Page 166 of Butterfly Effect

“Breathe.” Her hands surround my hips, guiding entry.

The greased tip creeps in, and I lose balance, folding to my knees.

“You’re doing so good. I know you can take more.”

I do, slinking down another inch before shallow breaths puff from me like a runaway train.

“Keep going,” she coos. Her enamored gaze sweeps over me. “You look incredible. Like fucking paradise.”

The degrading praise relaxes me enough to settle further, the smooth walls inside savoring the ridged surfaces of the silicone dick.

“Oh—fuck.” My eyes screw shut with a quiver, stilling any motion.

“More,” she demands. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

A final plunge impales me entirely. I cry out at the fill.

“Ride.” My quads shiver, unable to assist the stutter of my hips. Gabe doles out a punishing slap to one cheek. “I said, ‘ride.’”

I obey. More fluid dribbles from my ripe-red slit as the dildo nudges back and forth. It glances off of the needy, swollen spot inside, wrenching demented, guttural moans from somewhere deep within my chest.

Gabe crushes her lips into my neck, then drops her head, grazing her teeth over a puckered nipple. They scrape as they bite down, and it’s too much.

A shock of pain sets off the pleasure, and I explode, so sudden and brazen it blazes every last brain cell to ashes, save the one that controls the sound of a lengthy groan. Gossamers of thick, white-hot cum streaks up Gabe’s tits and gorgeous, freshly fucked expression.

“Oh, my God, Wade.” Her hands explore and spread the stickiness over her nipples and below, her mouth splitting open and webbing my release across those puffed lips. It’s the prettiest sight and the last thing before my orgasm crashes and burns.

I wake up groggy and disoriented but root myself to Gabe’s heartbeat. Nails lightly scratch up and down my naked back.

“You okay?”

A throaty rumble crawls out. “How long was I out?”

The goosebump-inducing scratches travel to my scalp as she shifts her spread legs beneath my resting hips. “About an hour.”

“Yeesh.”

“That’s your fault,” she teases. “You’re the one who likes it rough.”

The satisfied noise hums between my lips and her sternum. “The aftercare is why I like it rough.” I maneuver forward, stealing a kiss from the crook of her neck. She recoils with a giggle, unable to bear the tickle. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Five.”

“5 p.m.!” My elbows lift my weight from Gabe’s torso. “We gotta go, Freckles.”

“Three more minutes,” she purrs, convincing me to rest against her chest again. “Please?”

“When you said birthday dinner, I thought you meant somewhere fancy.” Gabe adjusts the shirred top of her forest green sundress while we wait to get seated at Cafe Jardín.

“Nah,” I reply, smoothing down my denim shirt before tugging her to my side. “If I had it my way, no one would be invited, and we’d still be in bed with my hands on the headboard.”

“Sometimes I worry about your masochistic side.” She drops a tender kiss on the crease beneath my jaw. “If I hurt your perfect ass, I’d never forgive myself.”

A host beckons us inside. “S’il vous plait.”

Gabe sends a confused look my way as we skip past the seating area.

“We’re sitting in the garden.” I stop at the wooden door. “And don’t think this is because you knocked me out with that cruel orgasm earlier.”

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