Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Walsh’s hand dips back down, gathers more of the lube he deposited in me not long ago, and one finger easily slides in my ass.
I start to pant and push back against him. I feel his other hand spreading my cheeks, perhaps to get a better view, then he’s got two fingers inside me. He moves them in a way that I can feel the stretch. I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling, listening to Walsh’s breaths become more shallow and rough.
Three fingers in and I’m uncomfortably full, and still I push back against him.
“Fuck,” he mutters, then his fingers are gone and his cock is pushing inside me slowly. I blow out all the air in my lungs and my instinct has me still pushing back against him, absolutely no fear of what he’s doing.
“More,” I tell him breathlessly.
He slides in an inch, and it burns oh so fucking good. He waits, and the burn goes away.
“More,” I urge him on.
“Mmm,” he moans as he slides in a little deeper. “So tight. So perfect.”
My chest is heaving, the pressure of the excitement of what he’s doing to me almost suffocating.
Walsh’s hands come to my ass, and I can feel him pulling my cheeks apart again. I look over my shoulder, and, once again, he’s staring in fascination as he enters the one place no man has been before.
He leans his weight against me, sliding all the way in, and I think I want to die from how good it feels. If I thought I had an emotional connection to Walsh before—for saving me when I was bleeding on a bathroom floor or for giving me so much pleasure the last few days—none of that compares to the way I feel about him in this moment.
I’ve shared something with him that’s priceless.
“You okay, Jor?” he asks roughly.
“Yes,” I huff out. “You?”
He chuckles, then his eyes come to mine as I continue to look at him over my shoulder. “You have no idea how fucking turned on I am right now.” His eyes slide back down to where we’re connected. “Seeing my cock stuffed inside your ass.”
I can’t even answer as he pulls back to the tip and slides gently back into me.
“Oh, God,” I moan as I wiggle a little against him.
“Now your ass belongs to me as well,” he says in a guttural voice of triumph that I feel all the way down to my clit. It compels me to touch myself, and Walsh starts to move in and out of me.
He takes his time, stays ever so gentle with his movements, and I reach a quick orgasm with my own fingers. Walsh praises my initiative. With a few more strokes, he’s filling my ass up with his semen.
We collapse to the bed, and I’m out like a light.
♦
“Jorie, wake up,” Walsh calls to me softly.
I feel his lips against mine, and I swat him away. “No more. I’m tired.”
Walsh laughs in amusement and then the smell of coffee hits me. I open my eyes and see Walsh fully dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, his hair damp from an obvious shower, sitting on the edge of the bed near my hip. He’s holding a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.
I manage a sleepy smile and pull myself up to sit against the headboard, wincing as various aches hit my body, most of which is centered around my ass having been fucked last night.
Or was that this morning?
I’ve lost track of time.
“Sore, huh?” Walsh asks me with a knowing smirk on his face.
“You absolutely have to leave my ass alone tonight,” I mutter as I take the coffee and blow on it.
“Good,” he says with a bigger smirk. “I feel like fucking that pretty mouth tonight. We’ll work on your deep throating.”
I roll my eyes at him and take a delicious sip of java heaven. When I swallow, I ask, “You on your way to work?”
“Got property to buy and things to build,” he quips as he looks at his watch, then back to me. “But first, we need to discuss a few things.”
“I’m not letting you push me away again,” I practically hiss at him.
He grins. “Relax there, hell kitten. I’m not pushing you away.”
“Okay,” I mutter and take another sip of coffee.
“First,” he says as he leans on one hip and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a sheet of paper. “This is the code to the penthouse elevator. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Warmth again blooms within me, and I manage to withhold a sappy smile so Walsh doesn’t think I’m getting too attached. He puts the paper on the nightstand and I give him a solemn nod, although I’m dancing inside. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Second,” he says as he places his palm on the mattress near my opposite hip and leans over me. “I need you to call Micah.”