Christ, he loved it when they begged.
“You’re so fucking tight, Ava.” Sucking on the skin of her neck, Matt fingered her asshole with lube. “I can’t wait to get my dick inside you, baby.”
“Hurry.”
He notched the head into her little hole, and she hissed. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”
“I will, but please don’t.”
Matt pushed his way in farther.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Ava reached for him, tugging on his hair.
Matt’s teeth sank into her skin.
“I can feel your dick, man.” Bo pulled him down to his lips and kissed him.
“I love this. Oh, God,” she cried out. “Fuck me the way you fucked him.”
Christ, he wanted to. Bo’s dick rubbed against his, and she was just so damn tight.
He glanced down. She must’ve torn a little because she was bleeding. Matt bit down on her shoulder, rubbing her clit instead.
I wish I could, sweet Ava, but see? I already hurt you.
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you, angel.”
God, he envied them. How freely they loved each other.
Maybe he didn’t need just something to fill his days.
Maybe what he needed was someone to fill them with, too.
If it had been a nicer day, she probably would’ve gone over to Stan’s to grab a cup of coffee for the train ride home. Hell, if it weren’t so damn cold, she’d probably walk. But since it was frigid on this February morning, Gina made do with shitty coffee from the hospital cafeteria and braced herself for the Arctic blast outside.
“Fuck.” She pulled her scarf tighter.
It was a good thing the Wellington Station was just across the street.
Mindful of the ice, Gina crossed it while fumbling in her bag for her Ventra card. She tapped it, went through the turnstile, and headed up the stairs to the platform. If she timed it just right, and she was certain she had, the train would arrive at any moment. Because it would surely suck to stand in the icy wind, waiting for the next one.
No sooner had she taken a sip of the bitter sludge that passed for coffee, when the clickety-clack sound of the train on the elevated track signaled its approach from Belmont. Gina took a seat close to the doors. She wouldn’t be on the train for long. It was only a couple of stops to Fullerton—three if she took it to Armitage.
The old Chicago townhouse where she lived was an equal distance from either. Most often, she got off at Armitage, for no other reason than to avoid getting caught in the university foot traffic, but this early on a Saturday morning, that shouldn’t be an issue, so she’d get off at Fullerton instead. A five-minute ride. Walk four blocks. Another five minutes.Okay, maybe ten. Gina glanced at her watch. With any luck at all, she’d be curled up in her bed, shades drawn, and fast asleep by eight a.m.
What she wouldn’t give for eight solid hours of uninterrupted sleep. Working twelve-hour night shifts was sucking the life right out of her. After nearly nine months of it, Gina felt like a cast member ofThe Walking Deadmost of the time. If a spot didn’t open up for her on the day shift soon, she might lose it.
Or lapse into an irreversible coma.
Night shift isn’t for the weak.
She got off at Fullerton, thankful the students were still sleeping, and headed toward First Avenue where her family’s pizzeria and bakery were located, but Gina wasn’t going anywhere near Rossi’s. Instead, she left Fullerton at Third and hurried to the house around the corner on Willow.
Her family wasn’t rich even though it might look like it, but they weren’t poor either. So what if they lived in a lovely home in a sought-after zip code? It wasn’t always that way. Gina remembered when she was a kid, this neighborhood was shit. Nobody wanted to live here then. Her mom urged her father to move the family and the business out to the suburbs, but he wouldn’t hear of it. His grandparents built this house in the 1920s when they were newlyweds, then his father opened the pizzeria in 1958.
