Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
While maintaining eye contact, I pump him harder, suck him faster, and double-fist his cock. I work him so hard and fast that you’d swear he paid for the privilege.
In a way, I guess that’s true.
I wouldn’t be here if he weren’t seeking a big payday and my mother wasn’t sick.
Not wanting to ruin the moment, I take him to the back of my throat before flattening my tongue, accepting him in further. We fooled around like this thousands of times before I knew of Mikhail’s family’s political influences, so perhaps this isn’t solely about one thing. Maybe other factors have contributed to our reunion.
Mikhail’s grip on my hair tightens so much that it is painful. I love the sting of his touch. It drives me wild with desire and has me giving him the performance of my life.
The more I work him, the harder he struggles to hold back his needy, desperate gasps.
In minutes, his breathing deepens to an unmissable level, and he grips my hair with deadly force.
As he returns my lusty watch, he feeds his cock in and out of my mouth, grunting and moaning with every frantic thrust.
My jaw aches, but I refuse to give in. I go wild with desire, and my confidence flourishes with every desperate moan Mikhail can’t hold back.
He’s burning up everywhere, and I’m right there with him.
My clit throbs as salty droplet after salty droplet pumps onto my tongue.
I milk him with my mouth, hand, and tongue until I’m finally granted the ultimate prize for my dedication.
A moan unlike any I’ve heard erupts from my throat when Mikhail’s hips still a second before streams of cum pump from his cock. They flood my tongue with his delicious taste and send my head into a tailspin.
As he stuffs his still-throbbing cock deep into my mouth, ensuring I don’t miss a single drop of his release, anticipation builds in my chest.
I hold so much power right now. Although I’m on my knees, sucking his cock, I’ve taken control. The odds are now in my favor. That’s how it has always been with Mikhail and me.
Excitement has already drenched my panties, but another truth wets them further.
Mikhail is at my complete mercy, which can only mean one thing.
I am mere hours from saving my family’s bar.
Well, I was.
I stupidly forget to alter my expression before realigning my eyes with Mikhail’s. He always could read me like a book. A decade-long hiatus appears to have not weakened his skills in the slightest.
“No,” I plead when he pulls back, freeing his somehow still-firm cock from my mouth with a pop.
The manic throbs of his girthy dick when he tucks it into his black boxer shorts set my blood on fire, but no number of silent pleas work.
The game is over, forfeited by the person who would have won by a mile if he didn’t have morals.
After a grumble about needing to inform Chef of his allergies, Mikhail heads for a secondary exit that I had no clue existed until now.
I assume he will leave without a backward glance, so you can picture my shock when he cranks his neck back just before he exits.
He takes in my kneeling stance and drenched panties my open trench coat can’t hide before he lifts his eyes to my face.
The pain in his hooded gaze exposes how badly he’s hurting, and I fucking hate myself for it.
This was not my intention when I allowed him to lower me to my knees. I don’t want to hurt him. I’m merely trying to protect my heart so he can’t smash it into smithereens for the second time.
Mikhail’s voice is hoarse when he says, “Once you’ve dressed, join me downstairs for something to eat.”
Despite being drenched with his cum, my throat’s rawness makes my voice come out scratchy. “I thought we were eating in our room?”
His lips twitch to hike into a smirk, but he fights it. His mouth remains as hard-lined as his words that hack my already frail heart. “We would have if I trusted you. Since I don’t, we will eat downstairs.”
Chapter 12
Mikhail
Heaven has no rage like love turned to hatred.
Emerson’s glare as she crosses the formal dining room gives that quote meaning. She’s dressed in more clothing than she wore hours ago—if you class a mini skirt, dangerously high stilettoes, and a fitted sleeveless lace shirt as clothing. Her makeup is light, and she has released and brushed her hair, removing the knots my tight grip caused.
She’s undeniably beautiful… and scowling furiously enough for me to keep that to myself.
I’m a fucking soft cock.
I was when I walked away like I hadn’t recently flooded her throat with my sperm, and I am now when I pretend to peruse the menu the chef prepares each morning instead of admiring how smoking hot my wife looks in her little red outfit.