Page 119 of Bitter Rival

She rides me slowly, taunting, teasing. Hazel eyes bright.

Her lips part when I thrust, trying to get deeper, and she rolls her hips, meeting me halfway. The blood roars through my veins.

I’m convinced that if there is a heaven, this is it. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has ever felt this fucking fantastic.

“I never thought it would be like this,” I rasp.

I thrust harder and faster, and she grinds on my dick, her breasts bouncing and her head thrown back, exposing the column of her neck.

“You didn’t think it would be like what?” she pants.

In one fluid motion, I flip her onto her back and pin her beneath me and then I pound into her.

“You.” Thrust. “This.” Thrust. “Us.” Thrust. “Everything. I can’t get you out of my head. I want you all the fucking time. You even invade my dreams.”

My balls tighten and the pleasure is so intense I’m temporarily blinded.

“I hope they’re sweet dreams—oh my god! I’m coming.” She clenches around me, squeezing me so tight, we barrel into shared orgasms that seem to go on and on.

I collapse on top of her, my cock pulsing inside her, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

“The sweetest.” I place a kiss on the side of the sensitive spot just below her ear and pull out. “Almost as sweet as your pussy.”

“There you go again with all that sweet talk.”

I laugh and offer her a hand to help her up.

We sit side by side on the hill and while I button up my jeans, she smooths down the skirt of her dress without a single complaint about the way I shoved her into the dirt and fucked her raw.

Fucked her raw.

“Fuck.” I run my hand down my face. “I forgot to use a condom.” I have never gone bare. With anyone. And in all my years of having sex, I have never once forgotten to use a condom.

“It’s okay,” she assures me. “We’re good. I have an IUD.”

I release a breath of relief. Thank fuck for that. An accidental pregnancy is not on my agenda.

“And I’m clean,” she adds.

“Yeah, I’m clean too. But I’ve never done that before.”

She flashes me a bright smile. “Finally, I get one of your firsts.”

Don’t ask me why, but we flop onto our backs and lie side by side on the sunbaked soil, staring at the sky from the same spot where my father died.

If that’s not fucked up, I’m not sure what is. Besides us, of course. And this whole fucking mess we’re in.

“You’ve ruined my dress.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you a hundred dresses.”

She links her pinkie with mine and we continue staring at the sky.

“What’s the opposite of revenge?” she asks a few minutes later.

“Forgiveness. Absolution. Mercy.” None of which I believe in.

I never forget and I rarely forgive.

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