Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
His laugh isn’t as guarded as it normally is. It fills the concrete enclosure, wrapping around every part of me, making me like him more. More. Although like doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. Infatuation or attraction sound too superficial. I was waiting for him to be real, maybe because some intuitive part of me knew he could. Knew he would. I don’t know exactly how to describe what I have inside me for Tobias, but now that I’ve let it run wild, it triples by the second.
I stop analyzing and let it take over.
Tobias pulls me out onto the roof, letting go of my hand briefly to wedge his wallet in the door opening so we don’t get locked up here—and then it’s a free for all. He storms over me, kissing me from above as if to set the tone that he’ll be in charge, the crook of his elbow catching the back of my head and holding me steady for the assault of his mouth.
We switch directions, heads canting left, right, until I start to grow dizzy and frantic, my fingers curling into the front of his sweater. Every time we come up for air, his eyes are more and more glazed, his color higher. I thought I’d seen him aroused in the hotel room at the Conrad, but no. He must have been holding back behind that smirk.
This is Tobias ready to rumble.
The grin is gone, the walls are down.
He’s hard against my stomach, hips tilting to rock against me in that slow, inviting pace that brings a hundred different videos to mind. That first obligatory five minutes of foreplay before the clothes come off. Only it’s me he’s kissing now. It’s the seam of my leggings he’s tracing with his middle finger, pressing deeper and deeper with every rake of that digit. When he travels over my clit and jostles it gently, again, again, again, I jolt with a moan and his upper lip curls, baring his teeth to me, almost like he’s been wounded by my show of pleasure.
Looking me in the eye, he delves his hand down the front of my leggings, straight past the barrier of my panties, finding my damp heat with his fingers. His head falls forward and he chokes through a humorless laugh. “You deserve to have me down on my hands and knees, licking this, every time. But fuck me, love, you can’t get any wetter.” His middle finger presses into my opening slowly, but deeply. Deeper and deeper until I gasp, his breath growing shorter until he’s panting. And then he uses that hand between my legs to draw me up onto my toes, tilting the world on its axis. “What’s say I fuck you rotten now and lick this pretty thing off later?”
“Done.” Is that my whiny voice? “Sold.”
Half of Tobias’s mouth tilts up in a devilish grin, his eyes nothing short of unholy. He keeps his right fingers pressed up tight inside of me, wrapping his left arm around my shoulders and guiding me back, back, until I’m pressed up against hard metal. A waist-high box with vents every few feet. There’s a hum coming from inside, some kind of engine, and the white noise gusts over me, frees me even more to groan, to whimper over his now-thrusting fingers, how they plunge with authority, then retreat almost apologetically, before he does it again. Again.
“Do us a favor and unfasten my jeans, love,” he says in between erotic drags of his open mouth over mine, right to left. His saliva is smeared across my lips and cheeks and I love it. It feels appropriate. It matches my rough baseline of need for this man inside of me. “Take me out. Get used to seeing me in your hand. That’s the only place it wants to be.”
I’m eager, breathless, while thumbing open his button and tugging down the zipper carefully over the thick curve of his shaft. But I’d be lying to say there isn’t a part of me that experiences a sudden flash of inadequacy. This man has done this professionally. With other professionals. Plus I’m younger than Tobias by seven years.
Am I going to come across like a total amateur?
That thrumming baseline of lust inside of me crashes with a flurry of cymbals when I draw him out and see him live for the first time. In the flesh, not on a screen. To say he’s well-endowed would be stating the obvious. Not only that, he’s groomed and smooth and…fuck it, he’s succulent and ripe. My knees start to dip toward the floor, simply because it’s the kind of erection a girl wants in her mouth. It’s a foregone conclusion that this man gets a blow job, right? Out of appreciation for the grooming alone, he—