Page 85 of Twisted Obsession

I fuck her fast. Bathrooms aren’t for savoring sex, or her body, although I can’t help it. Her weight in my hands, her breasts pressed to my chest. She deserves to be savored like dessert.

Later.

My balls tighten, and I make a noise in the back of my throat as my orgasm takes me by surprise. I fill her completely and come that way, my eyes nearly rolling back.

Perfection.

After a few moments, my senses come back to me. I pull out of her and lower her feet to the floor, leaving her leaning against the wall in a daze. She slowly tugs her jeans and panties back into place.

“Melody.”

Her eyes come to me.

“Be a good little slut and clean my cock.”

She levels me with a glare, and my dick twitches. I wait, somewhat curious to see what she’ll do. If she’ll drop to her knees or go for the paper towels. I know which option I want—and it isn’t her rubbing cheap paper towels across my dick.

When she doesn’t move, I come forward and push her to her knees. The tip of my dick runs across the seam of her lips.

“I don’t—”

I seize the opportunity of her talking and thrust into her mouth, smearing our arousal and cum everywhere. I slide in hard and dig my fingers into her hair, twisting the strands. It’ll mess up the curls she put into it, but I’m past the point of caring. I drag her closer and shift my hips, fucking her mouth slowly. She shoves against my thighs, which I ignore.

When I draw back, saliva clings to her lip and the tip of my cock, which is fucking hard again.

“Tuck me back in my pants.” My order comes out hoarse.

She reaches for me. Her fingers on me, on my balls. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Then my pants are zipped back up, my cock somehow pressed up toward the waistband of my slacks. She pats the fabric, smoothing it, but all it does is make my dick twitch more. I push her hands away and help her up.

Her brow is furrowed.

“Come on.” I hold out my hand. “My father is going to piss himself—”

“No.”

“Melody.”

“Jacob.” She glares at me again. “I’m not going back to the table like this.”

I sigh.

“And you’re not going out looking like that.” She points at me.

I stare at her finger. She painted her nails again. She had a manicure when I first saw her, or at the very least, paint on them. Black, if I remember correctly, or some dark color. Now it’s dark blue. The rest of her nails are different. White. Mint green.

Colorado Titans colors.

For some reason, that makes me feel shitty.

She moves to the sink and scrubs her hands, then tries to get the smeared lipstick off her skin. She ties her hair up in a bun on top of her head. I catch a glance of myself over her head. There’s pink on my jaw, my neck. Remnants of her rogue kisses. My hair is messed up, too, but not in a bad way. In a sex way, sure. Not that I really give a fuck about that.

“Wait here so it doesn’t look like we did what we did.” She slips out of the bathroom without a word.

I sigh and grab a paper towel, wetting it and rubbing at the lipstick. Although I’d love to leave it there, she’s right. We’re walking a delicate line here.

Except when a few minutes have passed, and I return to the table…

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