Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“Kiss me,” he says into my ear, gyrating his body against mine. Oh my God. He’s taking my breath away.
His mouth skims my ear and lands on my cheek and then my neck. I run my fingers into his hair, pressing my breasts into the hardness of his chest and my crotch into the bulge of his pelvis. Oh God. He nuzzles the tip of his nose against mine, teasing me. His lips are an inch away from mine, skimming, teasing, hovering as close as humanly possible without actually making contact, his erection continuing to grind into me as his mouth taunts me.
The song is thumping in my ears.
The lights on the dance floor are entrancing me.
My body is moving in time with his.
He smells so frickin’ good, I wanna ingest him.
I feel dizzy.
Weak.
Frenzied.
I lift my leg and encircle his hip with it, aching to take him inside me. He shifts position and presses himself even more feverishly against me, sending his hard-on right up against the exact spot that makes me burst into flames.
Yeeeeeeeeoooowwwwwwww. Yes. Right there. I press into him harder, moaning, and he rubs that hard bulge ferociously against me, still rapping the words to the song.
His hand navigates under the hem of my dress and brushes against my bare ass cheek, causing goose bumps to erupt all over my body.
Without the slightest hesitation, he fingers my ass crack, presumably trying to figure out if I’m wearing a G-string, and when he finds the string, he slides his fingers all the way down it, down, down, down, and then forward, straight to the crotch, where his fingers begin exuberantly stroking the soft, extremely wet fabric of my panties.
My knees buckle and he holds me up, his fingers continuing to stroke. He kisses my ear and then my neck, yet again, rapping into my ear. “Kiss me,” he purrs.
His lips migrate to mine and hover, yet again, just over my lips, inviting me to bridge the gap and slip my tongue into his mouth—inviting me to lay my weapon down.
But I don’t.
“Terrorist,” he breathes.
Without warning, his fingers slip underneath the fabric of my G-string and plunge right into my wetness.
Holy fuckburgers.
I cry out in surprise and extreme pleasure, pressing myself into his fingers and gyrating to the pulsing music.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispers in my ear. “Stop torturing me.”
I don’t reply, but he can plainly feel how badly I want him, too. I’m absolutely dripping for him.
I moan loudly right into his ear and lick his cheek, and his body responds against mine with obvious excitement. I run my hands through his hair, grinding myself into his fingers like I’m riding on top of a big, hard cock. I inhale sharply. I can’t breathe. My body is warping. “Oh God, here it comes,” I say into his ear. “A big one. Oh God. Josh, yeah. Don’t stop. Just like that.”
A huge orgasm slams into me and I stiffen in his arms, my loud moans swallowed by the blaring music as my body clenches around his fingers, over and over.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Yeah, baby. Do it.”
When the clenching and warping and rippling stops, I can barely stand. I nuzzle my face into his neck and he holds me close, supporting my entire body weight in his arms. He presses his body into mine as he holds me, and our bodies sway together to the loud, thumping music.
A new song begins. “In Da Club” by 50 Cent.
He suddenly pulls back from me and puts his hands on my face. His chest is rising and falling sharply. His gaze is intense.
By the look on his face, I’d guess he’s trying to decide if fucking me counts as losing the bet. Or, at least, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did we decide kissing or fucking ends our stalemate? I can’t remember now.
Sweaty bodies are bouncing and swaying all around us on the dance floor, but we’re standing stock still, looking at each other, trembling with pent-up desire. I tilt my face up to his and close my eyes, inviting him to swoop in and kiss me already. But he doesn’t take the bait.
“Fuck,” he says.
I open my eyes.
He’s glaring at me like he’s enraged at me.
He releases my face, grabs my hand, and begins dragging me across the packed dance floor. It takes effort to snake through the sea of bouncing people, but finally we’re off the dance floor, working our way through the crowded club. The restrooms are in sight—but there are long lines of people waiting to get into both sets. Is that where he was intending to take me? Or was he headed to the exit? Or maybe to the bar? Any of these destinations is equally possible, given our current location in the club.
He stops walking.