But I manage it, because she isn’t some random woman who’s here for a release and nothing more. This is Bea, the woman I have every intention of spending the rest of my life trying to make happy, trying to scream my name, trying to give the world to.
66
BEATRICE
The sight of him looming over me…fuck. It does things to me. Bad, wicked, filthy things. Things I never want to end.
I watch him in awe as his muscles tense and his grip on my hips tightens as he pulls out of me. He’s so slow, so gentle and tender. I want to scream, I want to demand he give me what he promised he could give me, but at the same time, this is so…so perfect, I can’t bear to make him change it up.
Every touch, every murmured word, every second of eye contact…it’s so much more than I ever expected to feel from a man like Everett. But then, he isn’t the man everyone thinks he is. Everett Donnelly, the ice hockey–playing fuckboy isn’t the man I’ve gotten to know. Sure, that persona is a part of him, but it’s only there as a mask to hide everything else beneath. His fears, his vulnerabilities, his insecurities. The rest of the world has no idea they even exist. He portrays himself as this larger-than-life, gives-zero-fucks athlete who rolls with the punches. That’s exactly who I thought he was that night. The come-fuck-me eyes and the cocky smirk told me everything I thought I needed to know. But I’m so fucking grateful that he let me in a little deeper. I’m honored to be one of only a handful of peoplewho know the real Everett Donnelly, and it’s something I’ll never take for granted.
“Oh God,” I groan when he thrusts back inside me. He’s impossibly deep, hitting all the spots I’ve been failing to reach myself over the last few months. “Yes,” I sigh. “Yes, yes.” He circles his hips, and it drives me fucking wild, making my orgasm surge forward. It crashes into me like a tsunami, and I’m powerless but to embrace every single wave.
“Jesus Christ,” he grunts, the muscles in his neck straining. “Fuck. You’re fucking strangling my cock so good, baby.”
His praise lights me up and only extends the pleasure rushing through my veins.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair from my sweaty face. If it weren’t for the look of pure awe in his eyes, I’d argue with him. There is no way I don’t look like a well-fucked mess right now, but I’m not really in a position to point that out.
“I want one more. One more, then I’m going to fill this greedy cunt up with my cum.”
Fucking hell, those words shouldn’t be so hot.
“You like my filthy mouth, don’t you? You just clamped down on my dick again. You want more?”
I nod frantically. I’ve been waiting months for the mindless pleasure he delivered that night, and now I’ve got it, I’m nothing but a needy whore for more.
“I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he confesses before hitching my leg up higher and bending over me so he can claim my lips.
Our kiss is messy—all tongues and teeth and zero finesse. It’s perfect.
We break apart, frantically trying to catch our breath, but it’s pointless; Everett increases his speed with every thrust.
The headboard bangs against the wall each time he slams home inside me, his fingers gripping my hips so tightly, I’ve no doubt I’ll have bruises in the morning.
“That’s it, take my cock. Fuck. I’m gonna come so fucking hard, you’re going to feel it for a week.”
“Please,” I whimper.
“Put your fingers on your clit. Show me how you like to be touched.”
Heat surges through me as my hand obediently follows orders.
I cry out as my fingers collide with my sensitive skin.
“That’s it,” he praises through gritted teeth. “Show me how you make yourself come while you’re thinking about me.”
“Who says I do that?” I quip.
“You do,” he states confidently. “That night was too good not to fantasize about over and over. Every night since, I’ve laid in bed jerking off, wishing I could experience it all over again.”
“And how does it compare?” I ask breathlessly.
“It doesn’t.”
My heart skips a beat. Is he…is he not feeling what I am right now?
“It’s even better.”
