Screwed by Abby Knox

Screwed by Abby Knox

Author:Abby Knox [Knox, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Abby Knox, LLC
Published: 2023-10-22T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER EIGHT

Wade

When I return to the guest room with a tray full of snacks, chocolate, and drinks, Presley’s dazed expression gets me harder than ever.

“What’s all this?” Presley asks.

“You said you were headed to the kitchen,” I say, setting the tray down at her feet, then quickly adjusting my dick before helping her put her shirt back on.

“For water,” she points out.

“And I got you water, as requested. Be right back.” I could easily get detoured by losing myself in her intoxicating kisses again. But if I do that, I’m worried things will get out of control fast. Not only do I not want to injure her foot further, but I want her to know how serious I am. And I don’t want to fuck her when I’m covered in dirt and sawdust.

Her pout when I get up to leave again threatens to undo my resolve, but I manage to sprint to my office for my laptop.

“What are you doing?”

“I still don’t trust you to keep weight off your foot, so I’m hanging out with you tonight. Dinner and Netflix in bed,” I say as I set up the laptop on the end of the bed. “What do you want to watch?”

Presley laughs an achingly pretty laugh that puts flashes of my future in my mind.

“Is this Netflix and chill for the forcibly bedridden?” she asks.

“Only for good girls. And you’re definitely not a good girl,” I tease.

Presley snorts and playfully slugs me on the shoulder. “Well, if we’re going to watch movies and eat snacks together, I need pajamas.”

She moves to get up, but I’m quick about slinging her arm around my shoulder. Once I have Presley standing on one foot by the dresser, I avert my eyes as I help her tug off her jeans.

“You don’t have to look away,” she says. “It’s not like you didn’t have your hands all up in my business.”

“Doctor/patient courtesy,” I reply, though as I stare at the wall, I’m one hundred percent thinking about her business. And her tits…and her sweet nipples, how they puckered when I tasted them…Presley’s scent on me that drove me mad when I tasted her on my fingers before I washed them ahead of all the food prep. I’m already fixated on Presley’s sweetness, like a drug dog hitting on a scent.

“Here,” she says, handing me her pajama bottoms. As I unfold them, I wonder how I didn’t notice these silky pink things with the lace trim. They’re so delicate and expensive looking that I feel guilty touching them, afraid I’ll leave fingerprints.

I hold them out for her, and her voice is soft as she steps into them, one foot then the other.

“Thank you for respecting my privacy,” she says.

I expected to get her set up with a movie and snacks, then sneak off to shower. But the woman keeps pulling me back in with conversation.

We don’t get much movie viewing done other than lulls in a 90-minute conversation about what we want out of life.

“I can see myself married with kids one day.



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