“Because nobody else will ever feel as good as I do.”
He grabs my ass and squeezes. Bites my neck. Admits that I’m right. And this really is a victory.
He seizes my hips and plows inside of me.
“Fucking Satan.”
He fucks me with hate and reverence. One minute he tells me how good it feels and the next it’s that I don’t deserve to come and I’m not a good girl and this is for him and not me.
I pout and he does the worst thing he could do to me.
He turns me around and hoists me up into his arms. Wrapping my legs around his waist and dropping me onto his cock and telling me to hold on.
We’re at eye level now.
And it’s silly of me to think he can’t hold me up with one arm and keep fucking me, because he does when I turn my face away.
He removes one hand from my ass and grabs my jaw.
“Look at me.”
I look at him. He makes me keep looking at him.
“We aren’t playing by your rules anymore,” he tells me.
“You think you’re going to boss me around and tell me what to do?”
“Aye,” he says. “I fucking am.”
I don’t answer.
It’s different, having him inside of me and watching his face this way. I could listen to his sounds all day long. The way he grunts and groans and tells me things as he plows into me. Sometimes filthy, sometimes sweet. But watching is different.
It’s intimate and raw.
“Tell me ye want my come inside of you,” he says.
And he’s already swelling. Spasming. Gripping my ass so hard it’ll bruise.
“I want your come in me.”
He yanks my body down on his and kisses me. His cock is pulsing inside of me, emptying, and he needed this.
So did I.
Nineteen
Rory
“Let’s go to my place tonight,” Scarlett suggests from the passenger seat of my car.
It’s an odd request, considering how obsessive she is about her space. But the weight of exhaustion has settled in- the one I feel whenever I do battle with Scarlett- and I can’t be bothered to make the observation.
Her building is a hole, and the more I come around, the more I hate it. Some bloke is lurking in the hallway, seedy as fuck, and he checks Scarlett out as she walks by and I tell him to fuck off.
“That’s just Ronnie,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Every building has a resident creep. Ronnie is ours.”
Ronnie isn’t the only problem I see here. The hallway smells like piss and cigarette smoke and there isn’t enough lighting and if Scarlett were being murdered, I doubt anyone would even open their door.
