Page 70 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I can’t—

I’m delirious.

But I’m still not answering that fucking question.

Deep down, I already know.

I’m not pulling out of her shit with an AK-47 to my head. Or hers.

She whimpers, and the sound alone nearly makes me lose it.

But I don’t. I can’t stop.

I pound into her harder, deeper, punishing her, punishing myself for how much I love the filth coming out of her mouth. The madness. A kind of depravity most people don’t even whisper about.

She has a problem. I see that clearly now.

Sheisa problem.

But she’s mine.

I can fix her.

Or maybe I won’t.

Maybe I like her like this.

I snake my hand around and land between her thighs, finding the spot that makes her body jolt against me.

“Nut.”

That’s all I got for her ass. She just better hope she cums before I do.

“Now,” I demand.

She whimpers, her lower body stuttering against me.

There’s a lot I wanna say. A lotta shit I wanna talk. But I ain’t giving her shit. Not this time.

This time is for learning lessons.

I slap her ass, sharp, loud, making her gasp. Making her fold.

I feel it.

Her moan is long, strangled, and full of everything she’s been holding back. I fuck her through it, fighting my way through the pulses and tremors and the gush of wetness that drowns me. The moment she collapses, weak and boneless beneath me, I let myself go, burying myself as deep as I can, letting the pleasure rip through me in a violent, bone-shaking release.

I fall against her back, breathing with her, sweat slick between us. I fill my lungs with the scent on the back of her neck. She’s still pulsing around me, whimpering through the aftershocks.

All is right with the world.

“Bae?”

“Yeah?” I manage to say.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I exhale against her damp skin, shaking my head.

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