Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
The market starts to wind down, stalls are closing, the crowd thins, and Jason’s yawns grow heavier, his steps slowing, but I almost don’t want to leave. I wish we could stay here forever. The three of us. Happy.
Max scoops Jason up, his small body curling into his father’s chest, the stuffed bear dangling from his hand. “Time to head home, buddy.”
I nod, my throat tight.
We walk to the SUV, the cool night air brushing my bare arms. Max’s hand grazes my lower back as he opens the passenger door, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver through me. I slide in, the leather cool against my skin.
The drive home is quiet, Jason dozing in the backseat, his breathing, a gentle rhythm. Max’s hand rests on the console, inches from mine. I steal glances at him, his profile sharp in the dashboard’s glow, and his jaw tight with the same tension I feel.
The city lights fade as we pull into the driveway. Max carries Jason inside, and I follow, carrying all Jason’s winnings. We go up the stairs in silence and I stand at the doorway and watch as Max lays him down on his bed, pulling the superhero duvet over his small frame, the stuffed bear tucked beside him. My heart aches at the tenderness in Max’s movements, the way he brushes a curl from Jason’s forehead.
He turns, catching my eye, and the air shifts, thick with unspoken need. He turns off the bedside lamp and comes to me. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, and he pulls me gently down the hall, the sconces along the hallway cast warm pools of light. The empty house is all ours, a haven for our stolen time.
We reach my room, and Max shuts the door and locks it, the click soft but final, sealing us in. His eyes meet mine, and they burn with passion. My breath catches. He steps closer, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks. I lean into him, my heart pounding, every nerve alive with his nearness.
“God, you are so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough, low, breaking on my name, and his lips find mine, soft at first, a gentle press that deepens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing them open. I melt into him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under his T-shirt, the steady thump of his heart. The kiss is slow, reverent, a dance of warmth and sweetness, tasting of cotton candy. My fingers curl into his biceps, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s been growing all day.
His hands roam, slow, deliberate, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips… his fingers slip under the hem of my sundress. Cool air brushes my thighs, and he pulls my dress over my head. The fabric lands on the floor, leaving me in my lacy panties and a bra. His breath hitches, eyes darkening as they trace me, and I feel beautiful, wanted, under his gaze. “Everything about you is perfect,” he whispers, voice thick with awe, and my cheeks flush, heat pooling between my legs.
I tug at his T-shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he helps, pulling it off, revealing the hard lines of his chest. My hands explore, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle, the faint scars from years I wasn’t part of, and he shudders, a low groan escaping as I press my lips to his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin. His jeans follow, the denim sliding down. He steps out of them, and his briefs are tight, outlining the hard length of him, a sight that makes my mouth dry.
We move to the bed, the sheets cool under my knees as I kneel, pulling him down with me. His hands are quick and efficient, unclasping my bra in a single, expert move. My breasts pop out. His lips find my nipple, sucking softly, his tongue swirling. A soft whimper spills out of me, and my hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Ahhhh…” The sensation is electric, pleasure sparking through me. I arch into him, needing more, needing him. He kisses his way down, lips brushing my ribs, the dip of my navel, each touch a worship, and my moans grow, soft but desperate, filling the quiet room.
His fingers hook into my panties and he slides them down. He spreads my legs wide and kneels between them. His breath is warm against my core, and I tremble, anticipation coiling tight.
“It’s not my turn again, is it?” I whisper.
“It’s always your turn because eating your pussy always feels like it’s my turn again.”
His eyes meet mine, dark with love, with hunger. Then his mouth covers my pussy, his tongue slow, deliberate, tasting my wetness. I moan, loud, raw, my hands fisting the pillow, my body arching into a taut bow. His tongue circles my clit, teasing, then sucking gently, drawing out every shudder, every cry until I’m lost. Relentless. He is relentless. His lips are soft, his tongue deep. Pleasure floods me, sweet and overwhelming.