Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Instead of heeding the announcement, she propels herself to the brink.
Chokes.
Forces herself to endure every.
Last.
Inch.
The heat of her exhaling while struggling to stay still effortlessly becomes my undoing on a barked curse. “Fuck!”
Scorching hot, short bursts splash themselves in the deepest depths of her throat only to be swiftly slopped down. Gorged on like some new fucking cookie flavor that she perfected yet doesn’t plan on sharing with anyone else.
Aches rip through my legs, extra agony in the damaged area demanding I adjust my weight and commanding we rearrange before new destruction can be done but ignoring it to watch the prideful way my girlfriend guides herself off my softening cock is so worth it.
Jaye delivers an additional roll of her tongue around my sensitive tip prior to arrogantly humming. “Guess I’m getting better at that, huh?”
One hand abandons the desk to lovingly cup her cheek. “Sweetheart, you’ve never been bad at that.”
“You know I haven’t had a lot of practice.”
“You blow me practically every other day. Anymore practice and I don’t know that I’ll have the strength to keep working on renovations.”
She girlishly giggles on an eye roll.
Not exactly exaggerating. The chick likes to give head, and she’s really fucking good at it. How Chris didn’t appreciate this shit or cash in on it more often is a mind fuck I’m still trying to figure out. Was he secretly gay? Even if he was, gay guys still like to get their dicks touched, so…what the fuck was his deal?
“How about I get dinner started?” Jaye beats me to the punch of pulling my pants and boxers back up. “Feed you something tastier than cock?”
“Is there anything tastier than your cock?” she salaciously flirts, stealing a stroke over my now in place sweats.
“You,” I hungrily retort and drift my fingers away from the desk to graze her clothes-covered pussy. “In fact, why don’t I have my dinner while you decide what you want for yours?”
The mixture of a moan and whimper is promptly muffled out by my mouth latching itself back onto hers.
If you’ll excuse me. I have a little unfinished business to get through before we inevitably cave and order delivery. Huh. Maybe we’ll play that game where I see how many times, I can make her come on the stairs while waiting for it to get here. She really loves that one. And I’m grateful as fuck that I’m the only man she’ll ever play it with.
Chapter 16
Jaye
“Isn’t Daffy just as cute as a button?” Mom shoves her cellphone across the table my direction. “Just look at how precious she is with that big bow on her head.”
Is that big ass red thing to distract us from the fact she looks like a baby Elmer Fudd or that her nickname is almost as bad as her actual name, Daffodil. You heard me correct. She’s named after a flower while her mother is named after a color. Vyolet. Oh, the dad? Cedar. And the grandmother, who is in my mother’s cooking club? Ruby. Nope. Not making this shit up. Although, part of me wishes I was. I’m struggling with character names for my book.
“I can’t wait to have grandkids,” she coos, pulling the device back to her to stare at it further. “And to be the one to show off their pictures at cooking club.”
Yes. Cooking club. She’s not really the type to play Bridge – she prefers Spades – or knitting – needs her hands nimble and uninjured for surgery – however, her, Chris’s mother, Caroline, and a few other women they’ve collected from other social events, started their own cooking club. One woman hosts and cooks, the others eat and take the recipes they love. Always changing. It happens about once a month, and they pick the monthly type of cuisine out of a cookie jar. Yes. An actual cookie jar meant for storing cookies not paper. Have I gone? I actively try to find every excuse in the book to not go. You think my mom’s bad without an audience? Get her in front of those Golden Girls inspired personalities and suddenly, she’s one thick mustache away from becoming Belle’s father from Beauty & The Beast, open to the idea of letting me live locked away with a werewolf man for all of eternity as long as it means she gets grandkids. What? Of course, I know that wasn’t exactly how the story went. I was being dramatic for entertainment’s sake. No reason we both have to be bored to tears listening to stories about kids I’ll probably only see once a year at guilt-trip forced functions.
“Ruby mentioned that Vyolet and Cedar were looking into the private academy where you work yet couldn’t even get on the schedule for an appointment to tour it for four months,” Mom states in what can only be labeled as disbelief. “I didn’t realize your school was so prestigious.”