Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I’m out of control. Of my actions, my words.
Some part of me knows it, but I can’t make myself stop.
The lust, the closeness of her has me spinning out.
Before I’m aware of my own actions, I’m yanking down the shorts of her pajamas and coming all over her pussy and thighs. My bellow echoes off the walls of the basement, almost drowning out her whimpers. But I hear them and they egg me on, my loins twisting, producing more, more, more spend to paint her in.
“Mine,” I grit out, burying my teeth in her shoulder, locking her against the cage and pressing my spurting dick up into the folds of her sex, stopping just short of entering her, but needing to get my come as close as possible to her womb. “All fucking mine and don’t ever question it.”
I lick over to her neck, move higher and grind my open mouth against her ear so she can hear my moans of her name. So she can hear me coming apart for her. Finally the last blistering drop leaves me and I go boneless, staggering into her—and reality roars back, turning the sweat on my skin to ice.
My actions over the course of the last few minutes replay themselves.
My roughness, the crude language, the way I manhandled her.
Disrobed her. Jesus, her pajama shorts are around her knees, tank top bunched at her waist. She’s covered in come. And she’s trembling.
My God, what have I done?
“Peyton,” I say, sounding strangled.
I give her one inch of space and that’s all she needs to wiggle out from beneath me and pull up her shorts, crossing her arms over her bare breasts and running for the staircase.
“Peyton!” She doesn’t stop and I’m too immobilized by shame and horror to chase after her in time. A moment later, I hear our apartment door slam. With my heart pounding in my ears, I sprint after her, entering the two-bedroom and throwing myself to a kneeling position in front of her door. “Honey, I’m sorry. I got carried away. I’m a fucking animal. Please open up and let me in.” I twist strands of hair in my hands, all-out madness threatening to take hold. What if she’s crying in there? Crying because of me. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand you being upset.”
“I’m fine, Granger,” she calls through the door, sounding more dazed than anything. “I just need some space for a while. Okay?”
Space.
That’s the one thing I can’t give her.
Maybe I don’t have to, though. I’ll just give her the illusion of it.
God, I messed up. I was supposed to make her comfortable with the male body and instead I took it too far. Probably horrified her. Having her want to stay away from me is no less than I deserve. But that’s not all I deserve.
With a suitable punishment in mind, I grab my car keys and burn rubber to where I’m going. If I don’t have enough willpower to be what she needs, I’ll simply have to take away my will.
Chapter Five
Peyton
It’s after hours at the school and I’ve stayed late to work on report cards.
This is something I could have easily done at home, but home is a distracting place to be lately. It’s Wednesday night, two days since the…incident in the basement. Since my body hung on the verge of something exciting, every muscle tightening as if an explosion was about to happen. All because of Granger and his voice in my ear, his sweaty, chiseled torso.
That long, thick appendage being so roughly handled between us.
A breathless sound escapes me, loud in the dark, quiet classroom. Setting down my pen, I place both palms flat on my knees and drag them higher, slowly, bringing my skirt to the tops of my thighs. My breasts grow full and achy almost on cue, a telltale pulse starting deep in my core.
Women can give themselves orgasms, same as men. I know that much. But I’ve always been too timid to touch myself there, afraid I’d like it too much. Afraid that once I started, I’d be required to do it all the time. There are entire stores dedicated to pleasuring oneself and all of the choices always seemed overwhelming. Like a time-consuming hobby.
Obviously I’d just never been inspired enough to need it.
To have no choice but to touch myself there.
I’ve resisted for two days, but alone in the classroom, the moon having risen in the sky, I part my thighs and trail my fingers up and down on the sensitive skin, getting closer to the edge of my panties with every journey of fingertips. Electricity races all over my skin, my breaths sounding hollow in my ears. And I can’t help but close my eyes and think of Granger.
His flexing six-pack of muscles, his white knuckled grip rifling up and down that hard, angry part of him, lip caught between his teeth.