Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
“Uh oh, seems to be a rubber ducky in the water or something,” she laughs.
“That’s not a rubber ducky,” I say.
“What is it then?” She plays dumb. “What’s in this tub with me?” she gasps, a full-on act of a damsel in distress.
“It’s a swamp monster maybe,” I say, “and it’s going to get you.”
She plays like she wants to escape as she hangs over the edge of the tub, and I get behind her. Her skin has a nice glow to it because of the wine and bathwater and also because she is just so naturally pretty. My hands rove over her ass, and my cock is against her lower backside and she pushes back against it.
“Are you having a lovely night, Isadora?” I kiss her neck and inhale her sweet scent.
“Vincent, I always have…a nice time…” she sighs, unable to get all the words out before I place myself inside of her. I find her perfect spot and she hangs over the tub, her long blonde hair touching the wet grass. The moon illuminates the night sky, finally making its appearance from under the clouds. I study everything as if it’s all on the big screen—as if this night is a movie playing at the drive-in—and I push my way inside of her. She reaches back to bring me closer to her, and we move in sync as she pulls at my hair. I continue to thrust, and I realize that this is the best night of my life. Hungry for more of Isadora, my hips thrust faster, my momentum building as the excitement courses through me faster and faster. I normally don’t fuck this fast, it’s not my style, but I think this is how she likes it. I manage to keep a solid traction against the porcelain tub as Isadora’s ass meets my thighs, her pussy clenching my cock with a starving need for release.
“Ahhh…” she lets out this amazing sigh that travels over the garden like the rainy smell has, and I look up at the sky and I swear I see a shooting star just as I’m shooting up into her.
***
After the bath, we go for a long walk around the garden—her hand in mine.
We’re talking about our favorite childhood memories, and I tell her about the first time I went to the car wash.
“Your favorite memory is about a car wash?”
"Just listen,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You know how guys are about cars, right?”
“Sure, what did you have some kind of muscle car?” she wonders.
“No, I bet Nathan did. No, no, I had a classic car; it was very appealing, so nice to look at it—not as nice as it is to look at you, but close. I got immense pleasure from driving this car. You know how if you adore something then you want to take care of it, right?”
“Sure,” she says, walking along, her tiny feet touching down on the moist ground. Everything seems so pleasant right then.
“Well, anyway, I took this car to the car wash, and there was a hot dog stand there and I just ended up spending the day there, with my best friend, and just washing this car.”
She’s quiet, and I wonder if I’m boring her. I guess some stories, when told out loud, just aren’t that riveting. But in my head, it just seemed like this amazing thing.
“Anyway, I just drove it around town afterwards,” I keep going anyway. “And I was like yeah, look at my car. And I picked up…” I stop.
“Picked up what?” She responds to let me know she’s been listening.
“I picked up…a girl.”
“Oh, you had a girlfriend?”
“Yes…” I don’t know if I should keep talking about her. Isn’t it not nice to talk about your ex-girlfriend? Don’t’ girls hate that or something?
“Savannah.” There, I said her name. I get it out there, and I honestly feel better now. “I picked up Savannah, and do you know what the funny thing about all of this was?”
“What?” “She didn’t even know that was my car, because that’s how dirty it was this whole time. She thought I got a new car!”
Isadora laughs, but I think there’s something forced about it. I think it’s horrible I just told a story about a car and this ex-girlfriend of mine.
“I like the memories I have of me and my mom,” she shares. “We used to spend the day sunbathing, and that was nice. My mom loved to sunbathe, and I think that was when she was the happiest. And she made the best lemonade, I’m telling you, Vincent. It was just incredibly delicious.”
“Sounds great.”
“You know I can make it some time, I have the recipe. I mean, if you and Nathan are even interested.”
“Nathan will spike it with his alcohol, surely,” I snide.
“Yes,” Isadora laughs. “But you can’t say it wouldn’t make it better.”