I picked up that BookTok book because the girl on my For You page said it would ruin me. Dark romance, she called it. Enemies to lovers with filthy sex scenes that made her soak through her panties. I bought it on my Kindle the same night and started reading in bed, lights off, just the screen glow on my face.
Page one was setup. By page twenty the hero had the heroine pinned against a bookshelf in a library after hours. He told her to shut the fuck up and spread her legs. I felt my own thighs press together. I kept reading. His fingers shoved her panties aside and he called her a dripping little slut for getting wet from his voice alone. My hand slipped under the blanket. I was already wet. Not just damp—slick, the kind of wet that makes your fingers glide.
I read faster. The scene got nastier. He made her kneel, pulled his cock out, and told her to suck it like she hated him. She did. The book described the sounds—wet, messy, gagging when he fucked her throat. My fingers found my clit and rubbed slow circles. I imagined the weight of a cock on my tongue instead of my own hand. The book kept going. He bent her over a table, yanked her skirt up, and slammed into her without warning. The heroine moaned about how big he felt, how he was stretching her open. I pushed two fingers inside myself and pumped them in time with the words on the screen.
My phone buzzed. It was him. The guy I’d been seeing who lived two floors down. “You up?” I typed back one word: “Reading.” He replied with a question mark. I took a photo of the page, the one where the hero was growling that he was going to fill her cunt until it leaked down her thighs, and sent it. Three dots appeared. Then nothing. Two minutes later someone knocked on my door.
I opened it in just a tank top and underwear. He stepped inside, saw the Kindle still glowing on the bed, and grinned like he already knew. “That the book everyone’s talking about?” I nodded.
He kicked the door shut. “Read it to me.”
I picked the Kindle back up with shaky hands and started from where I’d left off. My voice cracked on the dirty parts. He stripped while I read. When I got to the line about the heroine begging to be used, he grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me onto the bed face down. “Keep reading,” he said. He yanked my underwear down and slapped my ass hard enough to sting. I kept reading, voice muffled by the pillow, while he spread me open and dragged his tongue from my clit to my asshole. I almost dropped the Kindle when he shoved two thick fingers inside me without warning.
“Faster,” he ordered. I tried. The words blurred as he finger-fucked me rough, curling them exactly like the book described. My hips rocked back against his hand. He pulled his fingers out, wiped the wetness across my ass, and lined his cock up. One hard thrust and he was buried to the hilt. I gasped. The stretch burned in the best way. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He fucked me like the hero in the book—deep, mean, one hand fisted in my hair so I had to keep reading out loud.
Every time I stumbled over a filthy sentence he slammed in harder. “Say it,” he growled. “Tell me you’re a dripping slut just like her.” I said it. My voice broke but I said every word. He reached under me and rubbed my clit in tight circles while he pounded me. I came with the Kindle still in my hands, the screen shaking, the words “come inside me, fill me up” still glowing.
He flipped me onto my back, hooked my knees over his elbows, and kept going. Sweat dripped off his chest onto mine. He told me I was tighter than the girl in the book, wetter, louder. I clawed at his back and begged him to come like the heroine did. When he finally did, he stayed deep, grinding through it, making sure every drop stayed inside like the book promised.
We lay there breathing hard. The Kindle had gone dark. He reached over, turned it back on, and scrolled to the next chapter. “Keep reading,” he said, already getting hard again inside me. “We’re not done until you finish the book.”
