Page 17 of Fractured Loyalties
I want to see her break. No, Ineedto see her break.
I press harder, working her clit, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger. She lets out a muffled moan, and her head rolls from side to side. Her legs are tense, and I know she’s close.
I keep going, relentless, until she snaps. Her entire body trembles, and then I finally get it. She moans in a ragged, helpless sound, her pussy drenching my hand, her underwear.
There it is.
She collapses back into the bed, her body going limp with sleep again.
I sit there for a while, hand still buried between her thighs, savoring the smell of her pussy. Finally, I pull out my hand and draw my fingers to my mouth. They’re slick with Ivy’s arousal, and I pop them in, sucking the sweet fucking taste of her cunt.
My cock is so fucking hard. The ache for her climbs up my spine and radiates through my bruised ribs, making my vision pulse black at the edges. I can barely breathe. I’ve never been this close to someone, not even when I’m fucking them.
I press my clean palm to the bulge in my pants, squeezing hard. I want to drag her awake and make her watch what shedoes to me, but that would ruin everything. So, I unzip, carefully, and free my dick.
The head is already wet and shiny with precum. I drop my hand from my mouth to my shaft, working it slowly at first, using the slick from her as lube. I pump my fist in time with her breathing, in time with the memory of her moans; the feel of her hot cunt spasming under my hand. I squeeze harder, twisting at the top. It’s pathetic how quickly it goes. How fucking desperate I am for her.
I angle my body over hers, close enough to smell the sweat on her collarbone. Her head is tilted back, exposing the line of her throat. I think about leaving a bruise there, a necklace of fingerprints, but I settle for the invisible kind.
I jerk myself off with no rhythm, just the raw need to finish, to claim her in some way that will outlast the dream.
I’m going to come all over you, Little Lamb.
I picture her waking up in the morning, sticky, confused, and wondering what happened. I picture her piecing it together, realizing it was me, that I was there, and that I touched her and left my mark.
Biting back a groan, I come hard, the first spurt hitting her nightshirt just below the ribs. It soaks in, and a dark stain spreads over the black cotton. The rest leaks out in slow pulses, dribbling onto her hip, her thigh, and the twisted comforter. The smell of it mixes with hers.
I fucking love it.
I stare at my masterpiece, already knowing I won’t be cleaning her up. I want her to find me all over her in the morning, and wonder what the fuck happened.
You’re mine, Ivy. All fucking mine.
She shifts in her sleep, sighs, and pulls her knees up to her chest. The mess on her shirt is already drying, crusting into the fibers. Her hand slides down, and her fingers graze the spotwhere my come is soaking into the fabric. She frowns, mumbling something into the pillow, and then rolls onto her side, clutching the stained shirt to her belly.
I watch her for a few beats longer, but then I catch sight of the clock in the corner. It’s nearly 4 a.m. That means the house staff will be waking up soon enough.
I tuck myself away and wipe my hand on my pants. I slip out of the room, shutting the door in complete silence.
Till next time, Little Lamb.
Seven
IVY
Get up,get up, get up!
My mind screams at me as my alarm rings through the room, a room that still feels foreign to wake up in.
I donotwant to be late. I sit up and immediately feel the cold slap of air against my bare legs. The sheets are twisted around me, and the cover has been kicked to the floor during the night. I toss the rest of the mess off… and then, freeze.
What the hell?
My heart jolts at the sight of the spot on my night shirt, just below my ribs. For a second, I think it’s bleach, or maybe paint, but then I remember I didn’t do laundry, and I didn’t paint anything, but…
But there’s no way this could be what my body is screaming it is.
I pull the black fabric away from my skin, and the sticky spot tears a little, dry and hard at the edges. I pore over myself, finding another stain on the hem, and something crusty on my upper thigh.
