Page 94 of Lorcan's Obsession

"Pull out! Lorcan! Pull out!"

Tristen was writhing like a vicious rattlesnake. With a roar, I tore myself out of her pussy, choking my dick with my hand, I colored her body with ropes and ropes of white cum. Her heaving breasts and abdomen were my perfect canvas with my seed spread all over her. Panting hard, I dropped onto the bed.

“Baby, that was—”

“Untie me.”

Post-nut clarity kicked in hard at the sound of her strained and quavering voice. Holy shit, was she about to cry?

“Tristen, you okay?”

“Untie me, Lorcan!”

I sprang forward, my hands working fast to undo the knots. Tristen clenched her eyes shut as I hovered above her. She flinched when drops of my cum dripped from my tip onto her face. The sight of her being so revolted filled me with dread.

What the fuck had I done?

As soon as she was freed, Tristen pressed her hands protectively over her breasts and pussy, pushing herself into the far corner of the bed. I crouched a safe distance from her and ran a frustrated hand through my sweaty tresses.

“My love, I got carried away. I’m so—”

“That was cruel, Lorcan,” she sobbed. “You don’t get to work off your insecurities on me!”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I fucked up.” I stretched out my hand to soothe her.

“Stay away from me!”

She scrambled off the bed and reached for the nearest clothing on the floor. But as soon as she realized it was my shirt, she threw it away from her with a growl. The action dug into my heart like a jagged knife.

“I want you out of this room by the time I come back!”

Tristen frantically held her skimpy outfit over her privates as she backed into the shower suite before the door slammed in resounding silence.

Fuuuck! I swung my feet off the bed and planted my elbows on my knees. I did the math on how badly I'd fucked up today. On a scale of one to ten, an easy twenty. I didn’t know the first thing about calming an angry woman, and my girlfriend had just kicked me out of my own room.

I peered down at my partner in crime—my dick. Who takes the fall for this one? Me or you?

In response, the contented fucker retreated to his safe cocoon, leaving me to clean this mess. I wore on the Tristen-approved sweats and sat outside the bedroom door, waiting for her to show herself again.

The more time passed, the more panic trickled into my brain. I had crossed lines, lines she might not come back from. Swallowing hard, I knocked on the door.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Can I come in? Can we talk?"

"No, Lorcan."

She sounded so exhausted. Defeated almost. And it made me feel like the worst man on the planet. Still, I persisted. The longer we stayed mad at each other, the worse it was for us. If we let this fallout fester, it could lead to a breakup, and breaking up wasn't an option for me. I needed her. More than the company, more than my closest friends, more than air itself.

Things couldn't end like this.

“Baby, I’m going to sit outside this door until you are ready to talk to me. I don’t care how long it takes, my love. You don't have to come out until you're comfortable. I’ll wait.”

I was on that floor for forty-five minutes.

Just as I began to lose hope she'd come out before the night ended, soft footsteps shuffled along the carpet behind the door. Slowly, so I wouldn't tumble, Tris pulled the door open and stepped around me. Her entire body was covered up in an oversized hoodie, dark tights, and thick socks. If this was a silent war, she had dealt a killing blow. Every time we had sex, she always wore my clothes afterward. Nothing she had on now belonged to me.

I stumbled out after her. Tristen marched into our office, flipped open her laptop, and brutalized the keyboard as she began typing.

“I want access to all your prep files for tomorrow’s case,” she barked.

---