What the fuck more could I want? I look down and she looks up and that mask is pissing me off and I want it gone. Swept aside like the bikini that’s half off her tits.
No. No way can I risk her showing her face. Not even at camp. Not even if the only thing I need right now is to get a good look at the tears gathering in her eyes and sliding down to mingle with her spit and, after that, my come. I want it so bad and now there’s more than want mixed in with what I’m feeling and it’s fucked—totally fucked—that I can’t just enjoy a goddamn phenomenal face fuck out here in nature withoutfeelingall this shit.
Want and need and hunger for more, moremore, despite the way I’m slamming myself inside her and she’s taking it, pushing back when she needs to breathe, but otherwise moaning and grunting and whimpering and not once telling me to stop and, goddamn it, I’m dying here, dying from this other thing that’s clawing at my chest—not from outside, but within—at my throat, my guts, my balls.
“What are you doing to me? Huh?” I ask her, planting both hands on the tree trunk above her, using it as leverage and pumping, pumping, pumping into her until she gags and gasps for breath. I back up to give her space and she reaches for me again.
I groan, my balls going tight.
“I’m close, Twy. So fucking close. You gonna swallow my come like a good brat?”
She nods, as best she can, her hold tightening on my leg. One hand lifting up to her face.
I don’t know what she’s planning, but my eyes are wide as I take her in. She could do anything right now and I’d want that thing. That one thing. Fuck, she could kiss me. I’d let her. I’d take it from her.
Instead, she grabs the leather mask and slides it up, over her head, where she gives up when it gets caught in her hair, making her look even more ruined, which only feeds the monster. I want her ruined. By me. I want her so fucking destroyed there’ll be no doubt who the hell she belongs to.
And those eyes. “Fuck you’re so beautiful.” My voice is a song, a dirge. “Your eyes are like…” What am I saying? I’ve got to shut up. I’ve got to hold on to myself, not give these parts away. “Your soul, Twyla. It’s so perfect.”
I sink inside her, reach down to grab my balls as they go almost too tight to stand, and take the base of my cock in my other hand, pull out almost all the way and jack off in her mouth as the come boils up. “Fuck, Twyla,” I gasp out, sounding not half as tortured as I feel as the first spurt hits the back of her throat. “The fuck you doing to me?”
But it’s not enough, is it? It’ll never be. So I pull out and let the second jet paint her lips, marking them to spite my hard limits. And Twyla—god bless the filthy little brat who’s been hiding inside my queen—sticks her little pink tongue out and laps it up.
With a grunt, I stumble back far enough to stripe her tits with my come and then, because I’m a dirty motherfucker who gets off on all things filth, I feed my still-hard, pulsing length into that mouth again and make her lick me clean.
Which she does with the sweetest little smile.
My brain comes back online slowly, my body still buzzing with endorphins. I watch her get up, help her slide her bathing suit back into place, not at all unhappy when my knuckles graze a nipple on the way.
“Wow,” I tell her, once she’s got the mask out of her hair and most everything back in order. “You look…debauched.”
She snorts and glances around. “Think anyone’ll mind?”
I smile, picturing her walk of shame with those swollen lips and tear-stained eyes and come-stained bathing suit. “No. No one here’ll mind. But I’ll walk you. Where you stayin’?”
She gives me a half-annoyed look, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
“I’m doing Kidnapping Orientation? Remember?” She slides into one sandal, then the other, looking around, completely oblivious to the storm rising inside me. “You probably made me late and—”
“You’re not going.” My voice is too harsh, too angry, but I’m firm on this. It’s a bad idea. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”
In the next moment, she completely transforms from looking happily well-used into a furious hell-queen. “You know what you are, Zion?” she whispers so low I have to lean in.
“What am I, Twyla?” I hold my breath, waiting. Wanting.
“Never mind. Forget it.” She backs up a step, blinking hard and fast, her expression almost betrayed. “Get out of my way. I’m late for my kidnapping.”
She stomps off, that silky robe billowing out behind her and all I can do is stand here and stare, one hand on my chest, all the air knocked out of me. I’d thought… Hell, I don’t know. That she’d stay and battle it out, I guess. That this thing we’re doing—whatever the fuck it is—might be more important than attending orientation for an event she has no business taking part in.
But, shit, does it hurt.
18
Twyla
“Jesus, Teetee. Can’t leave you alone for a minute.” Gigi’s voice sounds tinny and faraway through my computer’s speaker. “Okay. Then what happened?”
“I went to orientation. He was there, of course, the whole time. Hovering over me like a sexy…malevolentshadow or something.”
