DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns it all...we just twist it up and laugh our asses off...
A/N: Welcome new and old readers alike. What can we say? We've decided to create a single collab account as we've now got a second collab in the planning stages and we doubt it'll be our last...so from here on out we will be posting on THIS profile instead of individually on our separate profiles...should make it easier for ya'll!
"To the left a bit… No… To the left…" she whined in unsatisfied irritation.
Great, how am I supposed to concentrate on this now that I have that fucking song in my head? I thought to myself as I propped myself more comfortably on my elbows.
I hated doing this.
Clits, lips and juice.
I hated it, hated it all.
Where the hell those romance authors came up with the notion that pussy juice tasted 'sweet as honey,' was beyond me.
"Jasper, are you paying attention?" she panted frustratingly and I couldn't give a shit. And no, I really wasn't paying attention.
"I'm sorry, Maggie, but I just can't get into it," I groaned out as I detached my swollen lips from her lower lips and came up for some much needed air.
Damn woman always tried to suffocate me while I was down there, I swear she did. I could see my death certificate now: Cause of Death: Drowned in orgasmic flood.
It would have been slightly more appealing, if I could use that word, if I didn't have to use a weed whacker to get to the right spot. I don't think she'd ever shaved or waxed down there and it resembled either the burning bush or the Amazon rain forest. Let's go with the rainforest…because it was definitely sticky, hot and unchartered with who knows what lurking in its depths.
"Well, maybe if you worked a little less instead of doing all of those stupid digs, you wouldn't be so tired and we could actually enjoy ourselves," she huffed as she reached for her rabbit.
Yeah right. I can't remember the last time I actually enjoyed myself.
Don't get me wrong, I got it up, I pumped, I got off, but I didn't enjoy myself.
"Are you listening to me?"
Nag, nag, nag….
Are we really having this conversation while she's playing with herself right next to me?
Jesus Christ…the sounds coming from between her legs as she shoved that piece of plastic between them was making me nauseous!
I really wanted to say that I wasn't listening to her, but she would only go and cry to my mom and then I would have shit for the next week from dad about the moral strength of the family home being on the shoulders of the man. Cue the eye roll.
Christ, we weren't even married yet and I was getting marriage advice!
"I think we need to see a professional," she finally whimpered out as she came, sounding very similar to next door's cat… in heat.
"Maggie, how about we actually get married before we start hitting the therapists?"
Trust me, we'd need to then. Medication might even be needed.
"I'm not talking about a therapist, Jasper, I mean a sexual expert."
And that my dear friend, is how I ended up coming face to face with a tattooed, pierced and fucking hot male sex shop owner.