Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
He picks up speed, fucking me harder, the wet slap of his hips against my ass loud and obscene. “That’s it—take it. Take my cock and this fat fake dick like the greedy slut you were born to be. Listen to how sloppy your cunt is—gushing all over me.”
He reaches under me, finds my clit, rubs it fast. “Gonna make you come again. Gonna feel this pussy clamp down on me while your ass milks the toy. Come on, Salem—milk my cock.”
I come so hard my vision whites out. My whole body locks, squirting again, soaking his balls, his thighs. He fucks me through it, relentless, growling filth the whole time.
“Fuck yes—good girl. Such a good fucking girl. Look at you creaming all over me. Gonna fill this pussy again. Gonna pump so much cum into you it’ll be dripping out for days.”
He grabs the base of the dildo and starts fucking my ass with it in time with his cock—alternating thrusts, then both at once, double-stuffing me over and over. I’m babbling, crying, coming again in a rolling wave that doesn’t stop.
“Gonna come,” he grits out. “Gonna flood this cunt while your ass is stuffed. You want that?”
“Yes—please—fill me—”
He roars, slams deep, and comes hard. I feel every hot pulse, every spurt as he fills me to overflowing. His cock twitches inside me, the dildo still buried in my ass, and I come one last time—smaller, shaking, completely wrecked.
He stays buried for a long minute, both of us panting, bodies slick with sweat. Slowly he eases the dildo out of my ass, then pulls his cock free. Cum gushes out of me immediately—thick, white, obscene. He groans at the sight.
“Jesus, baby. Look at the mess we made.”
He collapses beside me, pulls me into his chest, and kisses me slow and deep, like he’s pouring every ounce of feeling into it. His hand strokes down my back, gentle now, soothing the places he gripped too hard.
I’m floating, boneless, utterly used and utterly loved.
“Water?” he murmurs against my hair, voice soft again.
I laugh, weak and happy. “Too late. I think I need a shower first.”
He chuckles, low and warm, and tightens his arms around me. “Shower later. Right now you’re staying right here, full of me, while I hold you.”
I close my eyes, press my face into his chest, and let the afterglow wrap around us like a blanket.
For the first time in forever, the world outside the safehouse doesn’t exist.
There’s only this—his heartbeat, his cum leaking out of me, and the filthy, perfect promise of everything we’re going to do to each other next.
EIGHTEEN
OZZY
The next morning comes soft and slow, sunlight filtering through the slats in the blinds like it’s trying not to disturb us. I wake before she does, and for a long minute I just lie there, letting the weight of her settle against me. Salem’s curled into my side, one leg hooked over mine, her cheek pressed to my chest. Her breathing is deep, even, the kind of sleep that only comes after your body’s been completely wrung out. I can still smell us on her skin: salt, sex, the faint sweetness of her arousal that hasn’t quite faded even after we passed out tangled together.
My arm’s numb where it’s pinned under her shoulders, but I don’t move. I watch the slow rise and fall of her ribs, the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks every few breaths like she’s dreaming something gentle. Last night was filthy—raw, desperate, the kind of fucking that leaves marks and memories—but right now she looks fragile in the best way. Like something precious I’m allowed to hold.
I shift carefully, easing my arm free without waking her, and slide out of bed. She makes a small, protesting sound in her sleep, hand reaching for the empty space I leave behind. It twists something in my chest. I lean down, brush my lips across her temple, and whisper, “Be right back, baby.”
The bathroom is still steamy from the shower we took at 2 a.m. when we finally peeled ourselves off each other long enough to rinse the sweat and cum from our skin. I turn on the faucet over the deep clawfoot tub, let the water run hot while I dig through the cabinet looking for anything I can use to take care of her: Epsom salts, lavender oil, a soft washcloth. There’s also a bottle of bodywash. I pour a generous handful of salts into the rising water, watch them dissolve, then add a few drops of oil.
When the tub’s half full I test the temperature with my wrist. Perfect. Not scalding, but warm enough to ease the ache I know she’s carrying today. I turn off the tap, light the single candle on the windowsill—nothing dramatic, just enough flicker to soften the morning light—and go back for her.