Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"What’s your favorite position?" he asks, and I’m immediately intrigued. Not many men ask that. They’re usually more interested in heading straight into their preference.
"Doggy," I say, even though it’s not strictly true. There have been times when I’ve let a man fuck me in missionary and it’s been awesome, but it also ends with me catching feels. The eye contact makes sex deeper and more meaningful, and what I’m looking for is fun and frivolity.
"Seriously?"
"I’m a freak. What can I say?"
I roll and push up on my hands and knees, lining my ass up with Mitchell’s cock, desperate for the stretch that I know he will be able to provide. His hands stroke over my back and hips lazily, appreciatively, and I stifle the moan that fights to bubble to the surface. It’s not that I don’t want him to know how good he is. It’s just that I always feel like I need to keep something back. A little fleck of control. An ounce of restraint.
But when his finger begins to trace the line of my YOLO tattoo, I tense.
"You get this when you were drunk?"
"Nope," I say, twisting to look at him.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to say something along the lines of ‘interesting’ because I can tell he’s trying to figure me out. It’s funny, but in my experience, the less you give away to people, the more they want to discover.
When he bends to kiss the top of the Y, my heart does a weird little skittery thing in my chest. And when he braces himself on top of me, with one hand next to mine on the bed and the other wrapped around my waist, I almost swoon.
Be still my heart, I think.
Mitchell really is a man who understands what a woman needs.
Or is it just what I need?
Kyla always tells me that I don’t think in the same way as most women do. She couldn’t hack it when sex with her men was just about pleasure and enjoying each other's company, and that is the only kind of sex I enjoy. So, maybe Mitchell is more about fitting my needs and expectations rather than womankind in general.
The press of his cock at my entrance brings me welcome relief from my churning mind. As he nudges forward, stretching me open, I focus only on the physical feelings, the beauty of our bodies joining, the sweet relief of being filled. We move together like lovers do when they understand the other totally, and that’s another surprise to me. I don’t need to teach him how fast to move or how deep. I don’t need to communicate the angle or the way he can use his hands to make everything between my legs feel so much more urgent and good.
This is a rare experience. A one-night stand which feels like amazing relationship sex but without the commitment.
If I didn’t know better, I could get addicted to Mitchell; his smile and his laughter and his perfectly sized cock.
"Fuck, you feel good," he says, his voice so close to my ear that it’s like the rumble of a storm.
"I’m close," I gasp, and he hums his approval, keeping the same rhythm and depth, understanding that my body is building towards release inch by slow inch.
There’s no painful switch to mindless pounding or shift to focus on his epic finish. He simply fucks me until I break apart, then eases me down onto the bed so that I can enjoy the ride.
Limp and breathless, I twist to stare at him in the darkness. His expression is satisfied, and a little amused, but I can’t fault him. He did good.
"You can finish too," I pant, as my pussy flutters through yet another happy wave.
"I’m enjoying everything your body is doing right now," he says, still buried deep. "And there’s no rush, is there? I can go all night."
Shit. This man just went from almost perfect to fucking ideal.
"What would Lachlan say if I turn up tomorrow half-asleep?"
"Well done, probably."
"Well done for fucking his friend?"
Mitchell touches my face, tracing my cheekbone and the bridge of my nose, using the pad of his finger to pull out the center of my bottom lip.
"Life is for living," he says softly. "It’s what brought us all together at Cloud 9. The desire for more. The need to push out of the confines of our lives."
"That’s what I’m doing."
"I know."
He leans in to kiss me again, tugging me into his lap until his cock is back inside me and we’re moving in a beautiful rhythm. I watch Mitchell as he takes pleasure in my body, relishing the flush across his cheeks and the sweat that dampens his chest. When I sense he’s close, I clench around him, knowing the additional squeeze will trigger his orgasm. When he comes, he clutches me to him, pumping deep in that primal way that suggests an instinct to impregnate.