holds it around his waist so his hand has more room to move.
I’ve never felt anything like it. For a man that’s never done this before, he really knows what he’s doing.
“Tell me you love me,” he murmurs in my ear as the pressure builds in my stomach, making me grind against his hand and beg for more.
“I love you,” I cry, reaching for the waist band of his boxers. He gasps and pushes his hips into me to stop me from going further.
My body seems to implode, my drunken haze numbing everything but the intense pleasure that rips through me and settles in my womb. “Nathan,” I moan breathily, my orgasm silent apart from his name passing my lips.
“Tell me you love me,” he repeats, his hand leaving me and his solid length pressing against my mound.
“I love you.”
“Again,” he demands, his eyes closing tight before his face goes to my neck.
“I love you.”
He grinds almost violently against me, his breath heavy and deep moans forcing their way out. “I can’t stop.”
“Then don’t,” I insist, wrapping my arms around him. “Let me feel you.”
A choked sound escapes him. It’s closer to a sob than a groan of pleasure.
“Please, Nathan, let me feel you.”
“Tell me you love me,” he orders, pressing me further into the wall and grabbing the back of my hair almost violently. His body tightens, every single muscle that he owns seem to bunch and quiver. He’s going to orgasm. I need to see.
My eyes open and my hand pulls his face from my neck. I press my lips to his, smoothing my fingers over every inch of skin I can reach before finally trailing them down his back and cupping his amazing arse. “I love you.”
“I can’t stop,” he bites out, his hips working against me furiously.
Another climax hits me. There was no build up, no warning. I cry out and it takes everything in me to remain standing.
“Tell me to stop,” he begs. “Tell me…”
I don’t, of course I don’t. Instead, I push back against him with my own hips; circling them slowly and putting as much pressure on him as I possibly can.
“Let me feel you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I want to feel you inside of me, all of you.”
As if I’ve grabbed a bucket of ice and thrown it at him, he lunges back, making me tumble to the side and hit the adjacent wall of the shower. Ouch.
“I…” He says, his mouth hanging open in shock and disgust, but somehow I know that the disgust he feels is aimed at himself. Shaking his head, he steps out of the shower. Moments later I feel it turn off and I wait for his return. He doesn’t.
I drunkenly stagger from room to room, wrapped in nothing but a towel. It’s not until I check the driveway and see the lack of car that I realise he’s gone.
Maybe he’ll come back. I pull on one of his T-shirts and, after braiding my hair, I climb into his soft bed and close my eyes.