Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
She’s everything.
She tugs at my hair as she pulses on my hand.
I work her through her orgasm, watching every perfect moment. She’s a fucking work of art. She’s poetry.
No, she’s a million times better.
She’s real.
Her eyes flutter open as she catches her breath. She looks down at me, hazy with bliss, but determined all the same.
She scoots back on my legs, undoes the button of my jeans.
I lift my hips to move the jeans, and my boxers, away.
She watches me with wide eyes, studying me with the intensity only Deanna can bring. As if she wants to memorize every line, every curve, every inch.
If I didn’t know better, I’d feel like a specimen, an animal at the zoo. But I know better. I know this is how she shows appreciation. I know this is her version of a work of art.
Pleasure floods my senses as she wraps her hand around me. She starts softly. Then harder. As hard as I need.
A groan falls from my lips.
Then she kisses me, and she works me with that same pressure and my body takes over. No thinking. Only the sensation of being in the moment, with her, exactly where I’m supposed to be.
After her next stroke, I wrap my hand around her wrist.
She gasps as I grab her, so I make my grip harder.
Her pupils dilate. Her chest heaves. She likes it this way. Not quite forceful, but close.
And it’s as thrilling as I imagined, leading the most powerful woman in the world.
“Condom.” I release her wrist.
She takes another heavy breath and reaches for the packet. She keeps her eyes on me as she tears it with her teeth and rolls it over me.
My hands go to her hips. She follows my motions as I lift her and position her body over mine.
I bring her lower and lower.
Until she brushes against me.
My body begs me to relent, to take all of her, all at once. She already feels so good. Too good.
But I need to take it slow. She’s trusting me, here, and that means more than anything.
I lift her and tease her again.
And again.
Until her eyes flutter closed, and her hands find my chest, my neck.
Then, when I’m sure she’s as desperate as I am, I pull her over me, one perfect inch at a time.
She envelops me with her soft flesh, stretching to take me, arching her back just enough to pull me deeper.
She’s good at this. I don’t know how she can see it any other way.
Her fingers curl into my neck. “You feel good.”
“You feel like heaven.”
She arches her hips again. She has that itch, the urge to lead.
I can work with that. “Show me, Dee.” I curl my fingers into her hips. “Show me how fast you like it.”
Deanna brings her hands to my shoulders and uses them for leverage, lifting higher, then taking me again.
Slowly, to start.
Then a little faster.
A little harder.
I try to watch her work, but it’s too intense. I have to close my eyes to contain the sensation.
There’s too much bliss in the car. It’s overwhelming.
“No.” She brings one hand to my chin and runs her fingers over my jawline. “Watch.”
My eyes blink open.
She runs her fingers down my neck with a soft, slow touch. “I love the way you watch.”
I do, too.
I study her expression as she drives onto me again. The need in her eyes. The softness in her brow. The curl of her lips.
The dark hair, falling back and forth.
The sharp collarbones.
The bounce of her breasts. They’re small, maybe, but they’re just the right size for my palm.
I cup her with both hands. I watch as I toy with her perfect pink nipples.
She groans and my attention goes to her lips, her eyes, her neck.
There’s too much of her to see. I want all of it.
A mirror. Next time, I need a mirror. A camera. To record this forever.
If she’s game.
Now, I need this, all of it.
I pull her closer.
She groans as I take her nipple into my mouth. I wrap my lips around her and test different speeds and pressure. A sharp flick of my tongue. Then a soft one. A corkscrew. A counterclockwise one.
She digs her nails into my skin as she drives over me again and again.
For the first time in a long time, I feel it: the sense we’re one. Not just because our bodies are joined. Because we’re working together. Because we’re in tune with each other.
She’s not a vision in my head. She’s another fucked-up person with flaws and needs and inconsistencies. And we’re in a too-small car, on a too-warm night.
The imperfection makes it perfect.
My thoughts dissolve as she brings her lips to mine. She rocks her hips against mine, pulsing around me as she comes, pulling me closer and deeper with every contraction of her body.