Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
He pushes his fingers inside me, not one but two, and a wave of heat—sent all the way from the beginning of time itself—bursts over me. I slam my ass against the table and buck into Lennox’s hand as he fills me fully. He’s a miracle worker with his hands and tongue, and while he thrusts into me, he teases my tight, throbbing clit with his tongue of wonders. His fingers curl a little on the last stroke, and I know exactly where he’s going with that. It’s intense and white hot and also a little uncomfortable as he hits my inner walls and places I barely knew existed.
“Oh my god,” I pant. “Lennox…please. More!”
“You’re better than strawberry cake. Better than any cake.”
“Sweet, salty fries, yesssss.”
“Open your eyes, Cass. I want you to watch when I make you come, want you to watch your pussy coming all over my hand.”
The dirty talk thing is new for me. I would never have pegged myself as someone who would enjoy it, but here I am, half naked, splayed on my table, wanton and flushed, and begging for more, and I’m perfectly okay with that. This is Lennox, and I trust him. I. Trust. Him. I trust him with my body, I trust him with my thoughts, and I trust him enough to let him try and convince me to change my opinions about luck. And he pretty much did that, all while watching me pleasure myself. I trust him enough to do that. I also trust him to do this, even though I feel like this climax could actually tear me in half.
I open my eyes and watch as he works me with his fingers, seeing how they’re slick and glistening with my wetness. I watch as he watches me watch him, and it’s the headiest thing in the entire world. My brain is just as on board with this as my hoo-ha is. I don’t think I’ve ever had a full-body orgasm. Usually, I’m too busy working myself up to any climax. I’m just saying I might have, in the past, sometimes gone over chore lists, grocery lists, to-do lists—any lists in my brain before I realized that I was supposed to be dialed in—and then I would curse myself and work myself up to it with extreme fantasies. Or just fake it because I was getting dry, and everything was starting to chafe.
I can’t imagine ever not being connected with Lennox, connected with every bit of my being, every molecule that makes me me, including my brain, which is a huge part that has never truly been into this before. Before Lennox. Because my brain was definitely into it the other night.
Now my brain is losing its mind as I watch Lennox slowly torture me. This is what it means to die happy.
“Say other dirty things,” I pant, my eyes barely staying open.
Lennox looks right at me, his pupils blown, his face on fire with shadowy desire. “When I taste that cake, I’m going to do it with the taste of you still on my lips.”
“For the love of big juicy watermelons.”
“No, peaches. Your peach is the juiciest, sweetest peach I have ever tasted. You’re the perfect ripeness. The perfect amount of firmness and smoothness and lush fruit inside.”
“Peaches are slightly token, but I like the look on your face right now. It’s all feral and full of concentration, and your eyes are dark and heavy-lidded.”
His fingers work me a little faster, and this time, one of his fingers circles my clit. My chest starts heaving as I struggle to breathe.
“I can feel you clenching around me. After you shatter on my fingers, I’m going to lick them clean, tasting every single bit of your sweet climax.”
“Lennox…” I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I throw my head back and start to lose control. I’m panting so hard that the kitchen windows are probably fogging up like I’m cooking a big pot of pasta. Except I’m not. I’m cooking up something far, far better, and right now, there is hardly anything in the world better than pasta.
“That’s it, Cass. Come for me. Come while I watch you break apart, and I’ll know I did it to you. I helped you get there. I want to watch every second of pleasure play over your face while your pussy squeezes my fingers tighter than prunes.”
“That should not be hot,” I hear myself say, but my voice sounds like it’s coming from another room, somewhere far away. “But it is. It so freaking is.”
“You’re hot. You’re so beautiful. I love seeing you flushed and panting, and I love seeing you sweaty and aching for me. I love it more than I love bacon, and I really, really love bacon.”
“Bacon…tomato…sandwiches?” I choke the words out.