Page 69 of Mayfly

Allowing me to rest and adjust to this new, overwhelming sensation, Jude does one last pass up my back, then drags his nails down until he’s rimming my stretched hole with one of his fingers—slowly applying more pressure until I feel it work its way in beside his dick. And just when I feel like I can’t take it anymore, he pulls it out and starts massaging again. This time with two fingers, one on each side, the tension building until he forces both inside me.

I shudder in his arms, the strain, the stretch. It’s so overwhelming. So good. So confronting.

This is exactly what I need from him.

For my boundaries to be pushed.

For him to allow me to be mad.

To be stubborn.

To protect me.

To allow me to be his equal, but also slap the sense back into me when I lose my goddamn mind.

“You’ve done it, pup… You've taken all of me.”

The tension dissipates, and he strokes my hair. So soothing. So calm. Just the two of us in our own little bubble, with no regard for the man who just professed his undying love for me in a dead heap beside us.

I sit up as best I can.

I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes.

I rock my hips forward, then back. Just a little. Just enough to know where he’ll hit.

“Keep moving.”

It sounds like a suggestion. Or maybe an order. But they were just empty words because Jude is manhandling me before I even get the chance.

Back and forth, he drags me over his lap.

His bloodstained nails dig into my waist, my tattoos, my scars.

He looks up at me, his eyes so different from just twenty minutes ago. So full of admiration and pride I’m not certain I deserve.

We lied to each other; kept ourselves apart for so many years because of stupid preconceptions. I was right about one thing, though: Jude Clarke has always been my hero.

Jude lifts me, then slides me back down.

“Jesus fucking christ,” I gasp, and grip his shoulders.

He does it again.

And again.

Until my dick bouncing against him just like he wanted.

Each time it's harder to keep focus, but I need him to hear; “I’m a really bad man.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He bucks up to meet me. “I’ve killed people too, Curren.”

Pausing, he holds me still so he can fuck my suspended body. His thighs slap against my ass. His nails pinch at my skin. My necklace ricochets off my bare chest. The impulsive hunger doesn’t just belong to me anymore. He's figured it out. He needs this as much as I do. We’re like animals, unable to control our urges when around each other. And then, when I think I can’t possibly take anymore, he stops, with just the head of his cock still inside me.

“It always felt good… But not as good as this.” He drops me, and I grunt in the most pleasure-filled pain as I'm forced to accommodate him even deeper than before. “All I ever wanted was to be a man you’d be proud of. But I failed at that too."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true. At this point, I'm not even sure how many people are dead because of me.”

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