“So good,” she agrees when I hit a particular spot that makes her core flutter around me.
I chuckle, kissing her jaw. “So agreeable. Where does all that snark go when you’re underneath me?”
As if I’ve willed said snark to resurface, she answers, “It makes an exception for a decent dick.”
“Decent?” I nip her earlobe, making her jump under me. The movement makes my balls tighten, but I don’t let myself come, pounding into her harder instead. “You’re going to choke on thisdecentdick when it’s ramming down the back of your throat.”
She groans, and I swear her pussy gets slicker. “Promises, promises . . .”
I take her mouth with mine in a hungry, messy kiss, if only to shut her up. Our teeth clank as our tongues war. And just like the way I’m fucking her, there’s nothing gentle about this kiss.
It’s demanding and primal.
Unforgiving and chaotic.
Our mouths are merged, just like our bodies. Our breaths and our fucking souls, aligned in a way that feels both destined and inevitable. Like we were always meant to find our way back here.
And interestingly, reminiscent of the first time we had sex.
In the beat-up old truck I’d worked two jobs over two summers to pay for—my first car, held together by little more than duct tape and prayers.
We were just seventeen then, naïve and clueless. We might have been clumsy as hell, but even then we somehow seemed to move in-sync, like our instincts knew what our bodies had yet to experience.
We were each other’s firsts.
And while she may not physically be my only anymore, she is in all the ways it matters.
But am I still hers?
The thought forms before I can stop it, buzzing between us like a goddamn mosquito. And it fucking kills me that I still wonder, that I still hope. Though, I know how hypocritical and unfair the thought is.
She had every right to have whoever she wanted in her bed. We were fucking divorced. And yet . . . I know I’ll want to find and murder any guy who had the audacity to touch what was mine if I ever find out the motherfuckers’ names.
One of them better not have been that beady-looking asshole, Michael. Or was it Micah? His name doesn’t matter because I’ll pummel him until he thinks he’s Michael.
My jaw hardens as I break our kiss and fuck her even more ferociously before moving my lips down to her neck. I kiss and lick it, pulling a moan from her lips, before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
I have no idea when she’ll see fucking Michael again, but at least until I can get my ring back on her finger, he’ll know she belongs to someone else.
Nisha’s knowing eyes meet mine, her skin glistening in the dark. “You planning to brand me next?”
“It’s crossed my mind a time or two . . . along with chaining you permanently to me and tattooing my name over your chest.”
“Always threatening me with a good time, Hollywood.”
This fucking girl and her mouth. It’s like she always has a comeback at the ready. Maybe next time I’ll stuff her mouth full of my dick so she really can’t speak.
Lowering my mouth again, I take her other nipple between my lips, sucking and biting, rolling and teasing, before moving my hand down to her clit.
Nisha hisses at the contact and the change in angle as my dick moves inside her.
Using my middle two fingers, I start making steady, tight circles over her clit as I drag my cock through her walls.
“You’ve always been so responsive to my touch, haven’t you, Little Borealis? Tell me,” I ask, not able to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth, “has anyone else ever made your body sing like this?”
She lets out a strangled moan, her back arching into my touch, fingernails scraping down my back. Her eyes meet mine, dark and unblinking. And just when I think she’s going to hit me with another snarky response, those same eyes soften.
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she shakes her head. “You ruined me for anyone else.”
