Page 77 of Unwanted

He pours a generous amount onto the tips of two fingers and proceeds to massage my hole.

Starting with one finger, he teases my opening, slowly dipping in and out, barely breaching me. He repeats the motion with a second finger and then a third.

It was torment. I needed more, and from the smirk on his face, he did too.

He pushes two fingers in, deeper, reaching for my prostate. Grazing it. Once. Twice. Three times.

And when he adds the third digit, the stretch is so good, I almost whimper.

“Please,” I beg, needing more. Needinghim. “It’s been so long.”

Torturously slow, he slides each finger out, one by one, and rises to his feet, squeezing more lube into his hand.

He throws the tube to the floor and rubs the gel up and down his cock.

His bare cock.

My eyes flick up to his and I see the question clear as day. He’s already made it known that he hasn’t slept with anyone since me. I’d spent years trying to replace what we had together. Trying to chase the ghost of Arlo away and rid him from my head, body, and mind.

But I’d never been with anyone the way I was with Arlo. Raw and real in every way.

I nod, answering his unspoken thoughts. “It’s only ever been you.”

He moves closer, holding my leg up, giving himself easy access. He lines the head of his thick cock with my hole and applies the perfect amount of pressure.

“Arlo,” I cry out. “Please.”

He pushes in slowly and my breath catches in my throat, tears stinging my eyes.

“Only me,” Arlo grits out. “It’s only ever been me.”

“Only you,” I echo as the first tear falls. “I promise it’s only ever been you.”

Arlo picks up his pace and my body rattles with each thrust. He was a madman, possessed even.

With a hand hooked under each knee, he opens me wide and slams into me. Thrusting like he was marking me, signing his name on the inside.

Reaching for my own cock, I squeeze the thick, hard length, trying to stave off my orgasm. But when the head of his cock repeatedly pounds into my prostate, I can’t help but stroke.

“I need to come,” I blurt out. “Fuck, Arlo, please.”

Bending at the waist, Arlo captures my mouth and kisses us through the finish line.

He kisses me as my body trembles and come paints my hand and stomach.

And I kiss him as his body pulsates and spills inside me.

He drags his mouth to my ear. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He chants those three words over and over, until I feel the first tear on my shoulder.

I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, my heels pressing into his ass cheeks, keeping him close.

“I love you,” I say back. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

This is nothing like how we’d started, the rush and desperation of our bodies joining together again, dissolving.

Now he’s all warm and whispery.

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