Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Her tight pussy gripping me, commanding me when I want to be the one doing the commanding. I’m a man who prides himself on strength, yet the fact is, she is my weakness. And while I should be working on removing her from my system, I know it would be a waste of time to even try.
Hence my sitting here, sipping my scotch, waiting for her to return to her room. The more I observe, the better my chance of getting inside her head and finding out what it will take to bring her around.
All I can do is laugh bitterly at myself before taking another sip from the glass. I can tell myself all I want, that this is nothing more than a means of understanding her better. Deep down inside, however, I can't deny the insatiable need to see her. To watch her undress and indulge myself in the sight of her lush perfection.
I sit up at attention when the bedroom door swings open. Finally. Did she have to put her father to bed? Resentment tugs in the back of my mind, and I grind my molars, eyes trained on the tablet. So he's been drinking, has he? And she would still rather be with him. It boggles my mind. Was it that bad here? Or is she being the dutiful daughter? Likely, except I'm not about to comfort myself with that idea.
She got scared and reacted emotionally; part of that was my fault. She won’t come back until I make things right. I'm not going to excuse myself.
There she is. The tension running through my body loosens at the sight of her. She softly closes the door and kicks off her shoes before sitting at the foot of the bed as she did earlier with Tatum. She sighs, then drops her head into her hands, and I have to wonder if she's thinking about me.
“Do you know you made a mistake?” I whisper, taking in every part of her with my hungry gaze. There's something defeated about her posture, the way she props her elbows on her knees and exhales slowly, deeply. This is a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. I only want to take that weight away. Can't she see that? What do I have to do to prove myself to her?
She blows out a long sigh before standing and stretching. I know that look on her face. Plainly visible, thanks to the high-quality camera recording her. It's so clear and sharp I can practically see the pores on her face. She's determined. To do what I haven't the slightest idea, but I'll find out. Somehow, I'll find out what’s going on in that head of hers. She can’t hide from me.
When she crosses her arms over herself, taking the hem of her t-shirt in her hands, I barely move. She lifts the shirt overhead, revealing a lacy bra I've unhooked before. I can almost feel it under my fingers as I watch, instantly captivated. My own private show, made even more exciting since she doesn't know about it.
Next comes her jeans, and when she bends to pick them up off the floor, I’m treated to the sight of her ass. My cock stirs as hunger flares to life. It's always there, simmering, yet there's no keeping it from bursting into flames now that she's down to a skimpy thong. What I wouldn't give to touch her right now, to have her in my lap. Straddling me or bent over the desk. Yes, I like that better, the idea of her body sprawled across the desk, feet on the floor, legs spread. I would pull that thong off with my teeth before running my tongue between those round, firm cheeks.
She reaches behind her to unclasp the bra and free her tits, and now I have no choice but to lower my zipper and free what's already hard, straining. I could look at her body every day for years, for the rest of my life, and never get tired of it. Nothing will ever quench my thirst.
I take myself in my hand and stroke slowly while she goes through her dresser for one of those night shirts she likes to wear. I’ll replace every single one of them with my own. They suit her better than the hottest piece of lingerie ever could. There's something absurdly sexy about how she looks with the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs, with her tits moving gently beneath the cotton. The taut peaks of her nipples brush against the fabric, and I groan at the thought of touching them, thumbing them slowly. Watching her expression as she dissolves in pleasure.
It's almost enough to make me consider getting in the car and driving there now, breaking in the way Romero did, stealing into her room, and taking her whether she likes it or not.