Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
She lets me.
And what’s that quote I once heard? Something about seventy percent of all massages between couples lead to sex if my memory serves me correctly, or maybe I’m making that shit up.
Seems legit, though.
The only thing that would make this better is lotion or lube, and I’m not dumb enough to say that shit out loud. I mean—I am dumb enough, but now is not the time.
Ryann shifts restlessly in front of me between my legs, lowering her arms, resting her palms on my knees. Head dipping forward, hair falling around her face.
My hands go back up her ribcage.
Big. Hands.
Covering lots of ground.
Fingertips gently come down. I’m not tickling her, but I’m not massaging her either, my motions more of a ticking clock of uncertainty.
I lean forward.
My chest brushes her back.
Ryann inhales.
This time, I don’t just brush my chest against her back—when I lean in, I lower my head and lightly graze my lips against her shoulder.
She smells great.
Better than I do, and I’ve showered.
I inhale the scent of her, nudging her hair with my nose to get it out of my way, brushing my mouth at the curve of her neck. Right below her ear. Hands at her sides, resting at her waist.
My dick stiffens, my lack of underwear or boxers or briefs making it glaringly obvious I’m getting turned on. Probably was long before she walked out of her bedroom in four layers of clothing, one of them currently in her lap.
Naked from the waist up, she and I.
I test her again.
Raise my hands, sliding them around her middle to the front, her lips parting when they settle below her breasts.
My thumbs brush the bottoms of them.
Ryann’s head tilts to the left, inviting me to put my mouth there again, so I take advantage of the opportunity, cock hard as a rock, brain addled.
I have as much adrenaline as I do when I’m on the football field, waiting for the whistle to blow, utilizing every ounce of self-control not to slide my hands where I want them: onto her beautiful tits.
Innocent enough, yeah?
I scoot forward so we’re skin to skin, arms around her midsection, mouth on her flesh, dick straining against the robe at my hips, my hands flirting with her tits.
I kiss the back of her neck.
Kiss the curve of her shoulder.
Kiss below her ear.
Ryann hums.
Turns her head, presenting me with her profile.
I kiss her jawline and the corner of her mouth.
Her lips reach for mine; our openmouthed kiss is hot, tongues instantly clashing, and damn if she doesn’t lean back into me.
Over her shoulder, I glance down at her tits; hard nipples are rosy and puckered, boobs filling my palms up as if they were made for this exact moment.
Perfect.
Ryann moans.
Lets me play with her nipples a little longer before pulling away and shifting, moving her body, moving so she’s straddling me on the couch, tits totally in my face.
Holy fuck, they’re fantastic.
The kind of tits I’d masturbate to while I watched porn if I watched porn.
I take a nipple in my mouth, sucking gently while she tips her head back, slowly grinding on my dick, making it harder and harder not to tear her pants off and stick my face between her legs the same way my face is between her tits.
I yank at the robe around my waist, lifting my ass off the couch so I can discard it onto the floor—it’s in my fucking way and I want the barrier between us gone, my thick, hard cock now the only thing I’m wearing.
Obviously, I’m not self-conscious in the least—don’t have to be.
My body is tight and toned.
The one muscle that’s been sorely neglected over the years is begging for attention, stiffly sticking up between our bodies, Ryann doing an admirable job not staring down at it.
He’s an average cock—not too big, not too small, perfectly proportioned for a dude my size and height. A respectable cock, if you will, not one to be embarrassed about if caught unawares by a pantsing and the drawers get pulled down.
Ryann grinds on, pajama bottoms be damned.
Our mouths are fused together because that’s what two people do when they’re dry humping and horny, rubbing their bodies together because they want to fuck but haven’t made up their minds about it yet.
“I can’t take it anymore.” I groan, unable to keep my hands off her boobs, lavishing them with all my attention. The most gorgeous nipples I’ve seen in person are in and out of my mouth, between my thumb and forefinger, on the tip of my tongue.
When I get one wet and blow on it, she moans.
Grinds harder.
“Are you wearing underwear?” I ask breathlessly.
“Yes.”
That’s all the affirmation I need to push at her pajama bottoms, easing them down her hips with a little bit of her help, sliding them down until they’re off—a few awkward seconds where I think she may fall face down onto the couch.