Page 60 of Last Love

Bite her bottom lip and eagerly wait for me to repeat the action on the other.

Stickiness gets spread on both hardened nubs as well as a strip down the side of her neck before I hover the cupcake next to her lips. “Open.”

Pres’s eyes instantly widen in tandem with her mouth.

Wedging the treat is gingerly done but burying my dick is not. The instant it’s successfully out of my hands, I’m diving inside, enjoying her muffled screams more than I ever will the dessert imprisoning them. I momentarily latch both hands onto her hips to keep her under my control, not wanting my shaft to experience anything other than the soaking hot wetness swirling around it. Each hard heave causes her body to bounce, and the tight muscles to contract. They’re squeezing prompts my balls to swell and slap against her ass resulting in porn-worthy sounds reverberating around the room. Down the hall. Out in the fucking living room where I’m grateful McCoy isn’t studying.

Led by the freedom to reach whatever volume we want, I place one of her nipples between my thumb and index for pulling. There’s an initial gasp that has her stretching her mouth to new limits yet the heavenly moan that seeps out next is accompanied by her beautiful brown eyes rolling into the back of her head. Wanting that more than any fucking cake to ever exist, I repeat the process.

Harder.

Longer.

Hold on until she’s bouncing her body back against the mattress for mercy.

Mercy that’s immediately given to one side by executing the painfully pleasurable action on the other.

More screams fly around the trembling threat, spit slowly leaks along the corners of her lips down her cheek.

Her chin.

Her collarbone.

Groans escape me while I follow the dribble downward fucking her faster as though racing it, determined to be the first across some imaginary finish line. It’s journey heads for the very area I’m yanking, offering itself to the moment, and I helplessly drag it over. Roll it around her peak prior to hunching over to tug at the sensitive area with my teeth instead of my fingers.

Pres comes around my cock on a body shaking scream the second my teeth scrape the area.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” I greedily grumble in between rolling my tongue around. “Do that shit for me again.”

Her body writhes while rushing itself upward to meet me thrust for thrust.

Sucks are oscillated back and forth only being abandoned for savage pounds when her pussy begins to pulsate faster and faster. Focusing on the wetness drenching my dick and my nuts and my sheets damn near has me coming too yet seeing the frosting left to clean up reclaims my attention and my mouth and my devotion.

In a tireless cycle, I devour my girlfriend, littering her in hickeys like they’re confetti and it’s her birthday. Pres’s fingers spend the majority of their time looking for leverage while her voice searches for freedom. The moment doesn’t arrive until orgasm three is trying to pretend its not interested in joining the others. At that point, I sink my teeth into the other side of the baked good and growl into the ferocious fucking. Chomps at the cake cause her to whimper as they mirror the carnal caresses of her sensitive clit. She whips her head back and forth, whining she can’t handle another stroke. Pleading and shuddering and shaking makes enjoying the treat difficult and for some reason the added effort to conquer it on top of her has my cock swelling.  Her eyes water from the overstimulation, the overstretching, the overwhelming bliss that’s bowing her back and damn near breaking her curled ankles.

Something about the sight instills fear, enough fear to have me temporarily pull back; however, her tongue shoves away the bit that’s in her way to release an orgasmic, ear-splitting scream, “Ry!”

There’s no stopping myself from coming.

Even if I wanted to – which I don’t – it would be fucking impossible not to bust.

Her pussy unrelenting wrings me dry, drowning itself in blazing bursts, determined to boil us both alive. Our eventual satiation is met on matching sighs that are followed by sweet kisses. Despite being sweaty and sticky and slightly stained from the orange dye, we curl up together with her on her stomach and my fingertips lovingly stroking her shoulder blades.

“Enjoying your birthday?”

I rest my head against the open palm of my bent free arm. “I am now.”

“Rough day?”

That’s putting the shit mildly.

Fuck, just asking about it is sparking the urge for a cigarette.

My silence isn’t taken as the red flag to end the subject like I hoped. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Wow,” she whispers out, “you didn’t even let the question finish forming.”

“Already knew the answer.”

Without warning, she rolls over, sits all the way up to rest her back against the headboard, and gently pats her leg. “Head.”

“You want some?” I playfully tease on an eyebrow wiggle. “You know I’m always open to giving it.”

She fights the instinct to smirk and sweetly repeats, “Head, Ry.”

An annoyed sigh leaves me as I maneuver myself to rest my head on her leg. Upon my arrival, her fingers begin a slow, relaxing combing that effortlessly calms my nerves back to the level they were post sex.

Damn.

Pretty fucking sure she has cannabis literally coursing through her fingertips with the way I’m peacefully beginning to drift.

“Talk to me, Ry,” my soulmate lovingly encourages.

“Baby, just let it go.”

“No.”

“Now who already knew their answer?” I impishly mock.

“Ryder.”

“Talkin’ about the shit isn’t gonna make me feel better, Pres. It’s just gonna piss me off all over again and then I’m gonna be fucking irritated and wanna smoke and can’t smoke and can’t work out because the fucking gym is closed and-” the words are cut off by a gentle tug to my hair that releases the building tension.

“We’ll get you added onto my gym membership at Gym Life, so you can go whenever you like. It’s open twenty-four hours.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t, but I’m going to. The more positive outlets you have the less likely you are to…fall back into old habits.”

In spite of the fact there’s no maliciousness to her tone, I quietly swear, “I’m never gonna hurt you like that again, Pres.”

“I know,” she forcefully replies. “You hurting me is not even something that crosses my mind, Ry. I’ve forgiven you for that pain, babe. Please, learn to forgive yourself.”

“How can I? I could’ve fucking killed you.”

“But you didn’t. And beating yourself up over could’ves and would’ves and should’ves isn’t going to help you stay clean. It’s going to make you want something to numb the pain, and we – those who love you and care about you – don’t want you in pain. We want you healing. And hopeful. And happy.”

Melting into her words is followed by one arm draping itself over her legs to pull her closer to me.

Secure me in this moment.

Slay the demon that threatens to rise from the dead every time stress gets a little too unmanageable.

“So,” Pres adoringly tugs at the damp strands, “what happened today?”

“It was just a shit day. Ten-hour shift that should’ve only been fucking six. Customers were assholes. I’m so fucking broke I’ve barely got enough gas to get me to payday and had to borrow money from Big Roscoe to get lunch at the goddamn gas station because they have a two hotdogs for ninety-nine cents deal.”

She audibly gags at the idea.

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