Page 93 of Devil's Tulip

My neck snaps back, and I yell to the ceiling as spurt after spurt of cum shoots into her hot cunt. I pound into her through it all, drawing out our shared pleasures, growling her name like an incantation that keeps me tethered to this moment, to her.

And then, finally, I slow—but I’m not done.

As the intensity begins to ebb, I press a soft kiss at the top of her spine and shift back, careful not to let my cock slip out of her as I crawl further up the bed. Her head lifts heavily, and she blinks back at me in confusion, her eyes glazed with satisfaction and exhaustion.

“Shhh.” I press my palm between her shoulder blades, easing her back down until her cheek rests on the sheets, then raise her ass slightly higher.Perfect.

I need my cum to go where it needs to go—to implant in her womb with my child and bind her to me in the most permanent way possible.

I keep her ass in the air as my cock softens inside her, my palm gliding over her warm, supple flesh in slow, soothing strokes.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t put up a fight, and my heart expands as I realize what it means. She wants my seed to take root inside her as well, whether subconsciously or not. That has to be why she didn’t ask me to go look for a condom before I fucked into her, and why she’s not complaining now about the risk.

She wants me. She wants us. She wants this.

Victory is an intoxicating drug.

I stare blankly at the headboard for a minute, my mind fracturing with flashes of a future—of a child with her dark hair and golden eyes. A perfect mini version of her—beautiful, fierce, ours.

I’m going to have that.Damn it, I will. Nothing and no one will stand in my way.

Leaning down, I nuzzle her cheek, and my heart softens as I take her in.

She’s fallen asleep, her luscious lips parted, dark hair spilling over her face. She’s so beautiful, so everything.

And she’s all mine.

I push the hair off her face and plant a gentle kiss on her lips. She murmurs my name in her sleep, shifting slightly, and her movement stirs my cock still nestled in her cunt, making me groan under my breath.

I stay like that, watching her for long moments, unwilling—unable—to draw my gaze away from her.

Then, softly, regretfully I pull out of her warmth and drag her into my chest, burying my face into her neck, inhaling the scent that’s uniquely hers. For a fleeting second, perfect contentment washes over me.

Until I remember her duplicitousness earlier this evening.

Why the fuck did she tell me she was on her period? Does it have anything to do with Elira’s unexpected visit?

The last traces of the sexual haze evaporate from my brain, replaced by a slow, creeping suspicion. I let go of her sleeping form and roll out of the bed, careful not to wake her.

Whatever game she’s playing, I’ll uncover it. I always do.

I pull on my pants without bothering with underwear and run a hand through my sex-mussed hair as I walk out of the bedroom. With each step, my still-sensitive cock rubs against the rough material, sending little aftershocks of pleasure through my body. I ignore it, focused on a more pressing need—the need for truth.

When I get into my office, I go straight to my computer, logging in and pulling up the camera feed. I replay the feed from earlier this evening, rewinding to the moment Elira walked into our house.

On the screen, Gianna leads her up the stairs and into her room. My jaw clenches as I switch cameras to see what happened inside.

The footage shows Elira sitting on the edge of the bed, rummaging through her bag before extracting what looks like a pill. She hands it to my wife, who takes it into her palm and walks into the ensuite.

What the fuck?

I don’t have a camera in there—even I have limits—so I can only wait, fingers drumming impatiently against the desk.

When she gets back, Elira hands her a whole blister pack of medication, and I narrow my eyes as Gianna replies, her lips moving in words I can’t hear.Damn it, I should’ve installed audio recording devices in the house.I would kill to hear what she’s saying.

What drugs is Elira giving to my wife? And why the hell is she taking them so diligently?

Maximo’s wife gets to her feet, and mine hugs her tightly—too tightly. Like she’s grateful for something. They talk a while longer, embrace again, then leave the room together. I follow the footage as Gianna walks Elira to the front door, sees her off, then quickly rushes back inside.

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