When I ram into her, I grunt. She’s still tight as fuck, hot as hell, and so wet she’s still dripping onto the bed. “Who do you belong to, Pitstop?”
My hips jerk back and forth as I try to find a rhythm, but I’m so fucking worked up I just want to fill her over and over with my thick and creamy cum.
“Oh, I dunno.” She pauses, giggling. “I think I picked up the wrong shirt.”
Fuck that noise. I pound her harder, making her head thud against the headboard.
“Say it.” My teeth are gritted, the words coming out strained. “Who do you belong to Pitstop?”
“Me, myself, and I.” She’s so nonchalant, but from the way her arousal is soaking my dick, and the way her body palpates with heavy breaths, she’s as turned on as I am.
Sweat clouds my vision, and my legs tremble with the effort of not coming. My balls tight, spine’s on fire with lightning dancing up and down demanding I come.
“Who do you belong to, She Devil?” I land a perfectly placed slap right on her ass cheek, making her buck her head back, arching her spine so beautifully. Her hair’s splayed across her back, so I curl it around my fist and ride her hard and deep.
“You.” She purrs. “You, Tate. I belong to you.” Her words are like the key to unlock the treasure chest. As soon as she confirms she’s mine, my orgasm hits like a twenty-foot wave crashing into a seawall, and I cream pie her all over again.
She told me she doesn’t mind being on the pill, but if she ever changes her mind I’m going to need to look into alternative birth control because seeing my cum drip out of her body is my favorite fucking thing.
“You want kids, right?” I pry her ass cheeks open so I can stare at my cum trickling out of her.
“Not right now,” comes the muffled reply.
Maybe we’ll just have a million babies, and she’ll be pregnant all the time so I can cream pie her for all eternity. Collecting a pool of my cum on my thumb, I press it back inside her.
“Breeding kink?” Sounds like “briefing clunk” as she speaks around the sheets and pillow.
“Is there a cum kink? Like, can I just want to stare at my cum oozing out of your body all day? I mean... maybe when we’re a bit older this’ll turn into a breeding kink, but right now I just want to fill you with my cum and watch it trickle out of your body, and push it all back in so it stays there forever.”
She giggles, it’s a blissed-out, relaxed sound, as her knees slide down the bed so she can face plant her whole body onto the sheets. “Maybe tomorrow.” She yawns. “Sleep first.” She pats the bed next to her like she’s telling me to lie down with her. “You did so well on the ice tonight, Satan. I’m so proud of you.”
She’s already half asleep, but those words land hard inside my chest. Grief tugs on all my emotions, reminding me that I’ll never hear those words from my parents again. The air turns thick and heavy around us, stifling me as my Penelope Pitstop pats the space next to her again.
“They’re proud of you too, Tate. And I’ll remind you of it as often as you need to hear it.”
It’s like she can read my mind, or my emotions, or she sensed a shift in the force. Either way, I believe her. When the doubt creeps in about how my parents felt, or when I need a reminder of their love and pride in me, my girl will remind me, ground me, and bring me back like she’s done for weeks on end.
I don’t know what I’d have done without her. Once that puck hit my face I was so tempted to throw a tantrum and walk away, and when my parents died, I was dealt the shittiest hand I could think of. But Penelope’s here, like a shining star bringing me home every day, reminding me of the well of strength inside me,and when that’s tired, I have other people around me to lean on as well.
When I first met her, I thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. I was all hockey, all the time, and nothing was going to stop me from beating all Dad’s records in the NHL. With every day that passes she’s helping me realize that hockey isn’t all that I am, or even all that I want to be.
With her guiding me through the darkness, I can’t help but come back to the light.
Epilogue
TATE
It’s Halloween at the de la Peñas’.
There are few holidays on the calendar where this family doesn’t host a party. And it seems that each event gets bigger, more lavish, and more memorable.
Even though the only official UCR student left in the group is Ares, it’s a good excuse for the alumni to come back together and catch up.
Penelope and I had to stop en route to their house because my darling girlfriend shoved what sounded like eleven thousand kazoos into the exhaust pipe of her own fucking car, and I couldn’t stand the noise.
We’ve been together a whole year, and she’s still pranking me. Or rather, in this case, pranking herself since my electric Rivian doesn’t have a fucking tail pipe. But she wanted to drink tonight so I said I’d drive, just like she knew I would.
The noise was insufferable, but the glee on her face was worth the godawful sound of a dozen kazoos bellowing as we drove.
