Page 69 of Bristol

I lean down and run my tongue through her silky wetness. The taste of her sweet cunt drives me fucking wild. She whimpers as I flick my tongue over her clit, moving so slowly up her slit then back down to her clit.

Her fist beats down on the ottoman as I continue lashing my tongue back and forth. I dip my middle finger inside of her, slow and soft until I can feel that sweet little rough spot that she likes so much. I ease out and then begin going in at a slow pace again. Her little pussy tightens around my finger.

“Don’t fucking come yet,” I grit out.

She tightens more, squeezing my finger. I curve it then drag it out. When I push it back in, her legs begin to tremble. I swipe my tongue over her clit and that’s all it takes for her to lose all the control she thought she had. She cries out as her orgasm shakes her. Back arched. Pressing her sweet pussy back as hard as she can onto my hand and mouth.

Once her orgasm is done, I tsk her.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” I remove my fingers.

She takes a deep breath and I allow it before burying myself inside her. I pump hard, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing through the living room. When I feel her building again, I pull out and stop.

She huffs, breathless. I rub a circle on her ass cheek with my palm. Her body shivers beneath my touch, knowing what’s coming.

“Do you know what happens when you come when I told you not to?” I ask, still rubbing my palm in a circle.

“Yes,” she breathes.

I rear back and deliver a blow to the area that I just rubbed.

“Ahh!” she groans, pressing her ass toward me.

I drive into her again, gripping her thigh with one hand and slapping her perfect, reddening cheek with the other. With every smack, I drive harder. Bristol is about to come again and I can’t hold out through her orgasm, especially when she’s bent over like this. Her perfect tattoo. Her red ass. The sounds she’s making.

“Fuck, baby!” I shout as her pussy clamps down around me. Her orgasm draws mine from me. I’ve stopped smacking her and grip for her hair. I know she needs this. I know she needs the pain but I can’t fucking concentrate on much of anything while I empty myself inside of her. I grip down on the fistful of hair in my hand and the wicked grin on her face tells me that it was enough for her, and that’s fucking good enough for me. I’m panting and trying to catch my breath, but I still pump in and out of her.

“You’re fucking perfect, Bristol.”

Chapter Twenty-One

BRISTOL

One month of living the most perfect life and my old life already feels like it’s so far in the distant past. I don’t ever want to know a life that isn’t as perfect as this. Sebastian has fucked me senseless every single night, after he returns home from whatever he’s been doing. He did say this morning that today would be the last day of his extra-curricular activities.

I’ve learned not to question many things. Club business is club business and honestly, who gives a fuck what he’s doing? He comes home to me every single day. Or night. And the orgasms. Holy fucking shit, the orgasms. I didn’t know sex could be this damn good.

He’s been bringing home new things to try out and let me just say, nothing has come close to those nipple clamps and the paddle. I could come just thinking about how amazing those things feel. Sebastian spends the day working on the bike while I bake in the sun by the pool. When the sun finally sets, Sebastian goes upstairs to get dressed, the same way he has every day for the last month.

I stretch out in the chair and ottoman and click through Netflix, trying to find something to watch. We’ve been watching Criminal Minds, but we only watch those together so it will have to wait. None of the movies are catching my attention and I opt to just click on the music app, putting Today’s Hits playlist on shuffle.

Sebastian trots down the stairs and instead of kissing me goodbye, he sits down on the ottoman at my feet.

“Want to come with me tonight?” he asks.

I furrow my brows and purse my lips while tilting my head. “Okay…?” I say, my answer more of a question than a statement.

“This is the last night for something I’ve been working on and I feel it’s only appropriate that you are with me for the end.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I ask.

He’s quiet for a moment and I’m not sure he’s going to answer.

He sighs after a bit. “Patrick.”

Hearing his name gives me chills, and not the good kind.

“You found him?”

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