That’s all I had to do. I had to call her his.
My Arrow’s pussy.
And I come. I come on his cock.
I jerk under him, writhe and undulate like a wave and he tightens up.
He curses and strains, his cock expanding inside my channel. His head rears back, his spine bowing. I see his sweaty, hot body become tight and stone-like as his cock jerks inside of me and spurts the first dose of his cum in the latex.
We’re both coming together then.
He’s pulsing inside of me like I’m pulsing around him. I scratch his ridged abdomen and his hand fists my hair at the scalp.
I realize that’s what he wanted to hear too – that I’m his.
That I’m my Arrow’s, and I smile again.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m still smiling about it the next morning.
Even though I didn’t want to leave his side and that hot little cocoon of his dull gray room and rumpled sheets, I had to come back. So Arrow, after helping me shower, where he proceeded to lick me to another orgasm while soothing my sore pussy, and dressing me up in his t-shirt, dropped me off at the spot in the woods where I could sneak back in.
I didn’t go to sleep though. Not right away.
Not until dawn broke in the sky, but still, I woke up at the designated time, got ready for classes, went to breakfast, and chatted with my friends, all of whom gave me knowing looks because I left with him in the middle of my dance with a smile on my face.
That’s how I spend my entire day, smiling.
Even when Miller gives me extra homework – because I was smiling too much and daydreaming in her class – that I have to finish before next week, I still have a smile and that’s how I enter the library, too.
Smiling.
I even greet the girl behind the reception desk with a friendly wave, which she obviously does not return but it’s okay.
I’m happy.
I’m perfect. For him.
That’s what he said, right? That I’m perfect.
I mean, yes it was only for sex but still. It was something.
I never had much interest in being perfect but ever since I was ten, I wanted to be perfect forhim. I wanted to somehow bridge the gap between us and match him.
Turns out, I do.
I do match him and oh my God, I can’t stop smiling.
And I thought this was the extent of my happiness, what I’m feeling right now. The bubbly, floaty sensation in my limbs and my stomach.
But I was wrong.
My happiness can be doubled. My happiness can be red hot. It can be bursting and pulsing and seeping out of my skin.
Because as soon as I turn around from the reception desk, my books against my chest, looking for an empty table where I can park myself and solve all the goddamn equations, I find him.
He’s here and he’s looking at me.
