Page 7 of Lonesome Man
“You gonna let me destroy this pretty pussy? You want it hard, don’t you, Libby?”
“Yes…god, yes.” Her nails dug into my back. “I want it.”
Groaning, I slammed my hips forward, then proceeded to fuck her so hard, air was forced from between her pouty lips every time I filled her. I wasn’t going to last long. Yes, I’d fucked her once already, and not that long ago, but it’d been a long fucking year, and this woman, this fantasy, was too good, too real. Maybe it was twisted, but to me she was Libby. She was my fucking Libby, and she was perfect.
I ground down as I filled her like a pussy-drunk madman. She arched against the mattress, her mouth falling open. “Let me feel it. Come around my cock, Libby. That tight-as-fuck little pussy is too good, you’re gonna make me come, I want you to take it all. Fucking take it, Libby,” I groaned.
She screamed, her pussy clamping down hard around me a second before I started coming. Her pussy milked me, gripping me over and over, feeding my fantasy. “You feel that?” I gasped. “You’re pulling my come so deep inside you, little wife.” I moaned, overcome by what I was feeling. Fuck, every moment had been perfect. It was dirty, sexy, beautiful. Libby was a dream under me, every bit of her exposed skin flushed pink, eyes satisfied and heavy, lips puffy and dark—pussy tight as hell, and now messy as fuck.
I collapsed against her, breathing hard, and while we both tried to catch our breath, she rubbed my back.
When I finally slipped out of her, I slid down the bed a little, holding her legs wide. I wanted to see my come inside her, and I groaned again when it started to slide out. Catching it with my fingers, I pushed it back in. She whimpered, her belly trembling. “Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s so fucking sexy, Libs, but you need to take it all,” I said and scooped it up again, pushing it in a second time. “You need to keep your husband’s come inside you, don’t you, baby.”
It was too good, too real, and I wasn’t ready for the fantasy to end, not yet.
She looked down at me, eyes still heavy, biting her lip and nodded. “I want it. I want all of it.”
“That’s my good girl,” I said, slowly pumping my fingers in and out of her come-filled pussy. “You’re doing so fucking good.” I looked up at her, holding those gorgeous eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you, baby, so many times, and I’m not gonna stop until it takes.”
She shivered, giving me another gorgeous fucking blush. “I want that too.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Jesus fucking Christ.
This woman was perfect.
Chapter Four
Libby
When I woke I was in the bedroom alone. Music played quietly downstairs and the smell and sounds of cooking drifted up from the kitchen.
I stretched, then shivered when I felt the subtle aches in my body. I’d never experienced anything like I had last night with Tucker. The things he said, Jesus, I’d never been more turned on in all my life. I’d never come that hard either. How the hell would I survive two weeks? Two weeks of dirty, sexy Tucker giving me insanely good orgasms and the kind of sex I’d only ever fantasized about. I never thought I’d be into anything kinky like this, especially role-playing or breeding fantasies, but I was… Shit, it was so hot.
This whole thing was beyond confusing. I was an actor, I was playing a role—but pretending to be Tucker’s wife was definitely no hardship. Not at all. I didn’t have to fake my enthusiasm at being with him, because I’d wanted this, to be with him like this, for so damn long. Getting all caught up in this fantasy would be a mistake though. I had to regulate my emotions and, whatever it took, not let my heart get carried away.
It’d be so easy to dwell in my guilt, but I couldn’t do that either. It wouldn’t be fair to Tucker to tell him the truth, not now. Not when nothing had changed, and the reasons we couldn’t be together beyond this still existed.
God, over the years we’d meant so much to each other. We’d been best friends; he’d been my only friend for a long time. He’d work on silly stories all week to tell me during our Friday calls just to make me laugh. Then when I went to college, the occasional call, and the long emails he’d sent telling me how much he missed me, and the last one, when he’d asked me to come and see him, to take a chance on him, to finally see if this thing between us was as real as it felt…
I’d known then, what I absolutely knew now—yes, it was real. Being here with him made it clear just how compatible we were in every way. If I’d come here four years ago, I would have fallen even harder for him. I would have stayed here, and eventually, I would have resented it. I would have resented him. So I told him I wasn’t ready for what he wanted and that we needed to cool it for a while—then I’d ghosted him, like a fucking coward, afraid if I gave him another shot, if I let him, he’d talk me around and I’d give in. I’d give everything up for him, everything that I’d worked so hard for.
So no, I could never tell him who I was. Not after that, not after what I did to him to protect myself.
I was here now. By some fluke, some twist of fate, I was here with Tucker, like he’d wanted. So I could dwell on the past, or I could enjoy the time I had with him. I would make this perfect for him and try not to overthink it.
He still wants you.
And I still wanted him. But two weeks was all I could allow myself.
Pushing back the covers, I climbed out of bed and hit the bathroom. After a quick shower, I tied my hair back and dressed. My stomach growled and fluttered with nerves at the same time as I took the stairs and walked into the kitchen.
Tucker stood at the counter, dishing up whatever it was he’d cooked. By the smell of it, bacon. He was shirtless, in only a pair of gray track pants. His back was muscled and smooth, well, except for the pink lines across it I’d made with my fingernails.
No black.
We weren’t playing this morning. My nerves shot higher. Role-playing some made-up version of myself was so much easier than reality, especially with him.
