Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Breathe, Raven,” he demands.
When I take a breath, I feel the tip of the plug circle my rosette hole. Gently, he dips it in and out.
“Rub your clit, baby.”
I take another breath and turn my head, rubbing my embarrassingly slick clit. Why am I so turned on? I mean, this is probably gonna hurt, yet I can’t stop the moan from escaping.
“Yeah, you’re gonna love my cock in this ass. In and out, I’ll fuck it while my fingers make you come.”
“Oh my God.” Is all I can say.
Slowly he pushes the plug in and out of my small hole, and it feels so good.
“Harder. Rub, Raven,” he demands, and I do, feeling myself start to pulse.
“Can I come?” My voice sounds far away as I feel it go in fully. Then I’m gone, spiraling into a million pieces as both holes seem to contract, even though only one is still full. I turn to my side and try to catch my breath.
Jett is texting on his phone. If there wasn’t a huge bulge in his slacks, I’d be insulted.
“I have to go. Don’t touch yourself or remove it unless I say so.” He looks up and pockets his phone, his eyes caressing my face, then traveling down my body.
“Stand up,” he commands.
I slowly move off the bed and into his arms, thinking it might hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s just full and different. Jett leans down and his lips take mine. It’s almost loving, tender, and for a second I’m terrified.
Because lines are getting blurred, things that I never thought I’d like, I do, and this has only been a couple of days. How am I going to survive when my mom comes back? I’m setting myself up for a major fall, but I’m not about to stop myself, because in the back of my head, I know he feels something too.
“Have a good day.” My voice is soft. I lick my lips, letting my hand slide down his chest to grab his erection.
He smirks, reaching down to help my hand rub him, then backs away as he turns, saying over his shoulder, “Go put a robe on. I have Patty bringing you breakfast.”
Then he’s gone, and the room is just a room. Jett’s what makes this house feel so good—it’s all him. Smiling, I reach for his robe. The thought of wearing anything my mom has touched makes me sick.
“Knock-knock.” Patty stands outside the door, smiling at me. She always looks so neat and put together. Last night was the only time I saw her actually look surprised.
“Good morning.” I return her smile.
“Mr. Powers said you wanted French toast this morning with strawberries and blueberries.”
“Sounds delicious.” I walk over to the balcony and stop. Should I go to my room?
“Patty? Do you know when my mother is coming home? I mean, I can try and lie to you, but that would be insulting to both of us.” I look straight into her dark brown eyes. They hold no judgment.
“I think tomorrow.” She breezes past me to the balcony. “And thank you.”
I nod and follow her. I guess I’m staying here.
Three hours later, I’ve eaten way too much, showered, and used a skin scrub that is making my skin glow. The one thing I can say about my mom is she does not skimp on herself. All her skin products are the best: creams, serums, and exfoliants. You name it, she has it. Thank God, their bathroom is huge and has a beautiful shelf for all of it.
Everything about Jett Powers is perfect, including his bathroom. It has hardwood floors that heat up, along with heated towel racks, and it’s so big it even has a couch.
If this were my house, this would be where I spent most of my time. With the giant skylight, the natural light is amazing for putting on makeup.
With a sigh, I step back to look at myself.
Makeup looks good. I went light, with pastels on my eyes and lips, although I did use a lot of mascara, making sure my eyes pop since my lips are a neutral pink.
Jett picked out a white summer halter dress, and it’s one of my favorites. My breasts look fantastic in it.
He even laid out the panties he wants me to wear, which are white lace, and new, high-heeled Prada sandals—I love them.
I’m getting spoiled. I sigh and pull my straightened hair over to one shoulder as I wait for him.
Because of the plug, I’m avoiding sitting, so I’m trying really hard not to snoop around.
Really hard.
My eyes drift around the large room and focus on the art. The room’s warm lighting is almost the color of the foam on cappuccinos. All of it is unique, different. And it’s all his. My mom has never owned more than a painting or two at a time. Her decorator used to come and switch them up every couple of years.