Page 14 of The Carver

“Tell me you’re sorry.” I gripped her hips and guided her with me, my bare feet pressing against the rug to meet her thrusts, to push into that slick paradise.

“I’m sorry.”

I spanked her with my big hand. “Again.”

She sucked in a breath through her teeth but didn’t pause her movements, continuing to ride my dick like her life depended on it. “I’m sorry.”

I spanked her again, harder this time to leave a mark. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes watered now, either from the pain or because I was about to make her come. I wasn’t sure which.

Coated in sweat and both breathless, we fucked in the chair by the fire, my fingers kneading the muscles of her ass, so fucking turned on by everything she was giving me that I was aboutto come. But I doubled down and focused on her, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer before she slathered my length with cream and came all over me. “Are you gonna leave me again?”

Instead of giving the answer I expected—no—she said something else. “Never.”

I liked that answer a lot more than the one I’d thought she would give. I wasn’t the kind of man that lived for the chase, so I knew I didn’t want her just because she was difficult to capture. But I felt a satisfaction that I’d finally gotten her, that I had her on my dick right now when she could be on someone else’s. That we were skin-to-skin, that we’d fucked like lovers rather than strangers since the first time we were together. I never did that shit with anyone, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

She was finally there, her pace becoming erratic now that she was on the threshold of a controlled burn. She began to drop down on my dick over and over, her pants turning to moans, her fingertips suddenly sharp as she dug in her nails. Her head rolled back as her eyes closed, putting on the performance of a lifetime, praising the dick that had just lit the fuse of her firework.

I wanted to wait until she was finished to fire off my load, but I was ten inches deep in my favorite pussy and I didn’t have the restraint. I gripped her cheeks firmly in my hands as my hard dick stiffened into a metal pipe.

She dug her fingers into my hair, and she drew close when she felt me join her, her tits to my chest. “Bastien…” Her eyes sparkled like stars from the tears, and she gave a moan when she felt me fill her.

My arms circled her waist, and I squeezed as I pressed my face into her neck and finished, stuffing that pussy with an entire round of bullets. I held her there for seconds, but once the tendrils of pleasure loosened, I was aware of how hot and sweaty I was. I rose from the chair and carried her with me, bringing her to the bedroom before I threw her on the bed.

She rolled with the throw, landing on her stomach.

Before she could get up, I was behind her, fisting her hair and pinning her face to the sheets as I lifted her ass to me. I shoved my dick inside her again and propped up my knee before I fucked her like a whore. “Tell me you’re sure.”

She panted against the sheets, her little pussy taking a ruthless pounding. “I’m sure.”

“Sure of what?” I tugged on her hair.

“That I want this.” Her words were muffled against the sheets, her back arched, ass in the air, neck bent. “That I want you.”

Chapter 3

Fleur

When I woke up, he wasn’t there.

I felt the cold sheets beside me and knew he’d been gone a while. My tired eyes peered through the darkness to the crack of light between the doors that led to the sitting room. Then I heard his voice, like he was speaking to someone on the phone. I couldn’t make it out, not when he spoke quietly and the doors blocked out most of the sound.

I turned to look at the time on my phone.

It showed 4:08.

Bastien didn’t seem to have a sleep routine like the rest of the world. He slept whenever he slept, whether that was in the middle of the day or the middle of the night. It’d been a rough week, and I’d found myself waking up in the middle of the night because of bad dreams and general depression. Those moments were always hard because the loneliness was so fucking bitter.

It was nice to wake up and know he was there—even if he was in the other room.

Knowing that I’d fixed what I’d destroyed.

He finished his phone call then gently opened and closed the door, doing his best not to wake me up even though it was too late. He was in his boxers, his muscled frame a shadow in the dark as he came to the bed.

When he moved under the sheets, he realized I was awake. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I just do that sometimes.”

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