Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
I need to stop obsessing because every time I think back on crouching in that alley and sobbing until I couldn’t breathe, I want to shrivel up and die. There's got to be a way to distract myself that doesn't involve showing my face downstairs.
Why, of all times, does the memory of Romero jerking off in the shower come up now? I guess my subconscious is trying to humanize him, reminding me he's just a man no matter how he pretends to be big and bad. I'm sure he's got his weaknesses, though he's damn good at hiding them. But if he wasn't so desperate to hide, he wouldn't be so against me being friends with Mrs. Cooper, right?
She's not who I want to think about right now, when the memory of Romero's moans makes my nipples peak. I brush my hand across them and suck in a surprised gasp at the intensity of the sensation that rolls through me. It’s sweet and hot enough that I do it again and bite my lip to stifle a moan.
Holy shit. I’m on fire, and all because of a few soft touches.
My eyes drift closed, shutting out reality to sink into something better. Somewhere, there isn’t any fear or pain or regret. A place where Romero walks in on me writhing on the bed, my hands rubbing my body over top of my sweater before that's not enough, and I have to dip underneath my clothes to touch my bare skin.
At first, he would only watch, shocked, until he could do nothing but let go for once. He would forget what he knows he's supposed to do and choose this instead. He would cross the room and crawl across the bed like a predator who’d spotted his prey.
“Touch yourself for me, Princess.” Instead of infuriating me, the word would roll off his tongue in a heated whisper, making my skin tingle like it is now. “I want to watch you come on your fingers. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper now, lifting my hips and yanking down the waistband of my leggings to give my hand room to find its way between my thighs. Oh, fuck, the first contact with my mound makes me gasp, even with cotton panties in the way. I jam my hand under them and note the wet patch on the crotch–but only vaguely, somewhere in the back of my mind because what’s at the forefront is how incredible it feels. The delicious tension builds in my core with every brush of my fingers against my wet folds.
“Take what you want,” Romero whispers in my head. I can almost feel his hot breath on my neck and I want so much for his lips to touch my skin. With my free hand, I stroke that spot and imagine it’s him and it’s enough to take my breath away. “Touch your pussy. Fuck yourself with your fingers. Nice and deep.”
Now both hands are in my panties–one to massage my clit, the other to drive two fingers deep in my hot, wet pussy. My hips lift and I grind them in slow circles, panting the way he did in the shower. I can hear him now, like he’s panting while he watches me, wishing he could take over. “That’s right. Come for me. Let me hear how good you feel…”
“Romero!” It’s a whisper, a breath, filling the room a second before everything explodes and I’m left writhing and moaning behind my clenched teeth. It doesn’t end right away, either, the blissful tremors going on and on until I’m left floating in a river of warmth and sweetness. Complete blissful relief.
Only to realize once I open my eyes that this is the first orgasm I’ve had in months. Since before Europe and everything that happened there. I tried more than once over the summer to make myself feel good, to feel anything, but I could never get anywhere close to the finish. This time, the finish was inevitable.
And it was because of… him?
Every fiber of my being pushes that idea away even as I pull my hands free, and my insides still flutter with aftershocks. The evidence is pretty straightforward. Thinking of him, imagining his dirty talk and what I wished he would do to me, got me over the edge.
Or it was simply a matter of not coming in months and finally being able to relax into it. I mean, my body was bound to need release eventually. I’m young. I’m healthy. He was just a convenient fantasy. It doesn’t have to mean more than that.
One thing is for sure: I can’t lie here forever after coming all over my hands. I doubt he’s upstairs, anyway, though if he is, he’s probably in his office with the door shut. Shutting out the world because his work is so important.