“That one’s a marshmallow with a beard.”
Quill guffaws beside me, a weird sound coming from such a quiet boy. And I know I would have found this version of him too weird to be true had I caught a glimpse of it before this year. Now, though, I’ve gotten used to it, to the way his eyes are when he looks at me.
Gone is the murderous rage that swirled in those piercing blue irises. In its place is love, obsession, hunger, danger.
Always danger.
But I’d probably find things pretty boring if the danger in his eyes was gone. As it is, it makes me shiver, a thrill coursing through my spine, every time my gaze meets his.
“A marshmallow with a beard,” he murmurs, rolling toward me on the back lawn of his house. It’s where we’ve been lying all evening, watching the clouds in the sky, tinged with purple and pink in the sunset. “Come here, you.”
He pulls me toward him, and then we’re kissing. His lips are melting into mine, his hands clawing at my waist, at my back, as we roll together, first me on top of him, then him on top of me, nearly crushing me to the ground.
“What about your dad?” I whisper, as he forces off my jeans.
“Not home yet.”
My jeans are around my ankles by now, my panties plastered to me by the wetness that’s already puddling into them. But I argue, “He’ll be home soon. It’s got to be nearly dinner time. Weshould at least go to your room and–”
He flips me over to my stomach and gives me a volley of spanks that sound embarrassingly loud in the silence of the night. “Quiet, cricket.”
My face flames red as he pulls off my panties. Then I’m lying half-naked on the ground, my core aching for him, but embarrassed, and also, scared of his dad catching us like this.
I’ve seen enough of his dad to be terrified of him.
But it would take a lot worse than Bob Nelson to scare Quill, and I know nothing bad can happen to me when I’m with him. I’ve never been more sure of anything before.
So the fear dissolves as quickly as it’s formed, leaving only heat and embarrassment in its place.
The kind that mingles together, the one heightening the other. My toes curl as Quill entirely removes my panties and jeans, then pushes my thighs wide apart before straddling me. I can feel the cleft between my butt cheeks and the space between my legs bared to the windy evening air, and I lift up my hands to cover my face.
At once, he grabs them and pins them to my back.
“Behave, cricket,” he says in that deep, dark voice of his, and I’m aching for him.
“I want you,” I whisper.
“What do you want?” he growls.
“You… you inside me.” I blush, still embarrassed after all these months together, when he makes me spell it out. “Your cock inside… inside my pussy.”
For such a talkative girl, I’ve never gotten used to saying those words out loud. Though by now it feels like I’m thinking them constantly.
Somehow, I can actually feel Quill smirk behind me, as he alternates stroking my bottom and landing hard, echoing smacks on it that make me gasp in pain.
But I still arch toward him, each of his spanks making me wetter than ever. “Are you going to?” I ask finally.
“Am I going to what?”
Again, I can hear the evil little smirk as he makes me repeat the words that have me blushing.
“Are you going to put… your cock… inside my pussy?”
There’s a pause as he roughly squeezes my ass. “No.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Really? Come on, Quill!”
He rewards my pleading with four more stinging smacks.
