Total pages in book: 174
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 693(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He opens up my channel with his thick cock, all careful like.
All sweet like.
While he keeps me soft and cozy with his kisses.
And slowly, I start to push back.
I start to bounce my ass on his dick.
Which is what he was waiting for.
He steps back from our kiss and adjusts our positions. He bends me down even more, making me put both my hands on the glass window, and hikes up my ass so he can really get at it. And then he’s moving. He’s sliding in and out. He’s pumping and pounding as he rides my prime pussy, his tight abs bouncing against my ass, against the spots where he spanked me, making this fuck even more delicious than our first.
Meanwhile all I can do is bounce back every time he comes for me.
All I can do is feel it spreading, this heated, liquid lust.
Until I’m all covered in it.
Until I’m right there, on the edge.
And until he leans forward, his big chest breathing at my back, his hands that were holding on to my hips now wrapped around my waist, straightening me up and plastering me against him.
It changes the angle at which his dick is hitting me and I gasp out, “God, Conrad, I…”
“You like that, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
He brings a hand up and grabs my throat, his lips whispering in my ear, “Yeah, my wallflower likes it. She likes it when I wreck her pussy too. When I beat it up so good that she can’t help but come on my dick. Are you going to come, Bronwyn?”
I nod my head. “Yes.”
But it doesn’t happen.
Not right away.
Even though I thought it would.
I don’t fly over the edge, until he pushes me. Until he smacks his hand on my ass, the loudest, most biting slap so far, and I come.
I fly and scatter like petals.
But he keeps me collected.
He keeps me gathered and tethered in his arms as he comes as well.
Inside me, all thick and hot and lashing.
By the time he rights my clothes and bends down to put my panties back on, depositing me in the cab after, I’m all sleepy and sated. But I do remember to say, “Congratulations.”
When he frowns, I smile sleepily and move his hair out of his eyes. “You won the game. I knew you would. Because you’re wonderful.”
There’s a tightening of his features for a second or two as he stares at my disheveled, sleepy self like I’m wonderful. Like I’m the most wonderful girl in the world.
Before he kisses me again and whispers, “Go to sleep.”
I spend every weekend with him.
Well, not every weekend.
Because I go to a school where our every move is monitored and accounted for. And even though I’m one of the few girls who has the most privileges, I still can’t abuse them willy-nilly.
So we have to pace ourselves.
We have to be careful.
Even though it’s hard after that one-week separation.
So instead of every weekend, Conrad gives me a pink permission slip every couple of weeks. That I can use to go out and stay with him. And on those weekends, he waits for me at the bend of the road in his truck to take me to his house in Bardstown.
And can I just say that I love his house?
I know it’s old and I know that he’s lived in it all his life. Which means he isn’t much of a fan, but still.
And just because I want him to love it more, I’m giving him a new one.
A new home, I mean.
By painting his walls a new color.
Especially his bedroom walls.
Standing in the middle of his bedroom on one such weekend, I tell him, “You know, I wanted to paint your walls.”
Again he’s at the door, leaning against it with his arms folded, as he watches me walk freely around his domain.
Or he watches my thighs; specifically, the art on them.
So recently I’ve had a fashion consult with none other than Poe, the fashionista among us. I told her that I wanted something short and slightly more revealing and sexy. She obviously figured it was for Conrad — which it is — and lent me a ton of her clothes. It’s a good thing that we’re sort of the same in the chest department. Hers are bigger than mine though, but since I’m taller than her, her short dresses are slightly shorter on me.
Which is even better than good.
Because in her short, made-shorter-on-me dresses, I can show off the art on my body.
I can show off his name that I still write every night in my dorm room.
Which is what he’s staring at: his name peeking out from under the hem of my red dress.
Lifting his eyes, he says from his spot by the door, “Paint my walls.”
I clench my thighs a bit at his voice, at the dark glitter in his eyes. At the fact that he hasn’t stopped staring at me ever since we arrived at his house and I took off my magenta parka.