Page 58 of The Retreat

I hook his ass with my legs, urging him forward. “Come over me.”

He plants a hand next to my head, lowering himself over me. My breath catches, and I bite back a plea for him to fuck me. When he’s settled into place, I guide his cock to mine and wrap my hands around both of us.

“Fuck my hand.”

He pushes into my hands.

We moan together, the slickness letting our sensitive skin drag across each other.

“Fuck.” His moans encourage me, and I grip us tighter.

“Like it?” I ask.

He nods, unable to speak.

“That’s frotting.”

He glances between us to watch, increasing his pace, then teasing me with barely any movements. He’s working us up slowly, like he wants to savor this moment like I do.

I grab his ass like I could get him to move more, or give me more pressure, but he doesn’t acquiesce to my silent demands. At least he doesn’t seem to mind the liberties I’m taking.

“Kiss me?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore.

“Needy princess.” He smirks, and I shudder, but he takes my mouth in the same rhythm he has going with his hips.

We’re sharing air and heartbeats.

For just a second, I can believe he wants to make this work, that he cares about me more than just a front. My poor heart needs the security of love more than my brain wants to admit. It’s in moments of pleasure I’m able to hide the pain, find relief, and convince myself that this is all I need, but it’s all a lie.

I need someone to love the broken parts of me, too. I need someone to see through the attitude for what it is, a defense.

Tears prick my eyes, but I keep them squeezed shut tight.

“Come for me, Colin.”

“Princess.” My voice cracks on the word, but I hope he doesn’t notice. I don’t want the name my parents gave me in these moments between us. I want the name he gave me.

“Princess.” Owen growls the name and picks up his pace, thrusting against me harder, faster. He tenses and starts to shake, clearly holding back.

I squeeze my legs around him, the friction between us setting my blood on fire. “Come on me, husband,” I whisper against his lips. “Paint me in your cum.”

He shudders as electricity shoots through me, pulsing in my groin. Owen’s cum hits my skin a few seconds before my own does, mixing into a pool on my stomach as we pant and whimper through the waves of pleasure. Owen drops his forehead to my shoulder, sucking in deep gasps of air.

“What does it taste like?”

My hands are trapped between us, my head on the floor, as I re-acclimate to earth.

“What?”

“Cum. What does it taste like?”

Brain. Need. Work.

“Uh, it’s kind of salty or bitter, depending on the guy. It’s kind of hard to explain. It doesn’t really taste like anything else.” I’m still panting when I feel him shift to one side. Cracking an eye open, I watch him touch a small spot and wipe it into my skin.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like the taste of cum?”

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