Page 37 of Little Puppet

“Goddamnit, you feel so fucking good,” I grit out, grabbing her hips and squeezing as I pound into her, watching my cock disappear.

“What are you going to do to me, Cain?” she whispers, cupping my face with her tiny hands and pinning me with a glare as somehow our connection deepens at the moment, my pace changing to reflect it.

It feels raw and unyielding, like the sun. I can’t look away.

I grind and thrust, drive, and swirl my hips and fuck her any way I know how to as she closes her eyes in bliss and wraps her arms around my neck.

“I can’t let you go, darling puppet. I can’t ever let you go!”

I’m so close, and so is she.

She’s so close that she doesn’t reply to my admission.

“Come for me, you filthy fuck puppet. Come for me and milk my fucking cock. Take me with you,” I breathe, barely containing the need to spill inside her.

She cries out, shattering around me as I let go of myends, cock erupting inside her as I slow into jerky strokes I can’t control.

“Holy fucking hell,” I groan.

She opens her eyes and smirks, and I shake my head, flipping her over and driving into her from behind shallowly as I lay atop her.

I lean down, lips at her ear. “I’m not fucking done with you yet, my little whore.”

She doesn’t give a rebuttal, only lifts her ass so I can sink deeper inside her, inviting me into the cavernous pits of her body.

I grab onto two of her piercings for leverage, causing her to cry out.

“There you are, puppet. Come back to me from your haze, have you? Beg me not to rip these out, darling. Fucking beg me.”

We fuckedinto the afternoon before we meandered to the shower and washed off, both silent in the aftermath of what happened all morning.

This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, and yet, I’m more confused than I’ve ever been.

I meant what I said.

I can’t let her go. But to keep her forever would raise too many flags. There are no guarantees she won’t run to the authorities the first chance she gets.

I have nothing over her to keep her silent. To live my life without her having tasted her, too, would be pure agony. If I were to offer her a proper relationship with me, though, would she take it?

Who’s to say she’s not faking her interest in me? While I pride myself on being an insightful man with preternatural instincts, maybe I’m too enamored with her for my own good.

Maybe I’m too close to this and not thinking clearly.

No. That would mean she’s dazzled me with her pussy, and that just doesn’t happen to the likes of me.

I feel as though what I have built inside of me is more profound than the sexual shit, and that’s what’s fucking confusing. Because I’ve never had feelings for anyone.

Even when Salice at work tried her best to date me, I felt nothing. Sure, I sunk inside her lithe body that she offered up willingly to get some pressure off myself, but that was it.

I’ve never connected to anyone like I have with Grace.

I likely never will again, either.

She’s it for me, and the thought has me reeling.

I’m ten years old, in the closet, with one eye pinned to the scene beyond it.

I haven’t felt fear in a while, and I can’t say that I want to feel it again.

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