Page 100 of Pawn

He hoists my legs around him, and when I let go of his cock to hold on, he pushes inside me like he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jo.” His hand on the shelf beside me, he holds on while he goes from sixty to one-hundred, his hips gyrating and moving like an overworked engine.

“Fuck me!” I cry, not caring that we’ve both just ran from a hospital. Not caring that my back is pressing into two rows of shelving, wood digging into my skin with every thrust. It feels too good to care. “God, yes!”

My nails graze his back and that only gets him going harder, his breaths heavy on my neck when he sinks his teeth in. My thighs clench hard around him, my head hitting the shelf, eyes on the lights that blur when he’s hitting that spot just right.

“Holy fuck,” I moan, the doorbell ringing but he doesn’t stop. Pushing me harder into the shelf so he can push his fingers through my hair, bringing my face right back down to look him in those eyes. “King!”

He grunts, rosiness in his cheeks, want and desire in his eyes. “Come.”

And I do, on-demand like fucking Netflix. Damien keeps thrusting until my pussy clamps around him, and I see fucking god. It’s like the room shakes and when he explodes, his warm load oozing inside me, it makes me forget about all the pain. All the trauma. All that’s left is him and I, becoming completely undone, together.

Thud!

“What the fuck …”

A small box falls from the top of the shelf, hitting Damien in the head as it tumbles to the floor. Once it hits the wood, the top flaps open, a few polaroids flying out. One lands face up and it brings me right back to reality, shivers still going through my body.

One that looks familiar as fuck.

Ding-Dong!

The bell rings again but we’re both too distracted to hear it.

Pulling out, Damien turns around, his eyes on the photo. “What the fuck?” Fixing his pants, he reaches for it as I’m pulling up my joggers.

‘What the fuck’ are my thoughts exactly.

Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!

Squinting at the photo, that familiar face comes into view. “Dad?”

“Mom …” Damien picks up the polaroid before he shoves it in my face so I can get a better view. “The fuck do you think this means?”

With it right in my face, I can see everything. My dad in that green sweater, Rosaline in an airy-looking floral dress. They’re laughing again and it makes me clench my fists thinking about my mom seeing them like this.

Then the background makes me shiver. “Holy shit, Damien,” I mutter, tilting my head and looking beyond our parents.

It looks like they’re standing in the kitchen, my dad pointing to a cassette player on the island. The same island Damien and I fucked on way too many times.

“Mister Damien?”

“Fuck!” Damien jumps along with me, my head whipping to the door.

Isobel’s in the doorway, her eyes glancing between Damien, me and the photo.

“I am sorry,” she says, her speech slowing as her gaze settles on the polaroid. “Policemen are waiting for you downstairs.”

Fuck. Police?!

Damien’s gaze narrows, holding the photo closer to Isobel’s eyes. “Do you know something about this photo, Isobel?”

She focuses on it before she says, “Yes, I just … have not seen that tape machine in a long time.”

“You know this?”

She nods, “Yes. Your mother she—” Stopping herself, she glances at Damien.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “What do you know?”

---