He seems to understand anyway. One hand slides between us, thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves above where we're joined. "Gonna come for me again? Squeeze this cock while I fill you up?"
The pressure builds quickly, spiraling tighter with each thrust. His movements become more urgent, less controlled. The couch creaks beneath us, a counterpoint to the storm still raging outside.
"That's it," he urges when I cry out, my body beginning to tremble. "Let go. Come for daddy."
The orgasm crashes over me with unexpected force, making me arch against him, nails digging into his shoulders. He growls in response, hips snapping harder, faster.
"Fuck," he snarls, his rhythm faltering. "Take my cum, sweetheart. All of it. Every fucking drop."
I feel him pulse inside me, the hot rush of his release triggering aftershocks that make me gasp. He collapses over me,careful to brace his weight on his forearms, his face buried in my neck.
For long moments, there's only the sound of our ragged breathing and the rain against the window. I've never felt so completely possessed, so utterly claimed. His weight on me feels right—like he's anchoring me to earth when I might otherwise float away.
And for the first time, I feel completely safe.
seven
. . .
Butch
The crashfrom the front of the store cuts through our moment like a gunshot. I'm on my feet before the sound fully registers, body moving on pure instinct. One second I'm lost in the sweetness of Julia's mouth, the next I'm in protection mode, positioning her behind me. The storm outside has drawn out the vermin—looters, opportunists, predators. But they picked the wrong fucking store. They don't know there's a bigger predator already inside.
"Stay here," I growl at Julia, who's frozen on the couch, eyes wide with fear. "Lock the door behind me. Don't open it unless you hear my voice."
"Butch—" she starts, reaching for me.
"Now." My tone leaves no room for argument. She nods, scrambling to her feet as I slip out the door.
I hear the lock click behind me as I move silently through the darkened store. The power's still out, but emergency lights cast enough glow to navigate by. Another crash from the front, followed by low voices. More than one. Fuckers think they can just walk in and take what isn't theirs.
I grip the heavy flashlight from my tool belt, a solid metal weight that'll do damage if needed. My body settles into a familiar state—calm, focused, lethal. Been here before. Different circumstances, same instincts.
Glass crunches under someone's boot. They've broken the front window despite the security gate, arm reaching through to try and unlock it from inside. Amateur hour. If they'd checked the side alley first, they'd have found easier access.
Their mistake. My advantage.
I position myself in the shadows by the fantasy section, watching. Two of them, both male, both soaking wet from the storm. One's struggling with the lock while the other scans the store with a weak beam from a dollar-store flashlight.
"Hurry the fuck up, man," the second one hisses. "Place might have cash in the register."
"Working on it," the first grunts. "Fucking gate's solid."
Damn right it is. I installed it myself.
I wait until the second guy moves deeper into the store, separating from his partner. Divide and conquer. Basic strategy.
When he passes my aisle, I strike. One hand over his mouth, the other bringing the flashlight down on his temple. Not full force—I'm not looking to kill, just incapacitate. He drops like a stone, unconscious before he hits the ground.
His partner notices the silence. "Deke? Where'd you go, man?"
I move back into the shadows, waiting. Footsteps approach, cautious now. He senses something's wrong.
"Deke? This ain't funny, bro."
He rounds the corner and sees his buddy on the floor. His eyes widen just as I step out behind him.
"Store's closed," I growl.
