I’m not begging now. I’m prying his cheeks open, holding them in both hands and pulling them apart. His ass isn’t pretty or pink anymore. It’s red. Angry and gaping. Afucked-out hole, a wide-open mouth, gaping for me. I let myself fall onto him. Into him. It’s not slow or seductive. It’s not even well thought out. There’s no finesse to my actions. I lick into him as though my life depends on it, spearing him with my tongue, grunting as I try to consume him. He’s oversensitive and raw from being fucked, and he screams when I do it. It doesn’t stop me. If anything, it spurs me on. I don’t stop until he’s slithered down the wall and onto the floor, and even then, I keep going until I’m holding him up by the hips as he fails helplessly on the floorboards.
“Tiger, you’re killing me,” he whines over and over. “I’m dying.”
When I’ve finally had my fill, I spit on my dick and eek the last of the lube from the sachet. He looks back as I do it, and I see a flicker of concentration on his features. I know that look. He’s pushing back, opening himself, offering himself to me.
Fuck. I love that.
I want to cry from the terrible sweetness of seeing Romeo like that. Doing that for me. I want to sob and hold on to him and never, ever let him go. I want to take him and steal him away and never give him back to Selby, no matter what anyone says. I want all that, but right now, there’s one thing I want more. One thing I need.
Right now, I need to expel the biggest load of my life.
I reach around and take Romeo’s drooling dick in my hand.
“Yesss,” he wails the second I touch him. “God, yes, Tiger,yes. Kill me like that. Please,please, kill me more.”
I stroke his dick hard and fast. I fuck him hard and fast too, aware that if he keeps talking like this, I’m going to blow in under five seconds. As it is, the pleasure is blinding. The pressure surreal. His body is stretched tightly around me, stroking me, tugging me, making me feel good. Every cell in my body starts screaming and my heart pounds, frantically beating the only name it knows.
Romeo
Romeo
Romeo
I come the second I feel Romeo’s ass clamp down around my cock. A massive white wave engulfs me. Day swallows me whole and tosses me into a blinding abyss. Everything is good. It’s peaceful and lovely and bad things don’t exist here. The feeling is sublime. Only one thing is wrong. I’m here and he’s there, and even though I’m pretty sure I’m in heaven, I’d gladly go to hell for Romeo, so I open my lungs and roar my way back to the night. Back to dark things. Back to him. I find him on the floor beneath me, eyes screwed shut.
He’s writhing in pleasure and saying my name.
25
“Come night, come Romeo”
Now
When I come backto myself, I find myself bare ass on the floor, leaning against the chest in the hallway with Romeo’s head on my shoulder. Post-nut bliss is over and reality hits hard.
“Oh God,” I splutter as hot panic finds me. “Oh God, do you think anyone heard us?”
“Nah.” He sounds relaxed like he’s still floating and far away. “And besides, if anyone heard us, they’d have thought we were fighting, not fucking.”
A small snort bursts out of me, and I quickly do my best to stifle it. It’s a nervous giggle, but still, this is no time to laugh. What just happened is the furthest thing from funny I’ve ever been directly involved in.
“You better go,” I say brusquely. “We can’t be late for dinner. Yourwifewill be expecting us.”
To say that the following meal is torment doesn’t begin to describe it. Selby is not happy. The much-anticipatedprint for their bedroom has arrived and has not met her expectations.
“Dammit, Romeo,” she says, with a fake laugh that reads more like fury. “You just had to go and look scared, didn’t you?” Romeo does his best to look sorry, but I can tell his mind is drifting. She turns to me and explains, “Romeo has this thing where he looks scared in photos. Always. Every single time we hire a photographer, it’s the same. Perfect scenery, great lighting, perfect pose, perfect me…but when you zoom in on his face, he has this vaguely petrified expression.” She demonstrates what she means by freezing her eyes and pulling her lips back into a strange, square smile.
Ordinarily, I’d be inclined to point out that the best way to reduce people’s anxiety around having their photographs taken is not to force them into situations where it’s required of them, but given I just fucked her husband to within an inch of his life, I think I might let it slide.
I have a feeling I’m acting quiet and weird, not quite myself, but I’m not sure how to stop it. Can’t remember how to act normal. Don’t know if there is such a thing as normal when you’ve just done what I’ve done. It’s a suspicion that’s confirmed when Selby gives my shoulder a squeeze and says, “You okay? You look flushed.”
Right as she says it, I glance at Romeo and notice an angry pink smudge on his neck. A smudge I put there. With my mouth and teeth.
I almost have a heart attack on the spot.
I’m in the ring, sparring with terror and shame and a fuckton of guilt, and I’m losing. They gang up on me, jabbing at my sides and pointing fingers at me.
My ass is sweating profusely, and I seem to be done with quiet and weird. Sadly, loud and weird is where I’ve landed, which I think might be worse.
