Page 28 of Mayfly

There’s a thud against the wall and both of Jude’s hands are holding me.

I look up to see my knife sticking out of the fancy gray wallpaper.

He drags me back. To the bed, I think.

I’m backwards on his lap.

His hands diverge; one to wrap around my neck, and the other to grip my dick.

“Shhh,” he whispers, choking me tighter when my moans grow too loud.

He pumps my overstimulated cock better than I’ve ever done myself.

“Breathe,” he commands, and I think I take a breath. “You’re such a pretty little puppy.”

Every nerve ending in my body sears hot and cold at the same time.

Jude’s fist pumps faster with each pass.

I push back against him.

His fingers and thumb dig into the soft patches beneath my ears.

He tells me to breathe again, but he’s mocking me. Because as soon as his hand leaves my neck, his arm is wrapped around it.

My windpipe is completely constricted.

The room grows hazy.

I squirm against his grip.

Jude’s breath is ragged now, too.

I’m close.

My toes scrape across the carpet.

I grab onto his thighs beneath me.

“Ready?” he asks, even though he knows I can’t answer.

This is it.

This is everything.

The culmination of twenty-five years and—

I land heavy on my knees with a thud.

On all fours, I gasp for air; disoriented.

The room refocuses to the sound of Jude snickering. I look back at him, and he smiles down at me. “How ya feeling, puppy?”

My eyes narrow, and I see red. I can feel the devil rising in me and my sights are set on Jude’s smug face.

His grin falters when I stand. But then, as if to spite me, he leans back like he’s daring me to move.

The smile is wiped completely off his face when I lunge at him.

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