Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Housewife?”
“There will never be laundry or dishes to do.”
“Laundry? Dishes?” His voice is gruff. “Is this your ‘sexy’ talk?”
He walks into a cubicle and pulls a leather cord that hangs on the wall. In an instant, warm water cascades over us.
Blinking drops from my eyes, I stare at the holes in the ceiling through which the water is pouring. “How do they heat the water?”
“That’s what you’re thinking about?” He pushes me against the wall, holding me up with his hands on my ass cheeks. “Now?”
I shrug. “I’m curious.”
“Insatiable.” He chuckles. “They warm it in cauldrons over a fire.”
“In every room?”
“They produce pellets from dried grass and pulp from hard wood trees that burn for a long time.”
“Like coals,” I muse.
Using the wall to support my back, he slips one hand between our bodies and enters me with two fingers. My inner walls flutter from the stretch, my belly tightening with pleasure.
“We don’t have much time,” he says, “so I want you to keep your eyes on me, and don’t you dare look away.”
I try to focus on his face as he presses a thumb on my clit, but the pressure is enough to bring me to a quick release.
“Aruan.”
“That’s right, my sweet. Show me how you come apart for me.”
The words push me over. I clench around his fingers, coming hard and fast but still needing him.
I bite my lip to stifle my sounds. Keeping his fingers inside me, he kisses me as if this is our last day together. It’s wild and uninhibited, two people drowning in lust and not coming up for air. The aftershocks of my orgasm pulse through my lower body, ripples of ecstasy like the flapping of butterfly wings.
I trail my hands over the smooth planes of his chest, tracing the hardness of his muscles and the deep grooves. When he finally lets me breathe, my lips are swollen, and my skin is chafed from his stubble.
Leaning my head against the wall, I grip his shoulders. “I need more than your hand.”
“If you want my cock, just say so.”
“You want a verbal confirmation? I want your cock inside me, Aruan. Now.”
The silver of his eyes darkens. “Then take it.”
He wants me to admit what I want, to show him I need him, so I do it. When he pulls out his fingers, I grip his cock and guide the head to my entrance. The moment I part my folds with the tip, he doesn’t constrain himself any longer. He takes back control, spearing into me with a single thrust. The punch of his hips moves my body up the wall, but I couldn’t care if he breaks me in two as long as he doesn’t stop.
I thread my fingers through his wet hair, holding on as he pounds pleasure into me. The sensations are overwhelming, and exactly what I asked for. What I want. What I need. Like he demanded, I keep my eyes open, showing him everything he does to me.
The pleasure builds slowly this time. I already know it’s going to hit me like a wrecking ball before he ups the pace. I hold on for what it’s worth, knowing he’s going to destroy me. Again and again.
He wraps an arm around my middle, bracing me for the final blow, and splays the fingers of his other hand over my chin and cheeks. Holding me in place, he kisses me until I taste blood on my tongue—his blood, I realize, where my teeth have cut his lip. I tilt my hips, chasing the friction I need. And then I’m there.
He thrusts deep one last time, setting off my climax as well as his own. Like he promised, he pulls out. Every line on his face draws taut with pleasure. He lets my face go to grab the root of his cock, painting my breasts and stomach with hot ribbons of cum.
I breathe hard in the aftermath, unwilling to let him go, already feeling empty without him inside me. He breaks away first. With a last peck on my lips, he lowers me to my feet.
Rubbing a thumb over the stubble burn on my chin, he asks, “All right?”
I only manage a nod.
The water is already running lukewarm. He makes quick work of washing us both with a bar of soap that smells like cinnamon milk and leaves silky bubbles on my skin. Once he’s rinsed us, he pulls the cord again. The holes in the ceiling close up, some kind of panel moving over them.
Instead of using the bath sheets left on a bench, he uses his evaporation trick to dry us. We dress in the clothes Evolet supplied, and exit the quarters. Thankfully, my aunt isn’t there. She must’ve gotten tired of waiting. Instead, a young boy of about ten is sitting cross-legged on the floor.