Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“To get what done?”
He’s clearly out of it. To be honest, so am I. I feel like I’m dreaming. “Recover the stolen half of my soul from Westley … or something.” I rub my head. “Why does everything feel so weird?”
“Yeah. Kinda like a dream.” A sudden smile breaks over Byron’s face as he gazes at me. “Is this real?”
“I think it is.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“I didn’t expect it to feel so …” He slides his hands around my back. “… ticklish. Mmm.” He tugs my waist against his with sudden gusto. That’s when I notice he’s rock hard in his pants. “You feel so great on my body. Every part of you. Everything feels, like … so great …”
“Byron, focus.”
“I took this weird pill once at a party. First and last time I ever did that. I think I made out with someone. It might’ve even been a girl.”
Decidedly not wanting to hear this story, I slip out from his arms and move to the window. I do a double-take at the street below. “Holy crap, that’s a fuck lot of people out there.”
“I can still taste her lip gloss.” Byron’s at my back. I feel his crotch against my ass, gently humping me. “I don’t wanna say I didn’t enjoy it. I think I did. But was it the pill … or was it me?”
“What is this?” I mutter at him. “Confessions from my high-as-hell, soon-to-be husband? Mrs. Shaheen told us about the side effects. We’re gonna feel weird until we acclimate or whatever.”
His lips are against my ear. “I don’t wanna fucking acclimate. I wanna insert … my cock … into your butt.”
“Byron.”
His teeth take my earlobe.
I suppress a moan and lean back against him. His dick throbs against the inside of his pants as he humps my ass with ever-increasing desire. Soon, he has me flat against the window, pinned by his weight alone, as he continues to dry hump me.
“B-Byron …” The more I protest, the less I want to.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that everything does feel a thousand times more sensitive and charged in this state of mind—or state of being, or whatever the fuck is happening to us.
Do we have enough spare time for some sexy-sexy?
He goes for my neck at once, digging his lips there with purpose. I roll my eyes back, completely unable to resist how fucking good this feels.
“Your neck tastes like a pineapple cake,” he moans as his fingers claw hungrily down my body, come to the front, then take a handful of my crotch.
New discovery: I’m rock hard, too.
“B-Babe …” I moan, my face still pressed to the window. “There … There are a lot of people down there in the street …”
His hands slide around my waist, then take a firm hold of my ass, curling possessively around each cheek. I know how Byron gets when he’s in the mood. I know all his tells. And if I don’t stop him soon, I’ll become his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
He spins me around at once and presses his lips to mine. I’m out of breath. Do I even have breath in this plane of existence? Aren’t our bodies lying on the floor somewhere over there?
“You’re so hot,” he moans against my face.
I catch sight of the couch again—and Mrs. Shaheen still sitting there in front of us, thumbing tiredly through her phone and appearing unaware of the world.
“Side effects,” I state suddenly.
“Your lips taste like spicy cotton candy.”
“You need to stop feeling me up, babe.” Of course, I make zero effort to stop doing the same thing myself to his delicious body. Wait. When did I start feeling him up? “W-We aren’t going to find West if we can’t keep our hands off of each other.”
“West who …?” His mouth finds my ear yet again, which he less-than-gently bites. I whimper with delight. Every single touch of his soft lips to my skin is like a separate orgasm. “You’re so fucking yummy.”
“S-S-Stop …” Is it really all that important to get all of my soul back? Can we just stand here and fuck in this living room a hundred times in a row? Maybe we have more time than we realize. “Stop, babe … You gotta … gotta stop …” But the more I say it, the less I want him to. This feels so damned good.
Maybe living is overrated.
His teeth release my ear, then he pulls away to get a look into my eyes.
I stare back at him, struck by his beauty, like I’m seeing him for the first time ever.
It seems to be our eye contact that does the trick. “We … We have a purpose,” he states, as if reminding himself. “A very serious purpose. Your soul.”
“R-Right. My soul.”
“Where do we …” He kisses me suddenly. I give in for five long, delicious seconds. Then we pull away for him to finish his question. “Where do we look for it?”