22. Trip
TWENTY-TWO
TRIP
I start letting myself in around midnight.
I don’t knock.
Don’t ask.
She never tells me to stop.
At first, I only checked her windows. Made sure the doors were locked. Leave something small on the counter, flowers, a new headset, a protein drink I’d seen her post about once in a story.
But the first time I found her asleep on the couch, Xbox controller in her hands, main menu music “reigning the fire” looping softly in the background… I stayed.
She uses the Xbox when she isn’t working. Says her PC feels too much like a job now, where the camera stares her down, where the chat always watches, where every click is for content.
The Xbox is her escape.
Her fun.
Her real play.
She was barefoot, blanket tangled around her waist, legs curled under her, hair messy from falling asleep mid-match.
I sat on the floor beside her and just listened to her breathe.
The second time, I joined her game.
She didn’t say anything when she saw my username pop into the party chat. Just gave a soft laugh and tilted her head toward me, where I sat beside her on the couch, mask still on.
“You always break into people’s houses to play ranked?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Only yours, killstreak.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.
“Good,” she whispered. “You’re the only one I want here.”
We started playing every night.
Side by side.
COD matches on her big screen. Pizza boxes and vape pens, joints and cans of Monster scattered across the coffee table. She wore her hair up in a clip and leaned into me when the game loaded. I kept the mask on.
For now.
Sometimes, she'd rest her bare foot on my thigh mid-match like it meant nothing. Other times, she’d reach over during kill cams and trace her fingers over the glove on my left hand like she was memorizing the stitching.
I let her.
Even when it made my chest feel too tight.
Tonight is different, though., She pauses the game after a brutal match and looks at me with that dangerous little smile, the one that says she’s about to ruin me.
“I’m bored of just dying. Want to make it interesting?”
I raise an eyebrow.
She grabs a notebook, rips out a page, and scribbles a few quick rules.
Strip COD
Each round = 1 piece of clothing
Highest kills = keeps their clothes
Lowest kills = loses one piece of clothing
She hands me the paper and grins.
“You in?”
I don’t answer. Just reach up and unzip my hoodie.
She loses the first round. She peels off her shirt without breaking eye contact, baring a soft black bralette that barely contains her curves. Second round, she loses again.
Off comes the bra.
My fingers twitch around the controller.
Round three - Tie.
We both lose a sock.
She laughs, cheeks pink, nipples hard, legs pressed tight together.
Round four - She wipes the floor with me.
“Off,” she says, pointing at my mask.
I pause, but she doesn’t back down.
“I want to see you,” she whispers.
Slowly, carefully, I reach up and pull the mask free.
She doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t flinch. Just leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth so gently it makes my throat close.
By round six, she’s in just her thong.
I’m shirtless, sweating, my jeans too tight, trying not to lose on purpose just so I can see her like this.
But then I do lose. And she climbs into my lap.
Controller still in hand. Still playing.
She shifts her hips once, grinding her pussy against my cock through my jeans, and I lose all sense of reality.
The next round, she laughs so hard when I miss a kill that I toss my controller across the couch in fake anger.
“You’re distracted,” she teases.
“You’re half-naked in my lap with your tits bouncing, killstreak. You think?”
She giggles, picks up her controller, and presses it to her lips in mock thought.
“You know the controller vibrates when you get shot, right?”
I blink. She slides the controller between her thighs.
And moans .
I lose it. I grab her hips and pin her to the couch, kissing her like I haven’t already been inside her in a forest, blood on our skin and dirt on our knees.
This is different. This is slow. Heavy. Like we are starting something this time, not ending it.
I pull her thong aside and press the vibrating controller against her clit, watching her eyes flutter and her breath hitch.
She grips my arm, moaning, legs shaking already.
And then I slide inside her. Her whole body arches.
The controller still buzzing between us, and I don’t stop.
Not when she comes.
Not when she sobs.
Not when she begs me for more.
I take it slow. Deep. Every thrust, a promise I don’t know how to say out loud yet. I kiss her jaw. Her throat. The scar I left beneath her breast.
Thrust after thrust, the controller buzzes as she leaves her finger on the trigger.
“Our kill/death ratio is going to be shot to shit on this round, killstreak,” I pant as I slam into her.
Her eyes lock on mine.
“Fucking worth it,” she says as she presses the controller on her clit more, grinding into it.
“This needy cunt is swallowing my cock so well, little killer,” I growl in her ear before sitting up and flipping her over. I smack her ass, the red fingerprints welting on her skin like beautiful art.
“Fuck yes, harder,” she says breathlessly.
I line my cock up with her dripping entrance as she wiggles her ass at me, begging for it.
“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” I laugh at her before slamming into her. She cries as I do, making my cock impossibly harder.
I wrap one hand around her throat and pull her up to me, her back flush with my chest. My other hand grips her hip as I continue to fuck into her.
“This pretty pink pussy is mine now,” I say in her ear, low and deep. She tries to speak, but I squeeze her throat tighter, taking away her air. Her hands reach up, grasping at mine.
“If I wanted you to breathe, I would fucking let you.”
I bite down on her neck and feel her pussy pulsate around my cock as she comes. The coppery tinge of blood coats my mouth, and I bite down harder as she continues to come undone. I let up my grip slightly, and she gasps for air.
“Fuck, do that again. Please!” she begs.
I smile and tilt my head to the other side of her neck.
“So my killstreak is a little pain whore, huh?” I ask, and she nods frantically.
I bite down again, leaving a twin mark on the opposite side. Blood drips down her chest from the marks.
“Fuck, Trip… I’m gonna–”
She comes hard around my dick. Her juices flooded me, squirting around us both, covering the couch.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I growl, looking down at the drenched couch beneath us with pride before I slam into her and feel my cock swell.
“I’m going to fill this perfect pussy. The one that belongs to me now,” I grunt as I slam into her one last time before hot ropes of cum shot into her. Filling her.
“Yes. Fill me up. Please, please,” she pants as my body shudders, my dick pulsating inside her, letting out the final last drops of cum.
I slide out of her, and she plops down on the couch, exhausted. My fingers slide into her hair, massaging her scalp slightly before gripping. I pull her up.
“I’m not fucking done with you yet,” I tell her as I pull her body up so she’skneeling in the beautiful mess we just made.
“Clean me up, killstreak,” I demand.
Her eyes flash with desire and she licks her lips before lowering herself to my cock, taking me down her throat. I shiver as her tongue meets my oversensitive tip.
When she’s done, she lies back, and I slide my fingers down her body.
“My turn,” I say.
Her head shoots up. “Wait, wha–”
Her sentence is cut off again when I bury my tongue between her legs, licking up our combined release.
“Fuck, we taste good.” She shivers instantly, her clit oversensitive and swollen. I feel her come one last time before I let up.
And when she finally collapses, sweaty and panting, I wrap my arms around her and don’t let go.
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she pants.
“A real man cleans his woman up,” I smirk at her.
She tucks her chin abashedly, her eyes glimmering.
“Your woman?”
I just smile at her and kiss her forehead, before lifting her and carrying her to the bedroom.
Later, when she falls asleep in my lap, tangled in a blanket and still naked, I stare down at her and think about taking the mask off forever.
Letting her see all of me. For good, though, not just on occasion. Letting myself finally be seen.
But instead, I whisper into her hair.
“You’re mine now, killstreak.”
And she sighs like she already knew.