Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I sag against the desk. Dammit.
“You’re literally making me crazy,” I say, pouting. “I didn’t torture you. I let you—yes!”
I sigh in relief as he repeats the process with a little more pressure.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please. Don’t stop this time.”
I’m desperate for a release. I need to unwind this ball that’s bound so tightly it hurts.
He licks my pussy but goes nowhere near my clit. The swollen bud aches, craving his attention. But the asshole ignores it like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
I know that’s a fucking lie.
He dips his tongue inside me, adding a finger at the last minute. I groan in desperation.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask, fake crying.
“I don’t hate you. Do you think I’d bury my face inside someone I hated?”
I run my hands over his head. “I’m not sure. It might be possible.”
He laughs, going back to torturing me.
Troy’s not in a hurry. None of my protests speed him up. In fact, the more I beg, the slower I think he goes.
He licks, and sucks, strumming his fingers inside me like he’s playing an instrument. Each touch, each swipe of his tongue, sends shots of unsatiated need barreling through me.
“I can’t,” I say, my eyes squeezing shut. “I just need to—ah!”
My lungs release air in a steady moan as he licks circles around my clit. Each flick of his tongue over the sensitive spot sends a shock straight into my core.
“Is that better?” he asks, grinning against my flesh. “You’re complaining a hell of a lot less.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll fuck that, too.”
I don’t tell him that I’m so wound up that I might just let him if he asks.
I shift against the desk, my ass sticking to the wood. The sound of my skin peeling away from the desktop slices through the room.
“Please let me come,” I say, whimpering.
I’m shaking uncontrollably. My legs tremble. I am so close. Almost there.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, sucking my bud into his mouth.
I moan, unable to control the volume. My voice fills the room, rising over the sound of Troy licking my pussy.
He increases the speed of his assault. I’m panting for dear life, barely able to keep my eyes open. I grab his head and pull it into my body, spreading my knees as wide as they’ll go.
Two fingers slide inside me, twisting as he pulls them out.
“Troy …”
His name is a shaky, three-syllable word as I teeter on the edge.
“Look at me,” he says. When I don’t, he stops all movement. “Look at me.”
I breathe, opening my eyes, and they immediately find his.
He smirks, dropping his face to my pussy again, and plunges his fingers deep inside me.
I gasp as he presses his tongue against my clit.
I shriek when he doesn’t stop.
I tremble on his tongue as he gives me what I’ve asked for—and makes me come in his mouth.
“Oh, my God!” I yell, unable to stop myself from shaking. “Fuck you!”
My hips lift, my thighs try to press together, but he refuses to move. The orgasm is too powerful. The strength of the climax is too much.
The room fades away, and I’m unsure if I’m floating or still on the desk. I’m not even sure where he’s touching me anymore. It feels like he’s everywhere.
“I can’t … Troy! I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he says, milking my orgasm for me. “Stop fighting me.”
The intensity begins to wane, and my vision slowly returns. The room isn’t a blur anymore. I go limp.
Troy stands, his face glistening with my cum. He smiles and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask, too tired to even sit up.
“That was the most typical Dahlia thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
I hum, too exhausted to care what he’s talking about.
“You beg me to eat your pussy, then you fight me when it gets good.” He scoops me up in his arms. “That’s such a you thing to do.”
“A me thing to do right now is to take a nap.”
“Let’s clean up together, and then we’ll lie down.”
I run my finger along his jaw, my heart filled with adoration for him. “Sounds like a plan.”
He gives me his new shy smile and carries me away.
Chapter Eighteen
Troy
Sleep has never been a friend of mine.
I can’t remember a time in my life when rest came easy. As a child, when the sun went down, things got sporty. Dad would come home and wake the whole house up with his yelling and breaking shit. If he was gone, the paper-thin walls would betray my mother’s privacy, and Travis and I could hear her crying in her room. Ralph even knew. Once it got dark, he’d corral my brother and me into our shared closet of a bedroom and lay in front of the door.
And we waited.
It’s been twenty years since I lived in that house—since I lived with, since I had parents—and I still fight anxiety every evening. Old habits die hard.