Page 72 of Summer People
Slowly, I slide home, fighting the shivers that course up my spine with each inch I claim.
“Damn right this pussy is mine. It’s begging for my cock.” Her breath stutters and her core tightens around me. “You like that, baby? You ready for me to make you scream?”
“Yes,” she whimpers, head thrashing.
Teeth gritted, I roll my hips. Fuck. Nothing has ever felt this good. She is my perfect fit. My heart takes off, pounding in my ears as I fuck into her over and over. Knowing I won’t last long, I shift and lock her arms over her head, changing the angle until she’s moaning and trembling.
When the tingles start at the base of my spine, I pull out all the stops to ensure she comes first. Knowing that my dirty girl loves words, I bring my lips to the shell of her ear. “Come for me, Princess. Strangle my cock with your pleasure. Milk me until I fill you with my cum.” I swivel my hips.
“Shit,” she whimpers. “Again,” she begs.
Gladly. I thrust and then swirl. Thrust and swirl. Until, finally, her back arches and her hot pussy grips me rhythmically.
“Fisher.”
I drop my mouth to hers and swallow her scream as my own release steals the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck,” I mumble against her lips as I paint her insides with hot jets of cum. Filling her. Marking her.
Legs trembling, I collapse beside her, then yank her body over mine. Her hair splays out over my chest as we pant and gasp for air, our hearts beating wildly against each other.
As she curls into me, a sensation far deeper than pleasure spreads through me. In this moment, I know that no matter where she goes, I’ll never get over Libby Sweet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
libby
In a twistthat will surprise absolutely no one, I woke up in Fisher’s bed alone. Again.
Though there’s a niggle of disappointment deep in my chest, I can’t be angry about it. I have no idea what Sutton and Fisher’s routine looks like. Maybe she likes to snuggle in the morning. Maybe he likes to go for a run.
Would I like to be snuggled?
Yes.More than I can explain.
I learn something new about myself every day, and apparently one of those things is that I like to snuggle.
I sit with that for a moment, soaking in the implication. And I can’t deny that I like how sore my body is after last night. And how soft his sheets are. And how they smell like him.
Boy, am I obsessed.
This is bad.
Or maybe it’s good?
As I replay last night, the way he kissed me, the way he tasted, how it felt the moment he sank inside me—like being torn apart, but in a good way.
Every time he touched me somewhere new, it felt like another beginning. Each graze of his fingers or his mouth or his cock wiped away the memories of unwanted touches. My body, which used to flinch when a man so much as came near, wakes up for Fisher.
The chill that used to engulf me has been replaced by a rush of warmth. The same way the summer sun warms the frost that encases this island in the late spring.
As butterflies flap wildly in my chest, I let out a silent shriek and kick my feet, making the sheets go flying. When I arrived on that trash boat, I never could have imagined feeling this way. I had no intention of falling for someone. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Rather than sneak out of his room like in the past, I pull a sweatshirt over my pajama top and step into the hall with my head held high.
I find Sutton downstairs on the couch beneath a blanket, eyes trained on the television.
“Morning, pretty girl,” I say, holding tight to the confidence I felt when I was still in bed. If I don’t act like this is weird, hopefully she won’t feel like it is.
