Page 177 of Bona Fide

How I feel to him.

“Shit, Shelton,” he gripes. “You’re milking my cock so fucking tight that I’m not going to last long.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, nestling his head in the crook of my neck and trailing a path with his tongue to my earlobe.

His soft lips clasp around the sensitive part of my body. His stumbled breathing puffs into my ears, only turning me on more. Seeking more of his length to go deeper inside me.

“Mhm, just fuck me, Wade.”

“I want to,” he replies. “But I want to drive away every—”

“You do,” I vouch. “Trust me, I hate it.” I feel the curl of his lips against my heated skin, and he licks it away to send a shudder down to my pussy.

“I fucking love it.”

“You would.” I wrap my legs around his hips to grasp more of him, but he stops himself from going balls deep.

“Tell me,” he mutters, pulling his head from my neck. “Do you wish things were different?” I nod, because I can’t speak the bittersweet words and face the reality that lies waiting for us outside this room.

“I do too, Sox. Every—” He sinks deeper into me. “—single—” He thrusts all the way in. “—day.”

Lowering his body, I welcome his mouth and tongue as he pumps into me faster. I don’t bother keeping my moans and groans in check. Could give a shit that he knows that he does this to me. That he can send me panting in two minutes flat.

Because he’s enough.

He’s sufficient to make everything in me buzz no matter what his position or background is; Wade is the key to opening everything.

Wade returns his attention to my lips, leaving another deep kiss there before pulling away to watch me lose myself. His blue eyes are glossed over, seering this to memory.

Just like I am.

His hand that still keeps mine grounded over my head moves down to my clit, brushing it with his thumb as he kisses my forehead. I move my hand to the stubble on his chin, feeling my buildup intensify as he begins to work me faster.

Getting onto his knees, he looks down at where we’re joined. Where his cock is entering into me and his fingers are toying between my folds. His eyes flick to me again, and that’s when I come—hard. My whole body starts to convulse as he continues fucking me, my arms and the tips of my fingers going numb from the sensation of it.

Mercilessly, he thrusts into me, holding my thigh with one hand and still grazing my clit to intensify the aftershock of my orgasm.

“Fuck.” He groans loudly and quickly pulls out, shooting his cum in his hand. He didn’t wear a condom, but that doesn’t fuck around with me as much as the downfall of what we just did.

This is goodbye.

We both agreed to it.

We both have to live with it.

We’ll both die knowing that it’ll never be us for each other.

We’re the definition of a bad romance.

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