Page 39 of Kortlek

He just starts violently fucking me, and I’m in heaven. The thrusts are quick, deep, and hard. He pistons into me, pouring all of his strength into this. My loud moans cause a couple of girls in the stalls next to us to stop talking, but none of that concerns me.

My mind is solely focused on the way Cove’s cock feels inside me. Like it was made to fuck me and me only.

“I’ll fill you up, you slut,’’ he grits out. His hand reaches around to my throat, squeezing it tightly. “I’ll come in your tight little pussy until you’re filled with me entirely.’’

I let out something between a gasp and a moan, and Cove continues his brutal thrusts. Soon enough, his labored breathing mixed with sloppy movements causes him to explode. His orgasm triggers my own, and I come undone, moaning loudly as his warm cum fills me to the brim.

He’s deep in me, riding out his orgasm, while mine drips down my thighs. He bends down, kissing my back softly, resting his face there for a moment.

My throat is dry, my makeup is smeared all over my face, and I’m pretty sure we’ve had an audience this whole time.

It’s worth it, though.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Idon’t remember exactly how the rest of the night went.

All that I can remember is Cove fixing up my skirt and bralette, given that he tore my underwear to pieces. He instructed me to wait in the stall, and he was gone for maybe two minutes before he returned with my purse and long coat. He helped me get it on and led me outside of the club.

A part of me wanted to argue. The moment was over; hence, I wasn’t going to listen to him anymore. But I was too tired, and I just wanted to sleep. Cove helped me onto his bike,and handed me the spare helmet.

I started fumbling with it, and with a sigh, he put it on me, securing it tightly. I’m not usually that clumsy, but given that he fucked the life out of me, I was feeling drowsy and tired. My legs felt weak, too.

He got on the bike in front of me, and from the moment my arms wrapped around him and he revved the engine to life, everything felt at peace. His body kept me warm through the cold fall night of New York as he sped through the streets.

He didn’t tell me where we were going, and I didn’t ask. I trusted him, holding onto his body like a lifeline. The conscious part of me was kind of pissed that his bike was better than mine, but this just meant it was due for an upgrade.

And that was all I could remember.

I’m not sure how I got here, nor where I am. It’s not his apartment, as I’ve been there before. It’s the day after; the sun is shining through the thin curtains, and I’m on a king-sized bed. The strangest thing is how I don’t feel icky.

I don’t stink, either.

My hands grip the sheets, and I toss them off me. I’m wearing a plain shirt, buttoned up entirely. I lift it up only to find a pair of male boxers on me. My brows narrow as I take in the state of my body. Sure, the bruises and his marks are there, but I’m clean.

Cove actually cleaned me up.

Huh.

With a yawn, I get up, stumbling toward the door across from the bed. The bathroom is small, with a toilet, shower, and a sink with a round mirror above. Everything is decorated in a sage green shade, and there’s an unopened toothbrush waiting for me, alongside some other necessities.

They’re all brand new, and I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest. Did he buy these for me earlier this morning, or does he always do this for his one-night stands?

I brush my teeth, fix up my hair, and wash my face. The makeup takes a while to get off, but once my face is bare and clean, I wipe it into a soft towel and make my way out of the room. It’s a cottage in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but an acre of land around us, and I’m not sure if I should be scared or thrilled.

Slowly, my legs drag me down the stairs, the scent of freshly prepared food filling my nose. I swallow thickly, my stomach growling loudly. Cove’s at the stove, whisking eggs, adding some seasonings.

And he’s not wearing a shirt.

Fuck me.

His muscular back is all I can see. His shoulders are broad and wide, and I don’t think I’ve seen a man with bigger muscles in his arms than Cove. There are a couple of scars on his back from the fights, but they’re mainly healed, in a rosy shade.

He turns to face me when he takes the eggs out of the pan, putting them on a single plate. The plate has two pancakes, the eggs, a few strawberries, and some tomatoes. It looks delicious, and my mouth starts to water.

“Good morning,’’ I mumble, taking another careful step toward the kitchen area.

The cottage itself is small. The living room, kitchen, and dining area are combined in one bigger room. Despite its size, it’s cozy. It’s warm inside; there are more decorations and homey things here than in his apartment.

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