His cheeks are flushed, getting redder with each passing second. Droplets of sweat slide down his forehead, and this is one of the most attractive I’ve seen Arlo — and he’s always so fucking attractive.
“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, making goosebumps rise on my skin. “Fucking hell, you’re so perfect, butterfly.”
My nose gets hit by the scent of sex, making my throat go dry. With a chuckle, Arlo leans in, dragging his tongue all over my chin, wiping off the blood. He moans at the taste, and my pussy clenches around him.
His hand reaches down, playing with my clit. My breath hitches, eyes swelling with tears. The pleasure is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, and the thrill, the dark aspect of Amy watching, and me being coated in blood only add to the excitement.
“So soaked for me,” he murmurs. That fucking deep voice goes straight to my pussy, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. “You’re dripping all over my cock, butterfly. Such a messy girl.”
I moan loudly, and Arlo picks up the pace. His thrusting becomes obsessive, almost, and the way he’s looking at me can only be described as feral. His pupils are blown out, eyes bloodshot, and a grin is etched on his face that would terrify people.
It doesn’t terrify me — it makes me come hard on his cock. He slams into me, all the way, holding the position as I ride the wave of my orgasm. My fingernails dig into his shoulders, and I know I’ve left a scar.
Arlo’s orgasm follows mine, his hot cum filling me up to the brim.
“Hell,” he breathes out. He’s sweaty, panting, and desperately trying to catch his breath. His plump lips are swollen from all the kisses he left all over my chin, shoulders, and throat, and I have no doubt he’s left a hickey or two.
Slowly, Arlo pulls out of me, leaving me to feel empty. He’s gentle as he lowers me down to my feet, holding me tightly until I regain my balance. Immediately, he tucks his cock back into his pants, fixes his belt, and buttons up my coat, making sure no one can see the hole in the sweatpants between my legs.
“Are you okay?”
His voice is gentle, his hand running through mine. A soft smile makes its way onto my face, my heart threatening to burst with all the love for this man. I manage a weak nod.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good,” he sighs, smiling back and kissing my forehead. “Now, what the hell are we supposed to do with her?”
My eyes fall down to Amy, whose eyes are closed. My heart hammers in my chest, and I take a couple of hesitant steps forward until I’m standing over her body.
“Please tell me she’s not dead.’’
Arlo glances at me sideways, then crouches down, his fingers on the side of Amy’s neck. It’s eerily silent, and the silence makes me jump from one foot to the other.
“Don’t worry, she’s alive.’’
THIRTY-SIX
Waking up in Blair’s embrace is one of the things I’ll never get bored of. Her scent, the feeling of her warm body pressed against mine, her heartbeat in sync with mine — all of it is like a dream. If Heaven exists, Blair is mine.
Her eyes flutter open, and a stupid, goofy grin tugs on the corner of her lips. That’s enough to melt away any worries of the day that’s ahead of us. I lean in, kissing her forehead gently.
“Good morning, butterfly.”
“Morning,” her groggy yet happy voice reaches my ears, and my heart skips a beat. I pull back enough to look at her face, and I’m mesmerized by the beauty in front of me. Eachday, I love her more. I’m so in love with this woman, and I’m fucking terrified of losing her — terrified of not being good enough for her.
“How did you sleep?”
Blair yawns, sitting up. The duvet pools around her waist, the strap of her shirt falling down her shoulder. I force myself to look away for a moment, embarrassed that such a simple action got me hard as a rock in record time.
“I slept perfectly,” she murmurs, smiling at me, and I blush like a little schoolboy. “Is Amy alright?”
I clear my throat, sitting up and leaning against the headpost.
“Alive. The doctor said her wounds are severe.” I give her a pointed look, and she smiles sheepishly. “But she should pull through.”
“Good,” the relief on her face is instant. “I didn’t want to kill her.”
“And you didn’t,” I point out. “But I’m very fucking proud of you. You did an amazing job, butterfly.”
