Page 112 of Sacrifice
My mouth is on her, any skin exposed is fair play. I lick, kiss, and nibble everywhere. My hands are on her ass, feeling it jiggle with every movement.
It’s. Fucking. Perfect.
Her tits bounce in my face, my stubble razing across her skin. She reaches down and grabs one and brushes it against my face, letting the five o’clock shadow scratch the skin, so I turn my face into it and suck the delicate skin.
I feel her body clench around me and I know she’s getting ready to let go. She’s breathing heavily, her eyes have that glossy look that comes right before she goes over the edge. A look I’ve remembered in my dreams more nights than I can count. A look that I plan on putting on her face every night for the rest of my life.
She begins to whimper and I can’t hold it back any longer. My senses are overloaded: sight, sound, smell, taste, feel . . . everything is completely overstimulated in the very best way.
My legs begin to shake as my orgasm builds. She works harder against my cock, slamming herself down, her tits bouncing against my face. I feel her muscles clamp down on me and I watch as a wave of pleasure washes across her face. Her long hair falls back, off her face, and she continues to grind herself against me.
And I let go.
I explode into her body, filling her with my orgasm. I pull her head down to mine and kiss her while we ride the high.
Finally, I lean back and pull her on top of me. I kiss her forehead as she cuddles into my chest. She looks up and we lock eyes and I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking: this is where we were both meant to be.
FORTY-FIVE
CREW
The bag hits the deck of the shipyard with a thud. I’ve tossed a hundred of these fuckers this morning. They’re heavy but a good workout . . . as long as my neck doesn’t scream with pain. I’ve been babying it as much as I can and it’s been sore but not agonizing. I’ve gotten a few raised eyebrows, but that’s been it.
I walk across the dock and pick up another one and toss it on the pile then wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead with the end of my shirt. It’s hot today, the sun beating down for the first real time this year. The humidity makes everything feel strangled. As if that’s not bad enough, I’m dealing with the rumors and speculation from all the fools I work with. Most of them didn’t realize what was going on until the pre-fight conference aired. Walking into work the next morning, everything had changed. I hate it. Work was the one place where my life was normal. Shitty, maybe, but normal. Unaffected by everything else going on. The bullshit has even tainted my job now.
Everyone has a prediction. Everyone has a wager to make. Would I make it out of the first round? Would it end by decision or knockout? It’s starting to piss me off.
I pick up another bag and toss it on the pile when I hear my name being called.
“Yeah?” I shout back, my voice barely heard over the activity of the dock.
“You got a call.”
My stomach falls. I never get calls at work. With the feeling of lead in my stomach, I head into the office. Any other time, the coolness of the air would’ve been nice, but I don’t even notice.
“I got a call,” I tell the secretary, heaving in a breath.
“Yes. You can take it over there,” she says, pointing to an empty desk next to the wall. “I’ll transfer it over.”
I walk to the phone and it lights up. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Crew,” she breathes, and my heart skips a beat. Then two.
“Jules? What’s wrong?”
“I called the ambulance to come get Ever a little while ago. We’re at—”
“What? Why?”
“She was just so pale and I couldn’t get her to wake up. The doctor’s office called while I was trying to get her to do something, and they asked me to bring her in. I told them what was going on and they said to just call 911.”
“Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” she cries. I hear the panic start to take over.
“Jules. Stay calm. I’m coming there.”
“But you’re at work.”
