Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Terry McMillan, Isabella Barrera, and even Kevin Kwan, are all fuckin’ First Draft Picks regardless of how people wanna classify their shit.” Another tiny shrug bounces my shoulders. “Just because I like and prefer to read romance shit doesn’t mean it’s the only shit, I know or read, aye.”
“Why romance?”
“I like the idea of being loved for who the fuck you are no matter the sitch,” I effortlessly answer. “The fact that the one you’re with is a real one. Someone who doesn’t give a fuck if you have millions or you’re broke…if you’ve got all your shit together or if you’re still figuring it out…if you’ve got an illness or disability or condition or some other shit…they love you. They wanna make the shit work with you. Not use you. Not change you. Just simply love you…for…you.” There’s an unintentional lowering of my tone. “That type of shit’s hard to find in reality.
“But not impossible,” Joeski whispers in such a way I can’t help but hungrily grin.
“Eto verno?” is practically growled. “Are you a real one, Joeski?”
To no surprise, she presents me with an expression of challenge. “Are you?”
“You tell me.”
“You show me.”
I lift up one finger at the same time I instruct. “Zhdat'.”
After she nods her understanding, I drop my phone on the mattress, slip out from underneath the covers, and hustle over to my gear bag to dig out the perfect proof. Once I have it, I relocate to the bed, return to the phone to its previous eye level position, and proudly display the object in my possession.
“A sharpie?” Joeski’s eyebrows instantly dart down in confusion. “That’s proof that you’re really into me?”
“Da.”
“How?”
“It’s the same marker I used to write on your cheek at our opener.”
“You mean the same brand?”
“Net, I mean I tracked down Hoss postgame and paid her a hundo for the exact marker I used.”
“You paid a hundred bucks for that?!”
“I was willing to pay a lot more.”
“Wh-wh-why?”
“Because I wanted it.” Tucking it behind my ear precedes a somewhat bashful shrug. “Because I wanted something I could have with me…wherever I went…that reminded me of that moment. That first moment you wore my number.” There’s a minor reluctance to add, “That first moment I knew you were meant to be mine.”
Her teeth briefly sink into her bottom lip prior to her purring, “I think I was always meant to be yours, Ig.”
It’s difficult to ignore the way the statement stirs my dick.
Yet I do.
At least until she rolls over onto her back to reveal to me my number is the only thing she’s currently wearing.
“Fuck,” is huskily barked under my breath. “Where are your panties, Joeski?”
Another tiny bite is stolen from the territory I wish were trapped between my own teeth. “Have you checked your suitcase?”
There’s no delay in my actions.
I drop the phone, scurry over to my luggage, and frantically begin searching until I discover the lacy red material comfortably cushioning a new bottle of peppermint flavored lube.
Bench Boss have fucking mercy…
How is one woman always such a fucking snipe?!
Getting back into the position that I left takes a little longer than the first time thanks to the new accessories I’m now carrying. It requires some finagling to get my phone angled and resting against the bedside lamp; however, the second I’m done, my hard work is rewarded with Joey having positioned the phone so that it’s resting against stacked pillows giving me a delicious view of the smooth, waxed, soaking wet sight between her legs.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was in mitt.
Or touched mitt.
Or saw mitt in real life.
“I wanna see you come in my number, baby,” I wolfishly declare while removing my dick from my boxers. “In my house. In my room. In my fucking bed.”
A faint whimper escapes as she teasingly trails her finger along the inside of her thigh.
Doing my job.
Reminding me that for the next few days I can’t be anything more than a fucking bench warmer.
The second Joey steals a small graze of her lower lips, she whimpers again, a little louder.
Needier.
Eager for some verbal stick taps.
“Such a fucking beauty…” Draping the material around my shaft is followed by flicking open the lid to the bottle. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.”
Hearing her breath hitch merely spurs me on to continue.
“Give me the assist, Joeski.” Thick, cold liquid pools in my palm while my gaze remains locked onto hers. “Lech'.”
The stacked knockout proves once more she’s successfully learning my second language by following my instruction and lying backwards.
Winding my hand around my cock occurs at the same time I throatily demand, “Spread your legs wider. Show me that empty netter, baby.”
Joey moans a little louder.
Allows her knees to hit the mattress as she glides her hand down to give me a perfect shot of her pussy.