Page 13 of Sean Collins

A growl comes from his throat. “Put my cock in your mouth before I do it for you, woman.” The menace in his voice makes me wet, and I do as he says, taking him into my mouth.

His hands are in my hair at once, the water streaming down my back. I slide my tongue up and down his length like a lollipop.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Elora. Please don’t stop,” S.C. utters, groaning.

Hearing him say my name, asking for more, makes me moan, vibrations reverberating around his cock. His hips buck at the sensation, and I move my hand between my legs to pleasure myself as I lick and suck him, causing myself to moan even more.

S.C. begins to pant as he thrusts into my mouth. “Oh, fuck, yes, you are so good at this.”

I feel my own orgasm start to build as I move my fingers faster and faster and suck him harder. All of a sudden, his hands are under my armpits, my mouth is off his cock, and my back slams against the shower wall.

“Getting you off is my job. I want to fuck you while I bruise that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Before I can respond, S.C. is already inside me, and his mouth is on mine, kissing me roughly while his hard length is slamming into me. He keeps pounding me fast, and all I can do is hold on and enjoy the ride.

An orgasm soon rips through me, and I scream into his mouth. He looks me in the eye to say, “That’s right; scream for me, sweetheart. Only for me.”

I gasp loudly as waves of pleasure cascade over me until it feels like I can’t possibly go any higher. But then, S.C. puts his hand between us and flicks my clit as he continues to move in and out of me.

“Cum for me one more time, sweetheart,” he growls in my ear as another orgasm crashes into me on the heels of the last one. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist and score his back with my fingernails, screaming his name. That did it for S.C. as I feel him squirt his load inside of me, grunting out my name as he finds his own release.

We kiss one more time and smile at each other before finishing our shower. We fit together just right; my body is supple and feels well used. But I am afraid I might be falling for him.

****

“You don’t have to cook for me,” S.C. says from his stool in front of the wide kitchen counter.

Dressed in one of his shirts, I throw him a smile over my shoulder. “It is my pleasure. Besides, an omelet is about the only thing I can cook.” I wink at him and slide our breakfast onto two plates, walking around to sit beside him.

S.C. forks up a bite of egg, cheese, and vegetables. I watch as he slips it between his lips, and his eyes slowly close, groaning. “Woman, you have a way with eggs,” he utters, taking another bite.

I just smile and dig into my own breakfast. We remain quiet as we devour our food, both starving from all the energy we have expended.

Out of the blue, S.C. quietly asks, “Do you trust me, Elora?”

I push my plate away and give myself time to think. “Yes, I think I do,” I reply honestly.

“Then, tell me your real story. Why are you here? Why did you steal from the club?”

I sigh and look into his eyes. I have trusted this man with my body; now, it is time to trust him with my secrets.

“I wasn’t born Elora Northwood,” I start, swallowing water from my glass to wet my suddenly dry throat. “My name was Anastasias Longford. My parents were philanthropists with more money than sense. They were good people who wanted to use their billions to make a difference in the world. They started with local projects and then widened the net until they were moving from one small town to another, helping them root out the mafia, gang, or whatever organization that kept it from thriving.” Smiling sadly, I add, “Their drive to help others got them killed.”

“The names on the folder you took from the office. Were they your parents?” S.C. asks.

I nod, a tear slipping down my face.

“That file had to have been at least ten years old or more.”

I stare off in the distance. “I was 16 back then. My parents and I were celebrating my early entrance into Harvard when someone pounded on the door. They knew it was bad since they seemed afraid. My mom made me get under the couch as my dad went to investigate, but I saw the men push past him and grab him by the arm. They brought my father to the living room where they shot him. It did not take long for them to find my mother and do the same thing. Their bodies fell lifeless and staring at me, the pool of their blood soaking me under the couch. I lay there for hours, terrified to move, before I finally crawled out and called the police. After it was over, I emancipated myself and started my search for their killers.”

“What about the stealing?” S.C. asks, one eyebrow raised.

I smirk. “That was my own way of continuing my parents’ legacy.”

He shakes his head, but there is a small smile on his face. “And that led you here to Truth and Consequences.”

“Yes,” I utter, nodding. “Eliza, the leader of my crew, dug out a small mention of this place. It was the last place my parents were trying to help before they died.”

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