Page 32 of Dollhouse

My release is so fucking close I can feel it. King sucks my clit like a delicious lollipop while his fingers curl inside of me, hitting against the spot that causes my vision to blur.

My body jerks, warmth filling my being, and before I know it, my orgasm floods me with a heart-stopping intensity.

King quickly pulls his fingers out of me, and I feel a gush of wetness squirt out of me, causing me to scream my release.

I’d never squirt before. I wasn’t even aware I was capable of doing it. But holy fuck it is the most amazing experience.

King clearly doesn’t mind drowning in my pussy juice. The dirty fucker devours it with his mouth and continues sucking my pussy until I am crying through another orgasm.

He grabs my hips and pulls me down his body, turning me until I am straddling him again. “Get back on my dick, baby.” His beard glistens with my juices, and when he kisses me, I feel the wetness on my face.

I turn around so my back is facing him and glide down his now throbbing shaft. My pussy is sensitive in the best way possible. Leaning forward, I rest my hands on his thighs while he grabs a hold of my hips and fucks me from the bottom.

Moving one hand over my ass, he wets his thumb with my juices, then presses it against my puckered hole. My muscles tense at the intrusion as he shoves a thumb inside of my ass.

“It’s okay, baby. Loosen up.” I do exactly that. I relax my body, and he slowly pumps his thumb in and out of my ass while he fucks me raw.

King fucks me into countless orgasms.

I had a plan, but the second I had his dick, that plan went out the door, and all I wanted was to accept the endless orgasms, which he happily delivered.

Iheard them.

All night long, I heard Tate and King fucking in the next room.

The walls aren’t thin, but she was loud.

The sound of his grunts and groans and the headboard hitting the wall brought back memories I didn’t want in my head. The sound of herbrought back memories. I was aware they’d already fucked before, but I didn’t need to hear it.

By what I assumed was round two, I stormed out of my bedroom and went down to the gym.

I knew King could last a while, and they had already been going for well over an hour. I wasn’t about to stick around and listen to any more rounds.

Inside the gym, I put on my gloves and let my anger out on the punching bag. We are so close. So fucking close to getting rid of her, and my uncertainty is starting to take over and get the best of me.

Ever since King told us about her flinching, and Eli told us about the haunted look in her eyes when he grabbed her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, even more than I already was.

I kept thinking about her face every single time she was underneath me and how those ocean eyes would stare at me like I was her fucking savior instead of the one tormenting her.

She promised she’d never come back, yet here she is, under the same roof as me, getting fucked by my brother. I don’t care that she’s fucking King. I just don’t want to hear it. Not when I so easily remember how sweet she tastes and how tight and warm her pussy feels being wrapped around my cock. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, and I fucking hate myself for remembering.

I remember, and she doesn’t, and that angers me even further.

Though I’m beginning to get the feeling that she is jolted to her past with me when she looks at me. I’ve caught her staring at me with her brows pulled together in a deep V and a dark look in her beautiful orbs. I’m not certain, because she hasn’t said anything, and she immediately looks away when I catch her staring.

I want her to remember, and then I want her to run. Fast and far away from me.

And this time, never fucking look back.

I want her out of my head.

I don’t know how long I’ve been in the gym, but by the time I remove the thin gloves, I can see that my knuckles are bleeding, and when I walk upstairs from the basement, the sun is beginning to come to life and paint the sky with a dusting of dawn.

The aroma of coffee fills my nostrils, and I know Eli is awake. He’s always been an early riser, not this early, but I know it’s not King. He’s not a morning person, and after hearing him and Tate going at it, I know he won’t be awake before noon at least.

I walk into the kitchen, expecting to find Eli, but stop in my tracks when I see her sitting on the barstool in the kitchen, her knees up to her chest and her back facing me.

Selfishly, I take a moment to watch her movements as she brings the coffee mug to her lips and sips it.

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