Page 59 of The Misfit

Okay, at least she’s not a virgin, not that it matters. It does make me feel a little less guilty. Wrapping her legs tight around me, she digs her foot into my ass, forcing my hips forward and my cock a little deeper.

Holy fuck.

Then she stops.

“Condom?” Salem’s voice is a squeak.

“Fuck, yes, I’m sorry.” Only I would forget that. As messed up as it is, impregnating Salem is the last thing I fucking need. I start to pull back, but she stops me with a flex of her hips. Her dreamy gaze meets mine.

“It’s fine. I’m on birth control.”

I study her features, contemplating what I should do. I know it’s irresponsible, but the feel of her around me, my bare cock sliding into her warm heat, is too good. I thrust forward, giving her the last two inches of my cock.

She hisses out a long breath and digs her nails into my back. There’s no way she didn’t cut through those gloves. I’ve never experienced pleasure like this before, and my mind is blown. Salem’s brows are still pinched together as if she’s in pain, so I snake a hand between us and gently stroke her clit.

“You were made for me, Pantry Girl. Made to take my cock.” I whisper against her throat before I rake my teeth down her neck and then kiss my way back up. My gaze catches on where our bodies are joined, and all I can do is stare, the raw hunger unfurling in my gut at the image of her impaled on my length. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good.” I finger her clit, strumming it until she raises her hips, seeking friction.

It only takes a minute to find a steady rhythm, and I’m torn between watching the ecstasy play across her features and ducking my head to take her mouth until I capture her sweet, breathy moans.

“Lee …” She moans my name, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I clutch her to my chest and thrust into her, meeting her stroke for stroke. Soon, an all-familiar pleasure builds at the base of my spine.

God no. I can’t come before she does.

I will not fucking come before she does.

“I need you to come. Are you going to come for me?” I growl through my teeth, holding back my own pleasure.

“Yes!” she exclaims.

“Fuck, yes, you are. Come on my cock. Come for me.” My voice is animalistic, and it’s like she was waiting for my command because she explodes not even a few seconds later.

Her walls clamp down around me, her whole body tensing, making it damn near impossible to move inside her. One, two, three more strokes, and I pull out of her, pumping my achingly hard erection until my release shudders through me, and I pepper her skin with my cum. Some primal part of me loves the way it looks there on her pretty flushed skin. So I leave it, even wiping the end of my cock onto a clean area. Some of the orgasmic haze starts to wear off, and I glance up at her to make sure she’s okay. That my cum on her skin isn’t setting off her OCD, but she appears to be more than okay. She simply lies there, dazed, her body limp.

It gives me a minute to clean up my mess, then gather a fresh pair of gloves for her. While in the process of doing that, reality crashes back into me, reminding me of what a piece of shit I am.What the fuck did I just do?A bottle of liquor on the sideboard beckons to me, but I hold off, wanting to make sure she gets out the door first at least.

“I should get dressed.” I step back, snapping up the towel and wrapping it around my hips, trying to put distance between us before I do something stupid like pull her back into my arms. “And you should probably …”

Go before I drink myself into oblivion because we can’t spend the next two days fucking like animals.

“Go,” she finishes for me. Sadness fills her eyes, and it guts me like a fucking fish. I’m such an asshole. I open my mouth to comment on it, to tell her I don’t really want her to go, but then she blinks, and it’s gone. “Yes. I should … I need to …”

She rises from the bed and starts to gather her things, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. I want to help, but I know touching her right now would be dangerous.

Instead, I watch her rip off her old gloves, which seems an almost intimate act in and of itself after what we just did. She slips into a fresh pair and checks them three times. Once in place, she quickly dresses and smooths her sweater exactly four times. I can tell anxiety, confusion, and maybe even fear are settling in, the impact of what we did, what I allowed to happen. She counts her steps to the door six times before actually reaching for the handle.

“Salem—”

“Don’t.” She doesn’t turn around. “Please don’t make this more awkward than it already is. We just got carried away. The medication, the adrenaline from Aries, you being … well …” She gestures vaguely at my towel. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is still fine.”

She’s lying. I’m lying. We’re lying, and we both know it.

FOURTEEN

salem

It wasn’t as awkwardas I imagined it would be to have sex with my fake boyfriend. I was more embarrassed about the fact that I had taken his medication and acted so boldly.

Yeah, it was terrifying but also exhilarating, and it proved to me that I was still normal, not completely broken. That’s what I think about as I watch the sunlight filtering through the coffee shop windows, the rays catching on Lee’s eyelashes and making them look almost golden as he dozes off in the chair across from me. It’s been a week, and it hasn’t happened again, nor have we discussed it.

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