Read Online Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance by Marie Force - Free Book Online
Authors: Marie Force
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was forever giving away money she didn’t have to help people who were less fortunate than she was, not to mention taking in a baby abandoned at the church and raising her as her own.
I kept her good jewelry along with photographs of her parents, siblings and cousins, all of whom predeceased her. They were the closest thing to family that I’ve ever had, even if I never met any of them. I count those photographs and the ones I have of her among my most prized possessions.
I limp onto the porch, where I find that Lauren has come through with a basket of Epsom salts and other bath products. I moan with anticipation of sinking into Gran’s cast-iron, claw-foot tub. Because this day has been a total bitch, I fix myself a tall glass of wine and a plate of crackers, cheese and grapes to tide me over until the party.
In the bathroom, I set my drink and snack on the windowsill, light a few candles and sprinkle the new bath beads and salts Lauren got me into the steaming water. Before I turn off the lights, I kick off my cowboy boots and strip out of my dress and underwear. I catch a glimpse of my ass in the mirror and gasp at the fingertip bruises that stand out in stark contrast to my white flesh. Turning to face the mirror, I see that there are also bruises on my hips and breasts, and I shiver, remembering the way he touched me with such all-consuming hunger. Thank goodness he didn't leave bruises anywhere people could see them.
My nipples tighten and my clit springs to life, making me groan as I wonder how it’s possible I have any gas left in my tank after last night. Sinking into the hot water is almost as orgasmic an experience as fucking Blake Dempsey was. If my poor, tortured flesh could actually sigh with pleasure, it’d be hyperventilating at how good the hot water and Epsom salts feel.
I lay back against the pillow I bought just for the tub and reach for my glass of wine. During the shoot, I forced my mind to stay on the subject at hand, hoping I’d get rid of them sooner rather than later. We all know how that worked out. So it’s been a few hours since I did a full review of last night’s activities, and I let my mind wander back to the bar, to the way he choked on his beer after I delivered my opening line, to how he whispered gruffly in my ear to follow him home, how he insisted on feeding me before we got down to it, and the way he completely obliterated my memories of all other men in one incredible night.
How did he manage that last part? Well, The Cock managed it. That thought makes me laugh. I have to admit I thought Lauren was exaggerating when she said she’s never seen one quite like Blake’s. Now I know she wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, her descriptions didn’t do The Cock justice. Just thinking about it makes me tingle all over. He made me feel like a newly deflowered virgin trying to take him into my protesting body. The struggle was epic and my reactions unprecedented. I’ve never come from penetration alone. It usually takes a lot more than that, but not with Blake. Not with The Cock that stroked every nerve ending I possess into an unholy orgasmic frenzy.
Picking it all apart with the perspective I lacked in the moment, I realize it was more than his equipment that set me on fire. It was the way he paid such close attention to my every reaction, the way he touched me and stroked me and sucked on my nipples with my ultimate pleasure as his only goal.
I return my wineglass to the windowsill and fill my hands with my breasts, running my thumbs gently over sore nipples that immediately respond by getting even harder. I draw in a sharp deep breath at the connection between my nipples and clit. I’m amazed that thinking about last night has me fully aroused once again.
My legs move restlessly, sending water sloshing toward the sides of the tall tub.
Closing my eyes, I relive it, from those first minutes in the bar to sneaking out this morning and everything in between. As if it’s
I kept her good jewelry along with photographs of her parents, siblings and cousins, all of whom predeceased her. They were the closest thing to family that I’ve ever had, even if I never met any of them. I count those photographs and the ones I have of her among my most prized possessions.
I limp onto the porch, where I find that Lauren has come through with a basket of Epsom salts and other bath products. I moan with anticipation of sinking into Gran’s cast-iron, claw-foot tub. Because this day has been a total bitch, I fix myself a tall glass of wine and a plate of crackers, cheese and grapes to tide me over until the party.
In the bathroom, I set my drink and snack on the windowsill, light a few candles and sprinkle the new bath beads and salts Lauren got me into the steaming water. Before I turn off the lights, I kick off my cowboy boots and strip out of my dress and underwear. I catch a glimpse of my ass in the mirror and gasp at the fingertip bruises that stand out in stark contrast to my white flesh. Turning to face the mirror, I see that there are also bruises on my hips and breasts, and I shiver, remembering the way he touched me with such all-consuming hunger. Thank goodness he didn't leave bruises anywhere people could see them.
My nipples tighten and my clit springs to life, making me groan as I wonder how it’s possible I have any gas left in my tank after last night. Sinking into the hot water is almost as orgasmic an experience as fucking Blake Dempsey was. If my poor, tortured flesh could actually sigh with pleasure, it’d be hyperventilating at how good the hot water and Epsom salts feel.
I lay back against the pillow I bought just for the tub and reach for my glass of wine. During the shoot, I forced my mind to stay on the subject at hand, hoping I’d get rid of them sooner rather than later. We all know how that worked out. So it’s been a few hours since I did a full review of last night’s activities, and I let my mind wander back to the bar, to the way he choked on his beer after I delivered my opening line, to how he whispered gruffly in my ear to follow him home, how he insisted on feeding me before we got down to it, and the way he completely obliterated my memories of all other men in one incredible night.
How did he manage that last part? Well, The Cock managed it. That thought makes me laugh. I have to admit I thought Lauren was exaggerating when she said she’s never seen one quite like Blake’s. Now I know she wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, her descriptions didn’t do The Cock justice. Just thinking about it makes me tingle all over. He made me feel like a newly deflowered virgin trying to take him into my protesting body. The struggle was epic and my reactions unprecedented. I’ve never come from penetration alone. It usually takes a lot more than that, but not with Blake. Not with The Cock that stroked every nerve ending I possess into an unholy orgasmic frenzy.
Picking it all apart with the perspective I lacked in the moment, I realize it was more than his equipment that set me on fire. It was the way he paid such close attention to my every reaction, the way he touched me and stroked me and sucked on my nipples with my ultimate pleasure as his only goal.
I return my wineglass to the windowsill and fill my hands with my breasts, running my thumbs gently over sore nipples that immediately respond by getting even harder. I draw in a sharp deep breath at the connection between my nipples and clit. I’m amazed that thinking about last night has me fully aroused once again.
My legs move restlessly, sending water sloshing toward the sides of the tall tub.
Closing my eyes, I relive it, from those first minutes in the bar to sneaking out this morning and everything in between. As if it’s
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