Page 122 of His Two Hidden Masks

My truth, I love you

Our truth, I love you

I love you

I shattered, crying out his name. My body quaked and rippled with an orgasm that sent me spinning and falling as the pulse of Dylan’s release joined with mine.

Every throb of his cock anchored me to this world, to this bed. Our bodies melted into one, the pulse of our pleasure beating in time together.

His elbows on either side of me, his cock was still pressed deep inside me. Dylan’s brown eyes stared into mine. “My body belongs inside of you,” he said. “You feel like home.”

“Oh really,” I said, pretending to be jealous. “Just how many homes has your dick tried out before me?”

“I can’t remember,” he said. He kissed my forehead. “Once I found you, nothing that happened before mattered.”

“I like that,” I said, as he slid out of me. Our bodies spooning, he put one hand over my breast, gently playing with my hard nipple sending small aftershocks through my body.

I was drunk on orgasms and never wanted it to end. “How do you do this to me?”

“Your body was made for me,” he said, rolling me towards him. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his red lips finding my nipple. He sucked and nibbled as I arched my back, shocked that my body had any pleasure left to find.

The connection between us reached beyond the physical. Our souls were intertwined. Uninhibited and wild, I discovered new places inside myself. I made new noises foreign and freeing while we fucked.

I was a virgin to this depth of pleasure. This was a new world. I wanted to spread my legs and pull him into the warmest part of me where we melted together as husband and wife.

I awoketo sunlight streaming through the windows. Dylan lay beside me eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in an even steady rhythm. I ran my fingers down his back, drawing hearts until he opened his gorgeous eyes.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.”

“Is it time for breakfast, Mrs. Street?”

I laughed and raised my eyebrows. “I told you, Mr. Street, I am not changing my name.”

“And are you divorcing me today?” he asked, his tone playful, but I sensed real emotion in his question.

“Not today,” I said, picking up my phone from the nightstand. Four missed calls and ten missed texts. Three calls from Roberto. One from my mother. No voicemails. I checked my texts.

Roberto:

Find me today. We should talk.

Mama:

Are you okay??

Papa:

How could you do this.

Reading my father’s message, I shivered. At some point Dylan and I would leave this warm bed and have to face the real world.

“What is it?” Dylan said, sitting beside me. He scooted up against the white pillows, his phone in his hand, scrolling through messages, too.

“The news is out,” I said. “Papa wants to see me.”

“I imagine he is angry.”

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