Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“You like that, baby?” he grunts, gripping my blonde locks in his fist.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper, the words torn from me by pleasure. “It feels so good!”
“I know, sweetheart, because you have a slutty cunt that only Daddy’s deep fuckings can satisfy. Isn’t that right, Eliza? This wet pussy craves big dick.”
I can’t answer as he pounds harder, faster, my body singing with sensation. I’m close again, the heat building with every slap of his hips. Jack knows exactly what he’s doing; he pulls me up, one arm around my waist, and reaches down to rub my clit while he keeps thrusting. The double stimulation is too much and I come again, seeing stars as I scream to the Heavens, my pussy clenching so hard it almost pushes him out.
He holds on, fucking me through it, until he groans and shudders, his penis reaching deep inside. Then Jack explodes, shooting hot jizz inside me.
“Fuck!” he roars. “Oh shit shit shit!”
The feeling of him, pulsing and raw, sends aftershocks through my body as I’m pumped with gallons of hot, virile semen.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans again, still pumping. “Oh shit.”
I mewl with pleasure, my pussy convulsing around that hard shaft, milking it for every last drop. I love how Jack makes me feel, so taken, feminine, and filled with his virility. I’m utterly satisfied, and mewl again, my head dropping from my shoulders. For a second, we just stand there, bent over and panting, clinging to each other. Then he kisses my temple, gentle now, and helps me upright.
“Jesus, Jack,” I say, pulling my skirt down, “are you trying to kill me?”
He laughs, that low, rumbling sound I crave. “You’re a tough cookie, sweetheart. You can handle my massive size.”
I want to say something clever, but all I can do is smile, sweaty and sated, high on endorphins and the realization that this is my life now—this man, his massive body, and this need. I’ve never felt more alive.
Jack gives me a minute to catch my breath, then takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. I know it well now, but I still adore the masculinity of the space. There are massive stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, and the fridge is covered in magnets—Air Force bases, Machu Picchu, a few with dirty jokes. There’s even a photo of a much younger Jack standing next to a fighter jet, grinning with reckless abandon, and I love it.
“You still want steak?” he asks, pulling two thick ribeyes from the fridge.
“God, yes,” I say, “but I also want to shower first. I’m a mess.”
He eyes me, a sly grin curling his lips. “You look perfect to me, sweetheart, but if you want to freshen up, go for it. I’ll set the table.”
I skip up the stairs and into his bathroom before splashing cold water on my face. I stare at my reflection for a beat. I look wild—cheeks flushed, blonde locks disheveled, lips swollen. I look like a woman who’s been thoroughly, spectacularly fucked, and I love it.
When I come back out after a quick rinse, Jack is at the stove, bare-armed and focused, turning steaks with a pair of tongs like he’s defusing a bomb. He’s made a salad and opened a bottle of wine, and the table is set with actual cloth napkins. For a moment, I watch this man, admiring the contrast: the roughness of his hands against the delicate stemware, the way he moves with purpose even in the most mundane of tasks.
I sidle up next to him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He leans back into me, nuzzling my cheek.
“You make this look easy,” I murmur.
He shrugs, flipping a steak. “Forty-five years and I’ve cooked for myself for forty-four. You pick up a few tricks.”
We move in tandem, plating the food, pouring the wine, bumping hips and laughing when we collide. The air between us is different now—still electric, but softer at the edges, the heat tempered by something like comfort. I didn’t know that was possible, not with him, not with anyone.
At the table, we sit close enough that our knees touch. I rip into my steak, moaning with pleasure at the first bite.
“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Jack asks, feigning worry.
“God, no,” I say. “I’d die.”
He smiles, chewing thoughtfully. “You could probably live on wine and cake if you had to.”
“Wine, cake, and you,” I reply before I can stop myself.
Jack’s eyes flicker with something devious—filthy thoughts? Amused thoughts? “You planning to keep me around that long, sweetheart?”
I flush, but hold his gaze. “Maybe. You haven’t scared me off yet, big boy.”
He laughs, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “That’s because I’m on my best behavior.”
I giggle. “You call the endless raunchy lovemaking your best behavior?”
He shrugs, the movement sending a ripple through his arms. “I want to do even more, sweetheart. I want to fuck you into next week, and then five ways on Sunday.”