Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
After delivering that threat that sounded more like a promise, he finally bridges the gap himself and gives me a hot, wet kiss, tasting me and letting me savor his smoky, marshmallow-y taste.
When he lets me come up for air, I whisper, “You taste like marshmallows.”
He glances down at my lips. “You taste like cherries.”
“Did you really want to do that,” I ask shyly, referring to what he told me about wanting to eat me out on the bus, “to me? On the bus?”
Amusement flickers through his features. “I made a pros and cons list.”
“You did not.”
“Uh-huh. I got to ten pros. Pro number one: I get to eat your pussy. Pro number two: I get to make you my whiny little whore. Pro number three: I get to eat your pussy. Pro number four: Everyone on the bus, on the fucking highway, would know that you belong to me and that I’m giving it to you good. Because you’re so loud, aren’t you? Pro number five: I get to eat your pussy. Pro number six and seven and eight and nine and fucking ten: I get to eat your goddamn pussy.”
“W-what stopped you?”
“The fact that there’s a chance they could get a peek at your sloppy snatch and that’s not something I can allow, can I?”
“No.”
And I wouldn’t want to show them either. Only he gets to see it.
He comes down for another kiss.
When he breaks it, I look at his face, his mouth as I murmur, “I thought you’d taste like a rose, though.”
“A rose.”
“Uh-huh.” I trace the curve of his mouth with my fingers. “Because the first time I saw you, I thought your mouth looks like a rose, all plush and soft.”
“Hmm. If that’s your way of complimenting me, I suggest you try again.”
I look into his eyes. “Roses are my favorite flowers.”
“Yeah, no.”
“And you were smoking, so I thought a rose set on fire,” I share. “So up until my mom sent me away to Bardstown, I’d stand under that pink magnolia tree and smoke a cigarette thinking about you.”
He goes rigid. “You smoke a cigarette.”
Oops. Should not have told him that.
“I—”
“No,” he declares.
I wrinkle my nose. “How did I know you’d say that?”
“Because as reckless as you are, courting death like this, you still have some sense left in your head to tell you that I’m not going to be happy about it.”
“You know, you smoke and—”
“Yeah? Well, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“That’s double standards.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you going to stop doing it?”
I glare up at him. “You know, you’re taking this daddy thing a little too far.”
He narrows his eyes. “You wanted a daddy, remember?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You can’t. Not with me.”
Stubbornly, I make him wait.
“Dora,” he warns.
I sigh. “Fine, I will.”
He sighs too. “Good.”
I huff. “I’m not happy about this.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Mad, I go to look away from him, but he doesn’t let me. He goes for another kiss and I refrain for about five seconds before I give in and kiss him back. Maybe I should hold onto my anger at how bossy he was but when he’s sucking on my mouth like he’s sucking in air, I can’t be.
Breaking the kiss, he rasps against my wet mouth, “I won’t let you ruin yourself for me. You’ve done that enough.”
I fist his hair. “But I—”
“How do you feel?” he asks then.
I blush because I know what he’s asking. “Was that the second reason you didn’t let us walk here?”
His pretty features ripple with something akin to remorse. “It was bad.”
I put both of my hands on his cheek then. “It wasn’t.”
“I could’ve been more careful.”
“You were careful,” I insist. “It was exactly what I wanted.”
“You—”
“No, it was,” I cut him off. “I told you. I wanted to bleed for you, and I did. And I liked it.”
“That’s—”
“And”—I squeeze his cheeks—“you insisted on cleaning me up down there with a hot towel on top of drawing me a bath for my sore muscles. Even though I didn’t say a single word to you. But”—I place a soft kiss on his lips—“I’m thankful nonetheless. And I’m fine, I promise. So end of discussion.”
Even though I’m lying a little bit.
There is some soreness between my legs and my inner thighs throb when I move too quickly. But other than that, I’m truly fine and itching for a round two. Which I forgot to add up there, he denied on account of ‘my pussy being too trashed for another fucking.’
His words, not mine.
Pressing a hard kiss on my mouth as if every time I kiss him now, he has to kiss me back, he growls, “You didn’t have to. Your pussy looked plenty beaten up on her own.” Then, muttering to himself as if, “That was the least I could do after how I hurt her.”