Page 57 of Bona Fide

But I gave her the option so…fuck me.

Finding the hole to my boxers, she carefully removes my dick, still rubbing the shaft torturously up and down. Her eyes stare at it like it’s a rare museum piece, and it twitches in her grasp, which exhibits a smile off her face.

“Will you lift my shirt up for me?” She bats her eyelashes at me. “I can’t do it.”

I growl, turning up the edges of her shirt as I pull it over her chest and to her neck. Her tits spring free from the fabric, and I want them between my lips. I want to make her sigh in relief that I’m here to give her anything she wants.

Reagan leans up, using her stomach muscles, and spits on the valley between her breasts. And, before I’m able to conjure a thought, she’s urging me closer with my dick, using the inside of her arms to press her tits together.

Holy fuck.

“You want me to fuck your tits?” I practically choke out.

“For just a minute,” she deadpans. Immediately, I start thrusting my dick between her soft mounds, watching her nipples pucker as she bites her bottom lip. “Does that feel good?”

I nod.

“Tell me.”

Bossy little asshole.

“It feels amazing.”

“Hold them tighter,” she commands. Grasping onto her bust, I let my thumb brush her nipples while I grip my dick tighter between her tits.

“Shit,” I growl, grinding my cock into the wetness she created and the smoothness of her breast. Reagan places her arms above her head again, letting me take full control of how I want to fuck her.

If I keep going at the pace I’m at, I’m going to come when all I want to do is be deep inside her. Where I can fuck everything that happened between us out of our heads for a few minutes.

But I’m going to let her decide if that’s what she wants because, right now, I’m surprised she’s letting me do anything remotely close to this.

And I knew I wasn't the only one fighting this attraction.

She feels it as much as I do. I just want Reagan to understand everything.

That she’s not just a quick fuck. That I don’t just lust for her and nothing more. I crave her presence and the ambiance that she procures through my whole entire being. She’s nirvana to me because heaven is just a place where saints and sinners who repent enough go to.

Reagan is the only place I want to reside in.

“You’re not allowed to come,” Reagan demands, arching her back so that I can get closer to her, if that’s even possible.

I clench my jaw. “Not sure if that’s viable.”

“Do you have a condom?” I shake my head because, well, the closest thing I thought I was going to be retrieving from her was a verbal beating, maybe another slap to the face.

“Have you fucked your wife lately?” That’s when my inner demon comes out, my hand latching onto her jaw. Leaning closer, her violet eyes narrow in on me.

She’s not scared, not even close, but fuck me she should be. Of my life, my obsession for her, the way I want to possess her.

She should be fucking terrified.

“I don’t have a wife,” I seethe. “Not in my head, my heart, and definitely not in my soul. The woman I said my vows to—she died or committed suicide—not sure which. She fucked my father, as well as a bunch of other unfortunate souls, shoved drugs at my sister, and killed one of them. She might write my last name behind hers, but I sure as fuck don’t lay awake at night wondering where she is and who she’s fucked over last. Quite the opposite—I think of you. All the time.”

Reagan’s face searches mine for lies—she won’t find them.

Those aren’t even half of my truths. The things I’ve done under the influence of Demi were events I could never take back. No amount of atoning will get me to feel better about them, no amount of prayers or Hail Mary’s would take them away.

Reagan’s hands grip my shirt. “She...did all that?”

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