Page 51 of Hate To Love You

“Take me out.” That’s pretty much the extent of dirty words my brain can think up right now. All I can think about is how good her hands feel on my throbbing dick, how I’m so hard, so hard, so hard, how I need to fix this, fix this, fix this, and how good she’s going to feel when I push my hard cock into her and fix it for both of us.

She follows my commands, pushing my boxers down and taking my cock out. My balls are kind of trapped inside the elastic waistband, which hurts a little but also feels oddly good. It wouldn’t feel good at any other time, though. It only feels good right now because a little bit of pain equals so much more pleasure. But then she yanks it all the way down with her other hand, freeing them, and okay, I lied. This is better.

She does what she said earlier about her heels and wraps them around me, digging them into my butt, which is now half-naked because my jeans and boxers are barely half-on.

“Whoa,” she exhales, then flushes like she didn’t mean to make the sound. Not when she’s pumping her hand down my dick and watching with utter concentration, spreading the moisture from the tip down the rest of my length. Her hand is incredible. It’s so incredible that I could probably come just from a few more pumps.

“Need you…”

“Yes. Please. But you’re…really…big.”

I’m not that big. Like, not that big. But I’m also not that small. “I’ll go slow,” I promise her.

“How disappointing,” she teases, grinning.

“I’ll go as slow as you like.” I need something else. Something dirty for her. “Touch your boobs. Pinch your nipples. I want to see you pleasuring yourself when I enter you because I’m going to watch every single second of it.”

“Holy shit. What if I watch too?” she croaks.

My dick pulses so hard in her hand that she has her clear answer. She guides me to her, shimmies forward on the counter, and opens her legs wider. Then, she palms her breast with her other hand above her shirt and finds her nipple with her fingers. She must just have one of those lacy bras on. Or a camisole with no bra.

I’m panting now.

I need to slow down. But I don’t know if it’s possible, though. What would make it possible to be less hard? Hmm, creepy dolls. Oh lord, those creepy dolls. I slowly think about each one of their monstrous faces, but Patience put hard work into those. She made them a masterpiece of terribleness, and there’s an art form in that which is hard not to appreciate, even if they scare the shit out of me with their horrifyingly soulless stares.

Ahhh, yes. There we go. At least that bought me a few seconds. I’ll have to thank them one day.

Patience is warm and inviting, slick and hot. With a low groan, I slowly push my dick inside her. She’s the most at home I’ve ever felt or been anywhere in the world. Control isn’t currently a word in my sex-cabulary, but I force myself to do it for her. I watch her, just like I said I would, and the way her eyes practically roll back in pleasure, and the way her cheeks flush and her breathing bottoms out, slowing way the hell down, all help me roll my hips in slow, slow motion.

She catches herself and presses her nipples through her shirt. I know she hits the right spot because she gasps and starts panting harder. Her eyes close tightly as I push all the way inside.

“Wow,” she breathes. “Wow, you weren’t lying about your skills at all.”

“I hope I wasn’t, but I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’re stretching me to kingdom freaking come, and you haven’t done anything yet?” Her tongue wets her bottom lip. I surge forward and kiss her, which pushes me even deeper inside her. “I don’t think it’s natural to be endowed with a salami for a dick.”

Oh. My. Fucking. Goodness.

“That’s very nice of you,” I groan.

She wriggles against me and lets out a tiny whimper while I steal another kiss. This time, I don’t let her go, and I don’t stop until her hands are raking my hair. I’m moving inside her because she rolled her hips against me first.

“Yes,” she chants against my lips. Her hips buck up and down and backward and forward. I can’t imagine what it would be like having her on top of me, losing control like this. Actually, I can at least imagine part of it, and it’s a good thing she’s panting and wild and nearly there because I’m about to lose it.

I thrust to meet the way she’s rolling her hips until we’re a perfect match. I scrape her lip with my teeth and angle down, suckling at her neck. Her shirt has to go, so I make it go. Easily. Her bra is just a delicate little fabric that is so lightweight that it’s sheer. It’s more like an ultra-tiny tank top rather than a bra at all. I bury my head in her breasts and suckle her nipple until the fabric is soaked, and then I move to the other nipple. I don’t look down again until they look like they’re going to rip right through the fabric.

“Good.” She rakes her hands through my hair again and grasps my shoulders tightly. Her heels make a renewed effort to grasp my ass. “So good,” she moans.

She looks wrecked like this, and I love it. I know if she opened her eyes, I’d look the same. I’d look wrecked for her because I am. I’m also right on the edge. It’s a product of the blue balls from last night, but it’s also a product of how much I’ve wanted her…and for how long. Those find-out and fuck-around graphs—it’s pretty much the same concept. I only ever believed I’d make her life better, give her all her dreams, and atone for the choice I made to stay away. I know it wasn’t all me, but it didn’t change the level of guilt or what I wanted to accomplish once I had money. I just never imagined she’d want me back. Dreamed? Yes, absolutely. But those dreams felt like an impossibility.

“Beautiful.” I stroke her cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Patience.” I fuck her harder, and she clings to me harder too. Her breasts bounce prettily in her little top, her nipples visible through the fabric I reduced to sheer.

Then, her face changes, and I can feel how she goes still in that inner way, even though she’s still moving through it. She grasps me tight with her hands, her hips, her heels, and her walls around my dick, and I’m done.

She’s done too. I can feel her coming. Gah, that sounds so silly. She’s not coming. She’s finding something amazing and life-changing, and she’s dying a little and going wild and tumbling straight into the abyss of pleasure.

“Apollo…” She moans my name when she doesn’t say anything at all, and that’s what pushes me over.

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