Page 9 of Downfall

Gripping her hips tight enough to leave marks, I start moving. I fuck her in hard, steady strokes, building us both up. She grinds her ass back, meeting me thrust for thrust as we find our rhythm. But I can tell she needs more. She’s speeding up, trying to force me to quicken my pace, and I can’t have that.

Reeling my arm back, I bring my hand down on her ass in a relentless blow. She cries out, squirming under me, but I groan when she clenches around me, her wetness now spilling down her thighs.

“Stop trying to top from the bottom, Abby. And you’re gushing, baby. You like that?” I didn’t think she could be any more perfect, but I guess I was wrong.

“Yes. Fuck. Do it again,” she screams.

I listen, giving her another solid smack in the same spot. The color blooming on her cheek makes my dick grow impossibly harder, and I won’t last much longer.

She’s panting and getting close, too. Wrapping my hands around her upper arms and bringing them together behind her back, I take her weight. I lift her to the perfect angle to hit that spot deep inside her that will make her see stars.

Using the curve of her elbows as leverage, I plunge into her hard and fast, fucking her like my life depends on it.

“Kolson!” she screams my name, squeezing my cock with her tight pussy, and I’m done for. I empty myself inside her with a growl, claiming her as mine—even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Oh my god,” Abby laments. “I’m so fucking hungry. What time is it?”

I roll toward her nightstand and grab my phone, tapping the screen to check the time. “It’s almost one,” I say as my stomach growls, making her giggle. “Have anything here, or should I run out and grab something?” As I speak, I move back to her side of the bed, wrapping her in my arms and nuzzling my face into her neck.

“I can scrounge something up,” she murmurs, sinking her fingers into my hair to hold me to her. “But I’ll have to get up.”

I force a playful groan, releasing her, and she hops up before I can change my mind. She rummages through our clothes on the floor, probably trying to find her leggings, but comes up with my t-shirt instead. Winking at me, she pulls it over her head and walks out the bedroom door. All I can do is stare after her, my shirt falling to her mid-thigh.

I head into the bathroom to wash up before throwing on my jeans and going in search of my little siren. I find her in the kitchen, putting together a sandwich, all the fixings set out on the counter surrounding her.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I figured you could make your own. You aren’t, like, weird about women serving you or something, right?” she asks with a disgusted look on her face as I approach her, caging her in with my hands on the counter’s edge and leaning down to plant soft kisses on the side of her neck.

I chuckle against her soft skin. “No, siren. I can make my own food. In fact, I would have preferred to serve you,” I tell her.

She hums as I caress her thigh beneath my shirt, continuing to bite and suck her throat, proving I haven’t gotten my fill of her.

“We’re going to starve to death if you keep this up,” she whimpers, angling her head to give me more access.

Stopping my hand just as I skim her inner thigh from behind, I step back, breaking contact and making Abby groan. “You’re right. We should eat.”

She glares at me over her shoulder, but grabs her plate, moving to the other side of the island to sit on a barstool while I assemble my sandwich.

“So…” she starts, giving me a scrutinizing look, “when are you going to go back to school?”

“I’m still considering my options, and I haven’t made any decisions. When are you going to quit your job and do something you actually want to do with your life?” I throw back at her.

“I can’t do that. And besides, I already have a job I love, I just happen to… not love my other job,” she quips, and what? She has two jobs?

When I give her a confused look, she continues with a sigh, “I wasn’t at a friend’s house last night. I work at the Fox Hole on Friday and Saturday nights. I’ve worked there since I started college four years ago, and I love it.”

“Huh. I’ve seen your body, and how you can move it, so I know you have to be raking it in. Even working only two nights a week. Why the fuck do you work a day job?” I am genuinely confused. I don’t care that she’s a stripper, although I’m not sure how I’ll feel about that once I make her mine, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Being on stage, out of the reach of other men, is one thing, but grinding on another dude’s dick is not going to work for me.

“I can’t dance forever. I’m only twenty-two now, but someday being on a pole won’t be as appealing—for me or for the clientele.”

“Okay, sure, but that will be years from now. Your life is yours, but if I were you, I would enjoy it while I could.” I don’t want to overstep—I still only just met her—but, damn, no one should hate the place where they spend a third of their life.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought the same thing. There are just other things I have to think about—repercussions of a decision like that. And I also spent the time and effort getting my degree. Shouldn’t I at least give the job a fair chance?” I watch her speak as I stand at the counter eating my sandwich. I don’t think she even believes what she’s saying, but that’s not for me to decide for her. Not yet.

“I think you should do what makes you happiest. If that’s working in accounting, then perfect.” She grimaces, but doesn’t argue.

After we finish eating, we clean up the kitchen, putting the food back in the fridge and the dishes into the dishwasher, before falling back into bed together, soaking up every moment together before our work night begins.

Chapter 8

---