Her leg around my waist beckons me. Her arousal is a drug I can’t get enough of. I find her wet opening and guide my cock into her tight heat. She pulses around me. My thumb teases her clit as I thrust in and pull back, plunging deeper each time.
I grip her warm, spanked ass and hold her still so I bang against her cervix. She comes undone, spreading her legs, letting me do her hard and deep.
I watch her breasts bounce and grip her tighter, the sounds of sex pounding in my ears. She’s dripping wet, and my balls tighten with the primal urge to plant my baby inside her.
When the orgasm hits her, her pussy teases my cock with powerful contractions. My balls empty, my cock firing hard.
Afterward, I drop onto the bed, breathing fast. Next to me, she’s shaking. I pull her body against mine and rub her damp skin.
“That was amazing,” she whispers, and the satisfaction makes me want to roar in triumph.
The ever-present darkness recedes, replaced by the light of this passionate girl who’s been my obsession for years.
I kiss her, holding her tight. The way I want to hold onto her forever.
Chapter Fourteen
Anvil
We’re in a bar called Lumos. It’s one of those flavor-of-the-week clubs that plays whatever’s popular on the radio and has gimmicky cocktails. Rachel’s trying a green drink called a Lantern that’s a concoction of lime, bourbon, crème de menthe, bitters, and honey. It’s disgusting, but she keeps sipping at it until I take it away and order her a gin and tonic.
Trick returns from the bar with the eyes of half a dozen women following him. He’s relaxed and joking, even more so than usual. I don’t miss the pair of scratches on his forearm when he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up. He’s played with some girl earlier in the night who got her nails on him. He doesn’t usually let them, so things must’ve been wilder than usual.
“What’s that?” he asks, looking at the nuclear-waste-colored cocktail.
“Uranium,” I say. “And piss.”
Not even three seconds pass before he takes a taste. He grimaces and then flashes a grin.
“That’s shite,” he says, his accent a throwback to his old man’s. The guy was an Irish gangster. We were all born of criminals.
I take a swig of Coke. Mine’s unadulterated. I want my mind sharp.
“What dungeon did you go to?” I ask, knowing he’s had the kind of sex he likes best. He’s in too good a mood not to have.
He smirks as he looks away. “What do you care? You’ve got Instagram Wednesday Addams to play with.”
