Page 44 of Last Love

Spreads them wide and pants, “Ry.”

“Fuckin’ A, baby,” is given on a hard spank to her ass cheek.

Her breath hitches from the strike while waves of wetness leak down my shaft, steeping my balls, seducing them into blowing a load now rather than waiting another second. As much as I want to just let go, come, and start the next round immediately, I can’t.

The junkie inside of me being birthed from the ashes of the old one refuses.

It commands we keep going.

Demands we take more hits.

Endure stronger quality.

Cram down higher quantities.

Overdose on her screams, her shivers, and her never-ending surrender.

Pres drops her head forward and slams on the hood of the vehicle for mercy.

For more.

Her slap receives a swat from me starting a ferocious cycle that spirals out of control with her knees being rammed into the grill from the incessant heaving and her tits sloppily pouring out of her dress. I’m not sure when one of her hands snaked itself under between her legs; however, the instant I feel her fingers pull my balls forward to brush against her clit I break.

“That’s it, Pres,” I growl as my thrusting teeters, loses its precise rhythm to chase the new sensations. “Make yourself come on my fucking cock.”

The slightest addition of pressure is applied for only two more strokes.

After those, the love of my life, throws her head back on a heart-stopping shout of my name, the only name I ever want her to use, “Ry!”

She comes hard.

Her pussy constricts and holds my dick hostage inside, refusing to let go until it’s draining from me blistering bursts so powerful that they cause my knees to fucking buckle. In my attempt to catch my falling figure, I end up hunched over her trembling body with my mouth near her elongated neck, so of course, I sink my teeth into the sweat-soaked skin.

Suck.

Lap up her flavors and the salty creation that came from fucking me.

Being with me.

Being mine.

Pres hums at the connection and slowly rocks her lower half into mine that’s now shallow thrusting. “We should just order takeout again.”

“Fine by me, baby,” I hum against the darkening flesh. “The only thing I’m interested in having is you.”

After an extended sentence in the most treacherous, desolate prison – my own fucked up mind – it’s impossible to want anything else.

There’s no denying that the feign inside of me is alive and greedy.

I just need to manage it better.

And I will.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, we do the irresponsible thing like she asked and make up for a decade’s worth of fucking.

Oh, and maybe order food?

I wonder if she likes Thai…

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