Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
As long as I stayed slow and steady, I wouldn’t be pushed over the edge too soon. I could hold on for however long I needed to.
I could…
Her pussy started rippling around me, and she threw her head back, neck taut, as her orgasm stole over her.
With no other reason to hang on, I picked up the pace of my thrusts and allowed myself to fall over the edge as well. My cock pulsed as my release left me, filling her up with everything I had in me to give.
I grunted as she smothered her cry with her hands.
I collapsed onto her, but luckily I’d dropped her legs before I fell so I only crushed her instead of crushing her and twisting her into a pretzel as well.
“You’re fat,” she wheezed.
I chuckled darkly. “It’s called muscle, honey.”
I rolled over anyway, my dick dragging along the inside of her thigh as I did, causing her to curse.
“I’m leaking all over your bed,” she informed me. “You get to sleep in the wet spot.”
I grunted.
“Looks to me like you’re the one in the wet spot,” I drawled. “Not the other way around.”
She sighed.
I closed my eyes as a smile stole over my lips.
“You’re such a shithead,” she informed me haughtily.
The smile stayed on my lips as she walked to the bathroom.
I’d never been more thankful for moving than I was right then. If this had been my old place, she would have had to walk out the door of the bedroom and down the long, narrow hallway, past my son’s room to get to the only bathroom.
But here, she was able to walk naked into the master bathroom and clean herself up with no one but me the wiser.
What felt like thirty minutes later, she finally came back out, my t-shirt swamping her curvy body, and flipped the light out as she moved toward the bed.
The minute I felt her knees on the bed, she crawled up my legs and planted herself on top of my body.
“Not that I don’t like this,” I told her. “But the bed’s not wet. I checked while you were in the bathroom.”
She hummed in contentment, then wiggled so that she slid off the side of my body, but was still mostly connected with me from head to foot. Her head went to my shoulder, and one arm curled around my gut as she allowed her fingers to run lightly through the hair that ran a straight line down the middle of my belly as it widened at the top of my pubic bone.
“You’re hairier than you used to be,” she murmured into the darkness.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I yawned.
She started to fidget, and then I felt her pull the blankets up over our feet. “It’s an okay thing, I guess,” she hesitated. “I do like the beard thicker, though. It makes you look scary.”
Her leg lifted off of mine, and then I felt the blankets move all the way up to our chests.
“Did you just pull those up with your toes?” I asked.
She snickered. “Yep.”
“Swear to Christ. Out of all the memories, you doing shit with your toes was the one thing that kept repeating in my brain. It would come to me and make me smile at times that I didn’t realize how bad I needed one.”
I felt her mouth stretch into a grin against my shoulder.
“I dated a guy once who made fun of my toes. Calling them long and ugly. I broke up with him, and all I kept thinking, as I walked out, was how you would’ve never made fun of me about them,” she whispered.
My hand that was resting on her ass clenched.
“They’re not ugly,” I told her. “They’re unusual, yes, but not ugly. I think it’s cool as shit that you can do things with your toes that I can barely even do with my hands.”
She sighed.
“I fucking hated him,” she said. “He was a nice guy, but I told him about you. How you left, and he thought it was good riddance.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out. “There wasn’t a single man I’ve dated since you who stood a chance.”
I was quiet for a while, digesting those words.
“I’ve had two sexual partners since you. One, I met about six years ago. We had an agreement. She was a widow, not looking for anything more than I had to give, and we scratched the itch together when either one of us needed it. We did that until she met someone early last year.”
I felt her freeze against me.
“And the other?”
I could tell she hadn’t really wanted to ask the question. Even more, she didn’t want me to answer it.
But she needed to know. She needed to know everything if we were going to move on from this.