It hurts, but feels good at the same time, and I don’t know how I feel about any of this. I grip the sheets on either side of me and thrust my hips into his face.
“Fuck me!” I yell.
I didn’t mean it literally, but that’s how Mastyx takes it. He dives on top of me, thrusting his flaming hot cock inside of me. It only takes seconds for my pussy to respond. I burst around him, flooding his cock with everything I have left in me. He doesn’t stop when I finish, he continues, thrusting and fucking me harder, faster, desperately. I claw at his spine as he penetrates deep inside of me, filling my insides with a second round of his fluids.
He yanks out of me, growling and panting as he staggers to a stand, his cock drifting side to side, dripping juices on my bedroom floor.
I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to fight the smile that’s spreading across my face.
It’s not happiness I’m feeling, though; it’s pure fucking pleasure, like a fantasy I had long desired finally came to fruition.
After listening to my heart slow from a pound to a quiet thump and several seconds of silence later, I lick my lips and say, “Mastyx, why did you save me?”
There’s no reply.
“Mastyx?” I remove my arm from across my eyes and realize he’s gone.
Chapter Eighteen
The Longing Inside Me
After Mastyx’s sudden departure, I found myself thinking of him often over the next few days. Is that why he did what he did? Is that why he made me feel so much pleasure? Did he do it to make me long for him? Make me crave his presence?
I shake off the thought and continue setting the dining room table for my parents. Mom called me up a few hours ago and invited me over for dinner. Since I was caught up on my projects, I said yes.
It’s hot as fuck in here, but I didn’t want to wear short sleeves on account of the red marks on my wrists from Mastyx’s grip. This shirt has thumb holes, which I like, but it’s a pain when it’s time to do the dishes.
My dad carries a platter with a spiral ham balanced on top, and Mom is hot on his heels with a massive bowl of mashed potatoes. She sets them down and disappears through the doorway, heading back to the kitchen as my dad sits at the head of the table. He picks up a stray piece of ham that fell onto the tablecloth and stuffs it into his yap. I smile at him as my mom sweeps into the room carrying steaming peas in one hand and fresh-baked biscuits in the other, setting them down on either side of the ham platter.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Mom says, sitting at the opposite end of the table from my dad. “I made a bunch.” She shakes her napkin into her lap and raises her eyebrows. “I made an apple pie for dessert as well.”
“Thanks for dinner,” I say, reaching over and resting my hand on hers.
She pulls her hand away and waves it in the space between us. “Yeah, yeah, come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”
My dad wastes no time, stabbing the pile of sliced ham, picking up four pieces and dropping them on his plate. He stabs two slices and drops them on mine. “There you go, kiddo.”
“Thanks.” I take the fork from him, pick up a slice, and place it on my mom’s plate. She eyes my dad, frowning at the pile of mashed potatoes he filled his plate with before covering them with a pile of peas.
I clear my throat to get his attention and nod toward Mom. “I think she’d like for you to save some food for the rest of us.”
My mom sighs heavily. “Actually, I was just thinking about how much salt and calories you just filled your plate with. You know what the doctor said about your sodium.”
Dad rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. If you didn’t want me to eat so much sodium, you would have made chicken instead of ham.”
He has a valid point. My mom rocks her jaw and extends her hand, gesturing to the potatoes. “Pass me the potatoes before your father hogs them all.”
I take a small spoonful and set it beside her. She takes about the same amount as I pass her the peas. We eat in silence for what feels like an eternity before my dad finally says, “So, how’s the death art business going? You still making money?”
“It’s been great. I’m making more and more every day.”
“Good,” Mom says, taking a small bite of ham before resting her fork on the side of her plate.
I take a massive bite of potatoes and excuse myself to go to the bathroom.
The door closes softly behind me, and I stare at the mirror above the sink. A flash of Mastyx’s face appears in the mirror, and I leap back, clutching my chest. “What the fuck?” I blink several times and realize I’m fucking imagining it. I sit on the toilet and let out a long-winded sigh as my urine stream starts to flow.
My mind drifts to the moment the Bomb Pop pressed inside me, and my legs clamp closed. “Stop it, Contessa,” I murmur to myself.
