Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
‘Take me,’ she begs lewdly, spreading her legs and showing me her engorged, shining pussy. I lift my head to enjoy the sight. Her whole body spasmodically jerking, hot, wet, and surrounded by her halo of gorgeous hair.
‘Please,’ she begs pitifully.
‘Fuck me, Noah. Fuck me.’ Her hips thrust helplessly at thin air. It gives me a cheap thrill to hear her use the word fuck.
‘Say fuck my cunt,’ I order.
She doesn’t hesitate. She is too far gone. ‘Fuck my cunt,’ she cries.
‘Please ... Noah … please.’
But I carry on tormenting her until her hips are jerking and her thighs trembling uncontrollably. Then I stop.
‘Now you may have your release, but you’ll have to work for it yourself,’ I tell her as I lie on my back. I let my eyes roam her body. Covered in saliva and aching to be filled with my cock, she crawls towards me and swings one leg over me.
‘Stop,’ I demand, and she freezes, her pussy garishly gaping open and glistening, her face contorted with frustration.
I commit to memory the dirty image of Tasha, no longer a Princess, but horny, slutty, her leg cocked over my dick, and out-of-control sexy.
‘What?’ she groans.
‘Now,’ I tell her.
She immediately impales herself on my meat until I’m completely buried in her tight pussy. Mewling and squirming with relief and pure sensuality, she rotates her hips and grinds her pussy on my pubes. Her eyes are closed and I see the bliss on her face.
When she starts rocking back and forth, I gather her close to me and suck on her puffy, reddened nipples. When she utters a low cry of pain and pleasure, I begin to suck voraciously at the enlarged tips. As I bite down on one, I thrust the fingers of my other hand between her lips, forcing her to suck her own juices.
‘Bounce on my cock,’ I growl.
She tightens her pussy muscles and lifts herself upwards two or three inches, but my hands on her hips pulls all but my cockhead clear out of her, followed immediately by my cock slamming back inside her.
‘Talk dirty to me.’
She licks her lips and looks at me with half-hooded eyes. ‘I’m a dirty slut. Give it to me hard and fast!’
‘Fuck yeah.’
‘I want you to put your big cock in my mouth and let me suck it until you fill my belly with your cum.’
Of course, she would have to be a fucking natural at this too.
‘Not just my mouth. I can’t wait for you to fill every hole in my body with your hot cum.’
She keeps at it, and I start to slam harder and harder into her sweet cunt until we slam right into the hurricane of our climaxes.
Seven
Tasha Evanoff
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks.
I grin at him. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He grins back and I stare at the beauty of the man. I have never seen him smile with his teeth showing before. He is spellbindingly handsome.
Unaware of my appreciation of him, he jackknives upright and, naked, walks to the dressing room. He comes back wearing track bottoms and holding a shirt in his hand.
‘Wear this,’ he says, holding it out to me.
I slip into it and fold the sleeves up.
He gazes at me.
‘What? What are you thinking?’ I ask.
‘How fuckable you look.’
I blush and he laughs.
‘Come on,’ he says leading the way. We go downstairs in our bare feet.
‘What’s there to eat?’ I ask, sliding onto one of the creamy yellow stools. His kitchen looks like it is hardly ever used. Every surface is gleaming with newness.
‘I don’t know,’ he says opening the fridge.
‘You don’t know. Who does the shopping for you?’ I ask curiously.
‘I have a woman who stocks my fridge and my cupboards.’
I get up and join him in front of the fridge. We study the contents together. His fridge is well stocked with unopened packets of food. Fresh vegetables, salad in a plastic bag, cheeses, meat, fish, jars of condiments and containers of cooked food.
‘You’ve got Khachapuri,’ I exclaim, my stomach rumbling at the thought of the crusty bread shaped to look like a boat, the middle filled with different types of melted cheese and baked with an egg thrown on top of all that cheese. Mmmm …
‘Shall we have one?’ he asks.
‘One? I’m not sharing my Khachapuri. Get your own.’
He grins down at me and for a second there is something soft in his eyes, then it is gone and replaced by something slightly distant and unreadable.
‘Fine, we’ll have two. I was just thinking you might want to save some space for the Morozhenoe,’ he explains in an amused voice.
‘Morozhenoe?’ I echo, my eyes bright. I love creamy Russian ice cream.
‘Uh … huh,’ he says, taking two portions of half-baked crusty bread filled with cheese and putting it on the granite counter top.