I can slip a hand up her spine until it’s buried into her hair, though, and I do, gripping it at her scalp and pulling her head back by the strands, giving me a better view at her O face as she rides out the last of it, her pussy relinquishing its hold on my cock as her limbs flop down heavily, and I pull out just in time to blow on her back, hot thick ropes of cum decorating her lower back, spraying all the way up to her neck, and dotting her full, pink ass in my release as my balls tighten in bliss.
Her face pulls, turning to try to see the damage.
“Did you have to cover me in your giant-sized jizz?”
“Needed you to feel me all the way home, honey.”
“Oh my God, I don’t even have a shirt to wear home. You ruined mine!” She points a finger at me, accusingly.
“It was worth it.” I grin at her. “You can wear my jacket.”
Lifting the chef jacket from the floor with a finger, I offer it to her and she groans.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Not only are you going to wear this home, you’re not even going to wipe my cum off until you get home and shower. You’re going to feel likeminethe whole way there. Get used to being my girl.”
“Abs—” but I cut off her denial with a forceful kiss, lips molding to hers, and tongue sweeping in her open mouth. She yelps out of surprise at first, but it quickly turns to a moan as I play with her, melting her under my touch. One hand buried in her thick curls, I hold her close, moving my lips over hers until I feel her liquify completely, all resistance leaving her bones, and then I pull back.
“Sweet dreams,” I tell her with a wink, helping her into the coat, one arm at a time, marveling once more at the view ofher naked body, covered in proof of what we did, before it gets covered by my chef jacket that hangs nearly to her knees.
“Feel free to send me a video of you taking this off when you get home,” I add, and she’s too drunk off of the orgasm, or maybe the kiss, to even bristle.
My smile is still on my face throughout getting dressed, locking up, walking her to her car, and my entire walk home.
It only widens when I see my landlord, if that’s what we’d call her, has dropped off some mail for me on the front stoop. Looks like a couple weeks’ worth if I had to guess. Which, fair. I told her I didn’t mind getting it in batches.
I can’t say I get a lot here, not having shared my address with anyone since leaving New York, but it does make me feel like an official Smoky Heights resident to get even banal promotional mail. Like I’m a real local small towner, with an address here and all, even if I somehow ended up misspelled in the junk mail system, and it comes to Walter Amante.
One envelope catches my eye. A thick vellum, fine quality and cream in color. Handwritten, with my name on the front, not Walter’s.
WILDER AMANTE
The scrawl is familiar. In fact, the whole envelope looks just like one I got back in New York. The night I left.
That’s when my smile finally fades.
Hands shaking, I rip open the envelope to a letter almost identical to the one I got on my door in Queens.
WE NEED TO TALK
The bright colors of the world around me, this new life I’ve worked so hard to build in the last month and a half, it all turns to gray around me, prison bars rising in front of my eyes.
Never again.
EIGHTEEN
LEXI
Rory Grady
Are we still on for today?
Me
Obviously
I didn’t know if you still weren’t talking to me.
