Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
My hands slide down from his forearms and grip his hands, threading our fingers together. “That’s worse than psychotic. That’s b-barbaric.”
“She don’t need other men to look at her when her husband’s eyes follow her everywhere. When his eyes stalk her every move like his life depends on it. Like he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he went without seein’ her for more than a few hours. He wouldn’t be able to function from one second to the next if she ran away and he didn’t know where she was the whole fuckin’ time.”
I squeeze his fingers. “Radisson, I—”
“So I told him, no matter what happens, he isn’t to look at you, talk to you, fuckin’ breathe the same air as you,” he growls. “’Cause what happens between a man and his wife ain’t no one’s business but theirs.”
“God, you’re not… you’re not my husband.”
“He don’t know that.”
“And I’m not your wife.”
“But you better act like you are if you don’t want me to hurt him.”
I shut my eyes again. “This is—”
“Psychotic,” he says, completing my sentence. “But then again, you knew that, didn’t you, darlin’, that your husband’s goddamn psychotic for you.”
My cheeks blush and do it so hard I think I’m spontaneously combusting. I think if he doesn’t stop calling himself my husband, my heart is going to start believing his crazy, psychotic lie.
“Anyway,” he rasps, continuing. “My wife’s got some explainin’ to do. So how about you go ahead and tell me why you ran from me, while I get busy doin’ my own thing.”
I’m about to ask him what thing when one of his hands moves away from my waist and goes down my thigh. It doesn’t stay still, though, if that’s what I expected. It moves, gets under my new blue dress, and I gasp, asking, “What are you—”
His chest vibrates with another hum, cutting me off, and that’s because he’s at my panties now. My very wet panties. Then in my ears again, “Gotta say, though, my wife’s a little psychotic too.”
I shake my head, rolling it against this warm but vibrating chest. “I’m not your—”
“Or her tight little cunt wouldn’t be so wet for me.”
I dig my head into his shoulder. “Can you please not do this while I try to t-talk?”
“Afraid I’ve gotta.”
“What, why?”
“’Cause what kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t know what my wife tasted like.”
“What?”
“But you can talk,” he keeps going, all calm and collected. “It ain’t your mouth I’m gonna do things to, darlin’. Not right now, at least. It’s your juicy fuckin’ pussy I’m after.” He rubs his thumb over the center of my panties, somehow homing in on my clit and flicking it as he continues, “So why don’t you keep your legs open for your husband so he gets to play with your leakin’ hole while you tell him exactly why you ran from him. I promise I’ll listen. Reckon I’ll listen better with the taste of that tight princess snatch in my mouth.”
My words become a gasp and I flinch because somehow, in the matter of only a second or two, I feel him putting his finger inside me. I don’t know when he moved my soaked panties out of the way or even when I spread my legs enough for him to be able to do that. But sometime while he was saying filthy things to me, my thighs decided to obey him without me catching up, and he decided to thrust aside the drenched fabric so he can get to my pussy and now, he’s in there. And God, he’s just as big as he was the other night. When he put his finger inside of me for the first time. I can’t help but not only flinch at his sudden invasion again but also squeeze my channel around his big, big digit.
Making him groan. As loud as he did before when the bartender heard him. In fact, this groan was louder along with his words, “Goddamn, feels like the first time.”
For a man who doesn’t talk all that much, he sure said that in front of company, telling the bartender exactly what we’re doing back here. And even though it turns me on, doing this when someone else is around, I still think I should berate him. I still think I should tell him to be less shameless.
Except the words that come out of my mouth are something else entirely. “That’s b-because you’re so… big.” He grunts, pumping his finger once, twice, somehow stroking against that thin membrane inside of me, making me moan.
His face has completely dropped down on my shoulder. “Nah, it’s cause you’re so goddamn sweet; no matter how big I am, you’ll still let me do it.”
“But maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“If we…” I squeeze his hand and rock my hips. “If we do it enough t-times, it won’t hurt?”