Total pages in book: 254
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
My butt landed on the counter with the sink, a moment before hungry hands took over. His and mine yanked. I pulled his sleeping pants and underwear down as far as I could and met his eyes just as he wrapped a fist around the erection that I’d worked up and down the other night in my trailer. The head was fat, thick veins lining the length of him. He was in perfect proportion to the rest of his incredible body, and I felt like the luckiest person in the whole world.
His voice was hoarse as he worked his hand up and down. “I don’t have a condom.”
I shook my head, eyeing the length of him, the girth, the pretty pink and lilac color flushed throughout it. “I don’t either.” I pressed my forehead to his sternum, wrapping my hand around his, his fingers flexing beneath mine. “I don’t take birth control either,” I admitted shakily, lifting my gaze to find him looking at me with an expression that turned me on even more. His features didn’t say he was disappointed, if anything he liked the sound of it. “But I have this thermometer that tells me when I’m in the clear and when I’m not….”
His lips parted, his eyelids dropping even lower over his incredible irises. “You know what you are.” His palm squeezed his length tight. “I could still get you pregnant.”
I did know what I was, and I hugged him tighter with my legs, urging him closer. “We can wait, if you don’t want to risk it. But the idea of your bare cock—”
His growl made my nipples hard.
Under my fingers, he notched the big tip of his penis between my legs and pushed. Henri’s broad head made its way inside of me, slowly, inch by inch, seesawing in and out, dipping a little before retreating, filling me and filling me, as he took my mouth. When he was halfway in, he pulled all the way out and pushed back deeper, this shaky, monumental grunt going through his chest and into mine.
His hand went to my hip, under my shirt, palming the bare skin there just as he….
He was in, every inch, his pelvis flush to mine, and I was gasping, and he was grunting, low and fierce. Grinding our groins together deep, my clit rubbing against the trunk of him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, clung.
“Once we get married, we can do this all time,” he growled against my ear, licking the shell of it. “In the bed, in the shower, on the floor….”
“Bent over the sink?”
The sound he made in his throat was barely human as his hips snapped forward and he ground his pelvis against mine. “On my face, on my lap.” He pulled out, then thrust deep, so dang deep. He moved his head so his lips were at my other ear. “But I’m coming in this perfect pussy every—”
I grabbed his face and kissed him hard, and he met my kisses, tongue touching tongue, and between our bodies, I shoved my shirt up so I could feel his skin against mine, my nipples rubbing against his chest. His hand came up and gave one a light pinch as his hips worked and he kept pumping away.
I drew back from his mouth as an orgasm had my muscles spasming almost violently around him, my ab muscles flexing so hard, I pressed my lips to his chest to muffle my cry.
“Next time, I’m not pulling out,” he let me know, dipping his head, nipping my shoulder with those strong teeth right before he pulled out just as my orgasm eased, and with that plump head to my mound, his hand wrapped around that tremendous width, it took two pumps of his palm for him to come, for him to shoot a thick, white load between my thighs, a loud choke tightening his entire body. Henri shook, his guttural groan low through the bathroom.
His fingers moved between us, massaging the white cream into my thighs, over the shaved area at the center of me. Marking me with him. There was so much of it too.
I rubbed my hand over his arm, watching him work, watching him cover me with his scent, my thighs still twitching. “I like your artwork, Picasso,” I whispered.
He looked up, his eyes bright, pupils wide… and he smiled. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” he asked, drawing his finger up the crease between my middle and my thigh. “Smells even better.”
I groaned and tugged him down again, kissing him, massaging my tongue against his as he held me close to his damp, sweaty body.
“I think I pulled a muscle in my stomach,” I told him when we pulled away from each other.
His smile was even softer and dreamier that time. “My glutes are spasming right now,” he countered.