And that’s when I turn into a madman, fucking her, fingering her, kissing her until she trembles around me. Until our brows bead with sweat and our breaths become one. Until her walls pulse around me and she comes with the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard.
Her thighs shake as she continues to milk my cock. My balls slap at her pussy, growing heavy as my body tightens and my spine tingles.
And then, almost as if I’ve been caught off-guard, I spill inside her sweet, slick heat in waves of euphoria.
Like I haven’t in years.
Like I plan to for years to come.
When she’s mine for good.
fifteen
nisha
I Don’t Love the Idea of Darth Vader Going Down on You
Sparks detonate on my skin as soft breath escapes my lips.
No, not a breath. A pant. A request for more. A praise for the desire fluttering inside my core.
In my half-asleep, fully-turned-on haze, it takes me a second to recognize the sound as my own. But he does. Because he answers it with a groan, dragging the tip of his cock back and forth, from my entrance to my clit, coating himself with my juices.
Lying on our sides, he’s positioned behind me with one arm under my neck. His other hand alternates between working his erection between my folds and tweaking my nipple. Instinctively, I wiggle my ass against him, hissing as I fist his sheets.
The morning sunlight trickles in through the gaps in his curtains, illuminating the evidence of our tryst last night—my dress falling off the arm of a chair in the corner, his blazer and jeans in a heap on the plush carpet . . . and is that my thong hanging from the dresser knob?
Wait . . . Why are they torn like that?
Oh, right.
Because as soon as we got to his house—ravenous and ready for round two—he yanked them off me like a man possessed. I remember gasping as the sound of the lace tearing filled the room, along with his muttered promise to buy me a hundred more.
Now it’s hanging there like a tiny flag, a reminder of all the lines we crossed and all the restraints we broke.
And while the careful, risk-averse, and still heartbroken part of me continues to ring warning bells inside my head, telling me this could be a big mistake, that I shouldn’t walk back down this same path with a man who shattered me before, I tell the bitch we’ll address her concerns later.
Because right now, enveloped in his arms and his touch, I can’t think of the rights and wrongs, the shoulds and shouldn’ts, the past and the future.
I can only live in the present.
The present, where his lips and tongue are on my neck, his fingers are pressing inside me, making me buck, and I’m too far gone to care about the promises I made to myself over the past seven years.
My eyes squeeze shut as waves of electricity course down my spine, making me whimper and squirm under his touch. A touch that has woken me up just like this countless times in the past, knowing how much I love starting a new day with him buried between my legs.
“Patton . . . Oh, God! Yes . . .”
His erection slides in between my ass cheeks as his fingers work me. “Fuck, baby. Always so messy, so soaked and swollen for me.”
My hand finds the back of his head, my fingers tightening in his hair as I whimper in response. I swear, my body feels like it’s on fire.
“Tell me, Little Borealis, are you ready for my cock again?”
God. Every word out of his mouth is my undoing. The unraveling of my carefully reconstructed life and plans.
I’m sore in the best and worst of ways, but fuck if I’ll admit that right now.
“Y-yes.” My breathy whisper shamelessly confirms my need for him, not that he needs any more confirmation, given the way his fingers are dripping with my arousal.
