Page 43 of Shockproof

The light throbs grow stronger.

Quicker.

“Come so fucking hard that they can hear you over the music.”

More quakes and shakes but still not enough.

And by the way heels of her boots are drilling into my ass she’s more than close.

She’s right there and just needs the tiniest tip.

An idea immediately slithers to the front of my mind pulling a smug smirk to lips. “Come so fucking hard she can hear on the dance floor.”

At that, her head snaps up towards the ceiling and unleashes the sweetest, most sinful screaming, “Yes! Yes! I’m coming!” One little puff is placed between the proclamation and my name. “Slater!” Piping hot pulsations fervidly lave my dick, daring it to withstand the amount of unremitting wetness and constriction, pleading with it to forget about stretching this moment out and putting in the work to have another. “Come for me, Cowboy,” my woman commands at the same time her stare drops down to find mine. “I wanna be dirty for our ride home.”

“Fuccccckkkkkk,” is hissed out between my gritted teeth prior to a single sharp suck of air coming in. There’s no way to prevent my balls from drawing upward and unloading blazing burst on top of burst on top of burst as deep as they can possibly get. And despite logically knowing I can’t bury them any deeper, I thrust up once more, determined to brand my name, my love, my reason for fucking existing on the deepest depths I can fathom.

Never again will she ask me to treat her like everyone else.

Because now she knowsthisis better.

Chapter 7

Arley

Much like you can tell what sort of mood I’m in based on what’s coming up the most on my chosen playlist at any given moment – for example a little too much Pearl Jam or Nirvana probably means something put me in a shitty mood, while a little too much Gym Class Heroes or I Prevail, means something put me in a ridiculously good one – you can tell exactly what Slater thinks about something based solely on the movements of his face.

Especially when it comes to food.

Or my wardrobe.

He basically starts communicating like we’re back in the 1800s and using Chappe code is the only way to get his message across without starting a war.

I position myself across from where he’s stationed on the edge of the bed and hold up the lavender babydoll dress to the side of my half-dressed frame. “This one?”

A single twitch of his left eyebrow precedes his mouth opening.

“So, that’s a no.” Moving a slate blue ruffle dress to the front of the stack occurs next. “What about this one?”

The left corner of his lips faintly kicks.

“Nope.” I slip a pale yellow, flower embroidered tea length piece to the front only to instantly spot a brief eyebrow pinch. “Got it. Don’t even bother with that one.” Shuffling another to the front, I mumble under my breath. “And this is exactly why I wanted to gooutto try shit on for myself rather than just let Hilda go HAM on the situation while I not so secretly pray that our little Chemical Girlmance is strong enough to guide her to the right shit.” A green atrocity gets a hand waved across it, yet the small nose bounce informs me he feels about it the same way I do. “Yeah. I knew this was a no. I honestly don’t know why I brought it out.” The last dress in my possession finds its moment in the spotlight. “What about this one?” His stillness has me swiftly cutting my attention to the coral pink, wrap style, halter top dress. “Itisthis one, huh?” When no response is given, I swing my gaze back to where he’s wordlessly watching and huff, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Ohhhh,” he tilts his head in a teasing fashion, waterfall of baby blue lettering flowing to the ground, “is that allowed?”

“Of course!”

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause I’ve seen five dresses and not had an actual chance to say shit about a single one ‘til now.”

“What are you talking about?” My hand flops firmly onto my hip. “You’ve said something about them allexceptthis one.”

“What?!”

“Cowboy, it’s all over your face.”

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