Page 30 of Crazy Love
“When it’s wrong, it’s always right.”
“Ever done anything this nuts before?”
I shake my head.
I can’t take my frickin eyes off him as he pumps into me. Whatever it is that’s connecting us has me well and truly trapped. I’m going to come looking him right in the eyes. I’ve never let go like that before. I’m not sure what the net result will be, it’ll probably transform the troublesome connections between us into high carbon steel bond.
“Gonna…” He mutters breathlessly, eyes glazing a little.
I push my fingers into his mouth, feel the tremors run up though his back, and his cock jolt inside of me. He comes hard, body shaking, the strain showing in his face, so that a line of perspiration forms across the top of his lip.
“Fucking come,” he growls, like I’m deliberately holding out on him, and maybe I am, because something seems to snap in response to his order.
Oh, God! I fall hard, my climax opening me up to emotions that I’d be wiser not to feel. All my defences are shredded, ripped away, exposing me. I’m sure he can see right down into my core, because I’m seeing into the very heart of him, and I’m petrified by what I find there.
-12-
Nathaniel Darke
The high is earth-shattering. The come down turns me into a cabbage. I don’t know what it is about Loveday Trevaskis, but just the way she looks at me does nonsensical things to my insides. Her touch is incendiary. There’s more than simple lust boiling between us. I don’t know whether to cling on tight, or scarper as fast as possible. If I want a career, the latter’s the only sensible option.
I haven’t done a single sensible thing all night.
I’m not counting things like pulling on a condom before I stroked inside of her, because that’s not about sense, it’s about self-preservation.
Actually, maybe they are one and the same. It’s hard to make sense of the world anymore. Lethargy follows bliss. It seeps through my innards as I float down from the out of body high fucking her just propelled me too. I feel as if I’ve been split into electrons, and parts of me are currently residing in some far-flung galaxy. From what I remember about sub-atomic particles, that might even be true.
She cuddles me. That, I can handle. Girls enjoy a bit of post-coital intimacy, and it doesn’t cost much to wrap your arms around someone after you’ve fucked them to oblivion. What truly gets me—it razors me from the inside—is when my dick goes limp and slips from her, she’s the one to deal with the wrapper, knot it up and deposit it in the waste. Me, I just fall face first onto the nearest bed, where she joins me a moment later.
Her fingers trace the lines of the snakes that flow around the other ink on my back. “That was all rather intense,” she remarks, sounding as casual as you please. I wonder if that’s how she actually feels, but I haven’t the strength to lift my head in order to turn and make any sort of eye contact with her. “Anyone would think you were worked up over something.”
She knows exactly how much frustration I needed to find an outlet for. Everything I’ve ever cared about is on the cusp of going tits up.
“Ah, don’t go getting rattled again.” She smacks a hand against my arse, then gives it a squeeze. “God, your butt is so adorable. I need to lick it or something.”
Evidently while my libido has been temporarily sated, Loveday is still buzzing and up for more. I hate to disappoint her, but I have literally no strength left. Not even enough to complain at the way she’s pinching and squeezing my arse and dancing her digits all over me.
“Do you have an arse fetish?” I ask after several more minutes of this assault. Every time I think she’s done, she seems to return for an extra jab.
“Nope.”
“Then what are you playing at?” I make a feeble attempt to turn. It really is a pathetic effort. She stills me instantly by slapping a hand down upon my hip and pushing me deeper into the mattress. “Keep still, I’m writing. I don’t want it smudged.”
Writing? “Writing what?”
“Music. I’ve got this beat in my head and, I need to get down before it slips away. You know what it’s like. You think you’ll remember, but if you don’t put it in black and white it goespoof, and all you’re left with is the knowledge that you let go of something awesome.”
I do strain my neck in order to glimpse what she’s about now. “Would a sheet of paper be better?”
She’s doodling on my arse in purple ink.
She considers, pink tongue poking from between her lips, while she holds the Sharpie poised over my flesh. “Nah. Your arse is way more inspiring. Blank paper is just soul-sapping. I’d have to jazz it up before I could get anything written down.”
“Yes, but writing your masterpiece on my arse might prove more inconvenient in the long term. I mean, what happens when you need to refer to it later, and maybe I’m busy or I’ve showered and washed it off.”
I expect some kind of revelatory acceptance that she’s made a mistake, but she just flashes me an enormous grin.
“Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ll remember it. I always do once I’ve jotted it down. And I guess if want to play it safe, I can sit you on a photocopier once I’m done. They’re sure to have one in the hotel office.”
