Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Don’t stop . . .
Don’t stop . . .
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Her wish is my command.
Her fingers tug at my shirt, and I help her pull it up and over my head. The cool air hitting my skin is a stark contrast to the heat in my kitchen.
Margot runs her hands over my chest, watching me with wonder, her touch igniting a fire that blazes through me.
“God, you’re perfect.” Her breath is another quiet murmur as her eyes roam my body appreciatively. “I’ve never touched anyone with an eight-pack.”
I don’t have an eight-pack but do not argue with her.
Tipping my head back, I give her a shaky laugh before leaning down to capture her lips, pouring all my pent-up desire for her into this kiss. All the frustration from lying to her, all the attraction I feel for someone I told myself I wasn’t going to date.
Yet here she is beneath me. Because I am a liar.
“You’re the one who’s perfect,” I murmur against her mouth, my hands finding the hem of her shirt.
I want to see her naked too.
With a quick tug, her shirt joins mine on the floor. I take a moment to admire her. The way her skin glows in the dim light. The curve of her breasts above the lace of her baby blue bra. Her smooth clavicle.
Margot’s breath is coming in short, ragged gasps.
The sight of her lying there in nothing but a bra and shorts is intoxicating.
Her soft palms travel from the middle of my chest down to my waistband, her touch sending sparks through my body when her nails scratch my skin.
“Let’s see what you’re keeping in here,” she teases, fingers pulling on the button of my fly.
I can barely nod my assent.
Brain dumb.
She undoes the button, deftly and somewhat confidently. No flinching, no hesitation.
The anticipation is electric, every nerve in my body on high alert.
As she tugs the zipper down, her teeth flirt with her bottom lip, biting. She’s excited too . . .
My zipper whirs down further.
“Oh my God, I feel like a virgin,” I joke, voice strained.
“Which we know isn’t the case.” She smirks as she slides south, her touch sending a jolt through me.
I try to chuckle, but it comes out more like a groan. “You’re killing me, Margot.”
I groan again when she removes her hands from my ass, fingers gripping my waistband. With a quick, decisive motion, my jeans are down around my thighs.
Together we shuck them off so I’m left in nothing but my boxer briefs (bright blue if you’re wondering), Margot’s gaze traveling the length of me, taking in every detail.
“I was impressed before, but now . . . I’m speechless.”
Her words are all the encouragement I need. My hands move to the waist of her shorts, and with a gentle tug, I add to the growing pile of clothes on my living room floor.
Margot in nothing but a pair of lacy panties, lacy bra, tits practically spilling over the cups.
I want to suck on her nipples.
Her skin.
All of her . . .
Slowly, I run my hands over her, feeling the warmth of her flesh. Her breath hitches as I explore, body responding to my touch, chest heaving.
Then.
Margot reaches for my boxers and, without preamble, removes them.
We’re both bare now, the heat between us so fucking unbearable.
I move her closer.
Skin against skin.
I capture her lips again, this time more urgently, my hands sliding beneath her and up her back, hunting for the clasp of her bra. With a flick of my deft fingers, it comes undone.
The baby blue lace falls down her shoulders. Panties melt off.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” I whisper, hands trailing down her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist, her hips. Her belly.
Her tits.
She moves her arms to the side so I can look my fill: boobs, pussy—the whole pretty picture . . .
“Then do something about it,” she taunts.
“You little troublemaker.”
Even though she’s buckass naked, Margot rolls her eyes. “Stop procrastinating.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
My hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, teasing circles. She gasps—good girl—back arching slightly, pushing herself into my hands. Oh, the invitation . . .
The sight of her responding to my touch, the sound of her pleasure, is intoxicating.
I am so unbelievably hard.
For a mom—can you believe that shit?!
Leaning in, I take one of her nipples into my mouth, sucking gently, then flicking it with my tongue. Blow on it, the cool air making it harden.
Her moan is soft but filled with desire, and it spurs me on—not that I need any more encouragement.
My other hand continues to caress and squeeze, reveling in the way her body moves against mine.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. I switch to the other breast, giving it the same attention.
I want more.
I need more.