Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Correction, dick, no way you’re fucking any girl.
Confusion and the pain in my balls has me barreling toward the door I assume leads to the bathroom.
Inside, I don’t bother with the light, slamming the hard oak door behind me and falling against the nearest wall. My brains have gone offline, because within a second I’ve got my belt unbuckled, zipper down, rage fucking my fist, begging for a shred of relief so I can think straight and leave this perfect girl untouched.
But even in my lust blindness, I realize the space is stuffy and small, my breathing muffled.
I’m not in the bathroom. I’m in the fucking closet.
My engorged dick doesn’t care, my breathing is ragged as the vision of tit-fucking her on that nightmare of a comforter that looks like a flower shop threw up everywhere taunts me from behind my closed lids.
“Fuck!” I grunt, as I get my shaft in my hand and squeeze.
Even in my madness, I won’t touch her, no matter how tempting the offer. She’s drunk. Drunk enough that even with consent, it wouldn’t count.
So I’m leaning against the wall in a fucking closet, with my johnson in my hand, the taste of that god awful blow job shot like vomit in my mouth.
A soft knock on the door is followed immediately by the knob turning. In my haste, I didn’t bother with the small detail of seeing if the door had a lock.
“Are you okay?” Daisy’s concern is the calm to my bellowing storm, as my hand rifles back and forth on my shaft, desperate for a shred of relief.
“Fine. Just…” Another five strokes, faster, faster. “I need…a…minute.” I grimace against the impending orgasm, my hand moving in a fury in the darkness, her face taunting me in my imagination.
I grab at the knob. Just another stroke, two, and I’ll be done. Just keep the door closed a few more seconds---
The metal knob pulls off into my hand, the door swings open, a slice of light cutting across my face and down my body, illuminating the source of my madness.
Daisy’s cheeks ripen again, eyes wide as I thrust into my jacking grip, dropping the brass knob to the floor with a clunk.
Her hands fly to cover her open mouth, but I can’t stop.
I’m not available for what I see in her eyes. I’m not available, period. I had to do something to convince her of that fact. I need her to see me for what I am. A man without fucking availability. A man that has nothing to offer a girl like her.
My heart is already involved, and that’s more dangerous than any mountain I’ve climbed or wilderness I’ve conquered. She would expect attention, a home, time, a reasonable man, and she deserves to be the center of someone’s world, but I already orbit around Hailey. My bandwidth for anything else is non-existent.
“You like what you do to me?” I say, the words taking on a harder edge.
“I’m sorry?” she says breathlessly, and I notice she’s now barefooted. Her toenails are painted in various shades of pink and red, like the petals of the flowers all over the walls that surround her.
“I’m not the kind of man you need, Daisy.”
“How do you know what I need?” Her hands brush the crease of her cleavage, the tips of her fingers toying with the fabric where the snap is barely keeping the shirt from exposing her swelling breasts.
The charge of lust in her eyes tells me what she’s about to do before it happens, and I’m helpless to stop it.
Her fingers work the knot holding up the plaid shirt just under her breasts, then she works the snaps open as my hand moves in a blur, taking in the perfection in front of me. She’s wearing a lace-trimmed cotton bra slash tank top, which she pushes down under her breasts, letting them fall free over the fabric, and they are even better than I could have imagined.
Desire and anger merge inside of me again, as I imagine her coming here with someone else. Someone that would take everything she’s offering and probably more.
“You shouldn’t have let me come up here with you,” I say hoarsely, reaching out and taking a fist of her hair. “It’s dangerous. I won’t touch you. I just need…relief.”
To my shock, she’s fallen to her knees, tongue tracing on her lips. “You don’t have to touch me. But I can touch you.”
God, how do I teach her a lesson without giving in to my urges? I want her to kick me out, push me away. Why can’t she see me for what I am? Unavailable, broken and way below her paygrade.
“You know what men do to drunk girls that invite them back to their room?” I demand, my hand slowing, letting her see the monstrosity of what she’s done.