Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“I want you inside me,” she whispers as the sprinklers on the lawn kick on, water spraying, casting small rainbows over the grass beyond.
Miranda’s hands travel from my penis up my abdomen, over my chest. She smooths her palms over my pecs, fingers circling my hard nipples, breathing heavy.
Scoots closer still. Pressing into me as if begging for it.
I inch forward, pelvis pushing.
She spreads her legs, tipping her head to the side, hair hanging and hitting the surface of the water, drenched at its ends. She lets her hands drop, one braced on the bench, the other reaching around to grip my ass, drawing me in.
Eases between our bodies and guides the head of my cock to the valley between her thighs, positioning it so it’s in the perfect spot, so if I were to push, I’d ease inside.
I push.
Little by little, I push, and fuck if it isn’t the most fantastic fucking feeling I’ve ever felt.
“Shit,” I moan as I’m welcomed, halfway in and stiff as a board. Burying my face in her neck, I push again. Again.
“Ugh,” Miranda moans. “Keep going.”
“Does it hurt?” I ask, eyes rolling clear to the back of my head from how tight she is.
“I mean, I could stand to use lube, but it’s not the worst.” Her breath hitches when I thrust in all the way. “God that feels good—maybe I’ll even come.”
It would suck if she didn’t; no dude wants to bang someone and have them not have their own happy ending. “Do you want to get out and go to the bedroom? I have lube…”
Whatever she wants.
“No—don’t you dare stop.” Her head tips back, neck exposed to the delicious sunlight. “Feels so fucking good.”
Okay then.
I thrust, and thrust, and fuck her good, thighs pumping into her, water thrashing around us, her gorgeous tits jiggling—the sight of them is so goddamn sexy I want to reach out and touch them, but I can’t since I’m holding her steady.
“So good,” she groans, moaning. “Yeah, fuck me.”
Shit, Miranda is a dirty talker, something I never would have guessed.
“You like that baby?” I taunt, banging into her harder.
“Yes, your big dick feels incredible.”
Your big dick feels incredible—a sentence I’m likely going to replay over and over in my mind when I’m alone in bed later.
Or maybe I won’t be? For once, I’m not dreading the after.
The telltale sign of an orgasm tingles inside my balls and I can’t help but ask, “Are you close?”
Do not be the guy who comes before her, do not be the guy who comes before her, do not…
“Yes, but fuck me harder.”
Shit—how am I going to fuck her harder and not come until after she does?
I’m screwed—literally.
Somehow, I manage it. Fight through the intense vibration of her pussy clenching around me, fight through her loud, whiney “Oh god, oh GOD!” before bearing down and driving myself into her once, twice—then coming myself with a shudder far more dramatic than I’d prefer.
Like a damn amateur.
Miranda wraps her arms around my neck, kissing my shoulder, fingers at the nape of my neck playing with my hair.
17
Miranda
Noah is feeding me at the kitchen counter a half hour later, both of us dry, dressed, and tired—yet hungry enough for a late lunch. I watch as Noah fusses behind the door of a giant, stainless steel refrigerator, hauling out a bowl of cut-up fruit, turkey meat, and mayo for us.
For me.
“What are we doing with that?” I point to the mayonnaise, not seeing any bread hanging around.
“I just dip the meat in it.”
“Like—with a knife?”
“No.” He laughs. “Like a savage. You cool with that?”
His house, his rules, and I like both, so I lick my lips. “You’re the boss.”
He eyes me as he twists the jar lid off, muscles straining, drawing my attention.
I just had sex with this big, beautiful man.
Me.
Miranda Jane Pressinger.
It’s not like I haven’t had sex before, but somehow this feels different. Special? As if Noah and I have reached a new phase in our new relationship—an unspoken bond, an agreement after the drama happening the past few days.
I feel close to him.
Protective.
Glancing around, I do my darnedest not to gawk at his house, but it’s difficult. He is only a few years older than me and lives in a house he owns. Compared to my dinky apartment, this is a palace. Compared to any apartment, this is a palace.
Shiny stone countertops. Expensive stainless steel appliances. Expansive windows. Custom furniture. Miles and miles of hardwood floors.
“I also have some leftover pizza. Should I warm that up?”
Leftover pizza? “Um, that’s my favorite.”
He sets about tossing the slices on a plate, setting it in the microwave, zapping the cheesy goodness a few minutes, my stomach grumbling in the process. I content myself with watching him fuss, getting me a water with ice. Adding a lemon.