Chapter 12
Chad
W hen I wake up the next morning, Iggy’s wrapped up in my arms. She grunts in her sleep and wriggles, but I don’t loosen my hold. There’s a faint aftertaste of a bad dream lingering in the back of my throat. It’s bitter and acrid like smoke and char.
She started a fire last week. If the conditions had been just right, if the wind had been blowing and the brush a touch dryer, it could have been a disaster. But the moment the fire leapt, I didn’t care if the whole mountain went up in flames. I was terrified for her safety alone. For a split second, I forgot she was a demon and the thought that flashed through my mind was— you’re not taking her from me .
I’ve stomped out more than my fair share of errant fires in the past, but I’ve never given one as ruthless a beat down as the one she started in the lava channel that day.
I murdered that fire.
As soon as it was out, my anger shifted directions. I wanted to throttle her for being careless with something so important to me. But she swore it was an accident, and she looked honest-to-goodness stunned. She just kept staring at the patch of scorched earth, and it took me a solid five minutes to snap her out of it.
It doesn’t matter that she would have been fine or that I would have been toast, because it’s not the fire that’s giving me nightmares. It’s the fury that raged inside me like a wild animal, claws out and teeth gnashing. It’s a feeling I can’t unfeel. And now I know what’s coming for me, what it’s going to feel like on January 1st, the day her probation is over and she packs up and leaves.
It’s going to be fucking awful, but I’m not ready to start mourning what I haven’t lost yet. I squeeze her close, and she grumbles something that sounds vaguely like “go away.” I chuckle and nip at her earlobe. I’m not going anywhere.
Just then, my alarm sounds.
Oh shit, I almost forgot. “Wake up, we’ve got to go,” I say as I jump out of bed, brimming with excitement.
“It’s Sunday,” she grumbles, and without even opening her eyes, she manages to aim her grump face right at me. That’s the adorable face I wake up to every morning, and every morning, it makes me smile. I jump back into bed to kiss and pinch the grumpiness off of her. When she’s giggling and swatting at me, I know I’ve done it.
Outside, we’re greeted by a couple inches of fresh fallen snow, a blue-gray sky, and white fluffy clouds reflecting the soft, pale yellow glow of a winter sunrise. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sharp and crisp morning air. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day for our holiday excursion.
“What’s that?” Iggy asks, pointing at the thermos I’m holding. She’s wearing one of my jackets. It’s too big for her, but when I offered to borrow one from Darcy, she insisted on wearing one of mine. And do I fucking love the sight of her wrapped up in my clothes? Yes. Yes, I do.
“I’m bringing some hot cider,” I say. “It’s cold out. A hot drink keeps the chills away. Do you have a scarf ?” I ask, noting her bare neck. She gives me a look so sour, I burst out laughing. “Why do you hate scarves?” I ask.
She ignores my question, giving me a side eye as she saunters off toward the truck. “We’re taking the station wagon!” I call after her, and she corrects course, heading around to the front of the garage.
When the four of us—me, Iggy, Darcy, and baby Haisley, dressed in her finest elf onesie with giant plush ears sewn onto the hood—are all piled into the wagon, we head out. Everyone wants to know where we’re going, but too bad, it’s a surprise. I turn on the radio. The local stations have been playing Christmas music all week, and the one up next is a classic: “Winter Wonderland” sung by the late, great crooner, Elvin Fae Prince. Perfect.
I reach for Iggy’s hand, and the moment our palms touch, she laces our fingers together and pulls my hand into her lap. Warmth travels all the way up my arm and lights up my chest. My heart starts glowing like a bulb with too much wattage coursing through it.
Everything is perfect.
By the time we arrive at our destination, Darcy’s already figured out the surprise. “We’re going to chop down our own tree?” she asks, and in the rearview mirror, I catch the sight of her face lighting up.
“Yup,” I confirm as I park the wagon in the makeshift parking lot that’s just an open field.
“Is this a family tradition?” Iggy asks once she’s back at my side with her hand in mine again. This is new, the hand holding. Sometime after the fire, it just sort of started happening. I’d reach for her, or she’d reach for me. And now, we seem to be a little bit stuck on each other. I’m not sure what it means, but I like it. And I’ve decided I’m going keep doing all the things I like doing with Iggy for as long as I can, down to the very last second.
“Eh, yes and no. My family never did this,” I say, not adding that once my mom left, we stopped celebrating holidays all together. “But I used to tag along with a friend’s family when they went to chop their tree. They had to get a special permit back then, and those were limited. But now that there’s a Christmas tree farm, anyone can do it.” I was so enamored of the idea when I first heard about it that I volunteered a couple of weekends to help plant the first crop of trees.
“So it’s not your family tradition, but you want it to be,” Iggy sums up.
“Exactly.” I smile down at her then glance over at Darcy. Haisley is strapped to the front of her chest, and I can’t help myself, I tug on one of her elf ears.
The entrance to the farm is just ahead, and as we pass a board with prices, Darcy’s eyes bug. “I didn’t know trees cost so much. Let me pitch in.”
“Nope. I’ve got it,” I wave her off. Before she can argue, a voice calls out.
“You made it!” Looking up, I see Birdie, the owner of the tree farm and surrounding acreage, walking our way. Darcy hurries out ahead of us, and she and the baby are greeted first. “Is this Ms. Haisley? Look how big you’ve gotten! Oh, the ears!” Birdie gives a delighted cackle. “I love them.”
“I’m learning to sew. First attempt,” Darcy grins, proud of her handiwork.
“Birdie,” I tip my hat in greeting as soon as we catch up to them. “You’re looking as lovely as a swarm of Gosta fireflies at dusk,” I say, laying on the charm.
“Oh, that’s a nice one, Chad.” She nods appreciatively, and I shoot Iggy a smug ‘I told you so’ look. At her insistence, we’ve continued practicing pickup lines, and when I threw out this exact one the other day, she snorted and implied that I wasn’t even trying. Clearly, I was spinning gold.
I’m looking to gloat, but Iggy’s attention is caught elsewhere.
“You’re Birdie?” she asks, an overly-interested expression creasing the corners of her face. Shit. For a split second I think she’s going to ask Birdie about the fiancé that jilted her, but then I remember she’s a demon and relax. That’s a personal question.
“I am,” Birdie answers with a courteous smile. I see the moment she notices the GPS monitor clamped to Iggy’s horn. Her face takes on the same overly-interested expression, and she gives Iggy a not-so-subtle once over. “You must be Iggy.”
“Guilty.” Iggy beams, but it’s not a normal smile. There’s definitely mischief lurking behind it. “I’m so pleased to meet you—Birdie,” she says, laying a little extra emphasis on Birdie’s name as she sticks out her hand in what would pass for a friendly gesture if, again, not for her smirky little smile.
Birdie hesitates only a moment before shaking the offered hand. “You’ve got a lovely property,” Iggy continues. “And look at that.” She points to a spot in the distance, what looks like a sheltered viewing area built squarely on the top of a very steep hill. “I bet building way up there was a massive pain in the ass. Tell me—just how big and dumb was the big dummy you tricked into lugging all that stuff up there?” A bit rude, but Birdie chuckles.
“Real cute, freak,” a voice grumbles behind us, and I turn around to see a behemoth of a demon standing there, arms crossed over a massive chest, his neck and arms covered in tattooed flames.
On instinct, I step in front of Iggy.
I ’m introduced to Iggy’s close, personal friend, Rex. Rex Perchaz. Rom’s brother.
Great.
It turns out Birdie and I are in the same boat, serving as compliance officers to two of the three miscreants who blew up the town square statue and got themselves sentenced to community service.
It really is a small town.
I guess I should have recognized Rex by his nose and horns. Let’s just say there’s a strong family resemblance, but it doesn’t take me long to realize that Rex isn’t his brother. He’s not growling ‘fucking Chad’ at me under his breath for one, and, well, I happen to appreciate that.
But then he and Birdie give us a tour of the property, and that’s when I really start to warm up to Rex. He knows his stuff when it comes to construction, power tools, and heavy machinery. He’s got a lot of toys in the barn. It puts the tool shed at the ranger station to shame, and I want to play with all of them. But before I get a chance, we move on.
“Are we going to come back to the barn later?” I ask, tripping over the waddling kid goat that’s been tailing Rex everywhere he goes. He’s all belly. What are they feeding that thing? When we get up to the lookout, I get headbutted in the shin when I try to step over the pudge-monster. I was just trying to see what Rex was pointing out, some kind of special brace he used to frame out this giant pergola.
“Are you trying to make friends?” Birdie asks, walking up, grabbing my hand and pouring treats into it. “He likes these,” she says with a conspiratorial wink.
Um. No. I was not trying to befriend a goat, but now I’ve got a handful of sticky pellets. So I shove them under the snarfler’s snout and nearly get a finger chomped off for my trouble. Ouch. Dang it, goat! I’m trying to pay attention.
“How’d you hold it up there to secure the corners, a forklift?” I ask.
“Nah, just a step stool—” Rex lifts up on his toes, stretches his arm up overhead, and smacks one of the support beams. He’s almost seven feet tall. So yeah, a step stool plus his wingspan, and the giant demon can raise a roof all by himself. Fuck, that’s cool.
“It’s beautiful up here,” Iggy says, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Beats some stupid luxury cabins, am I right?” Rex grins proudly, if a little smugly. I guess cabins were the original plan back when Birdie and her then fiancé first started building this place.
Iggy nods. “Yeah. Definitely a smart move not going down that road, not with The Emberlight Resort only one mountain over. Leave luxury to them. You’ve got your own thing going on here. What’s this place called again?”
“Wild Hearts,” Birdie says, scratching the head of the prairie dog riding along in the front pocket of her overalls. Iggy tilts her head thoughtfully at the varmint.
“This little guy doesn’t strike me as wild ,” she says and feeds him one of the carrots Birdie has been passing around. Her pockets are full of all kinds of animal treats.
“Birdie’s a wildlife expert,” I say, jumping in. “Sure, her ranch animals are all domesticated, but she's the area's unofficial rehab center for injured wild animals.” All the park rangers know to bring them here because we can trust her to rehabilitate and release them responsibly. And she does it on her own dime, which spares us from the grim alternative.
As we hike back down the hill, Iggy and Birdie chat more about Wild Hearts. I catch tidbits about a brand and marketing plan. But there's something I'm a lot more interested in. I hurry over to ask Rex about the double-headed ax I saw hanging in the barn. I know it’s overkill, but I’d really like to give that thing a swing, so I have to ask, “Can I borrow it to cut down our tree?”
T here’s more Christmas music and cider to be had when we get home and start decorating our freshly cut, if a bit hacked up, Christmas tree. My friend’s family had a special box of heirloom ornaments that had been crafted, collected, and passed down to them. Neither Darcy or I have anything like that, so we bought up a half-dozen sets of color-matched ornaments at the craft store. That’ll do for this year, but I’ve got my heart set on building our own collection eventually.
As we’re untangling a box of lights, Iggy asks how many guests we’re expecting now. She’s picked up on my goal of getting everyone to the house for Christmas Day, and asks for periodic updates like she’s following a sporting match.
“Same. No new confirmations,” I say. Her lips purse into an unhappy line.
Once the lights are wrapped around the tree, I leave Darcy and Iggy to it while I get started on lunch, but I have a good view from the kitchen. Iggy’s nervous to help with the ornaments, worried about hanging the wrong things together.
“That’s just Rudolph. You can put him next to a star. He doesn’t mind,” Darcy assures her.
“But how do I know which ones deserve places of honor on your display tree?” she asks, giving our boxes of ornaments dubious looks.
“You can pick whichever ones you like.”
“No,” Iggy gives her head a firm shake. “This is your house. You should choose which deities are honored here.”
“Oh, you’re mistaken,” Darcy says, and I think she’s going to correct her about the ornaments representing deities, but instead she says, “This is Chad’s house.” Without being asked, she shares her story of showing up one cold January night, seven months pregnant and asking if she could stay on my couch. Well, of course. She was only sixteen then, and she’d had a big fight with her dad. “I was only going to stay a night or two until I figured out what to do. But then Chad set up the nursery and we just stayed,” she says and shrugs. “Anyway, this is his house. We’re just guests.”
“Permanent guests, welcome to stay indefinitely,” I amend.
“Why does he live over the garage?” Iggy asks.
“I told him Haisley and I could take it!” Darcy blushes. She’s embarrassed? Nonsense. What for?
“It was my choice!” I butt in. I wanted some privacy, and they needed a home. There was an easy, no-brainer solution, and it made everyone happy.
“That’s very generous of him,” Iggy says, which, on the surface sounds nice, but there’s something I don’t like in the way she says it. She sounds stricken. Darcy nods, agreeing.
“It’s nothing,” I insist.
“Darcy.” Iggy shakes her head. “How will you ever repay him?”
“I don’t know yet,” Darcy says softly.
I drop what I’m doing and stomp into the living room, instantly livid. “Nobody’s asking her to repay anything.” How dare she even suggest that?
I expect Iggy to push back but, to my surprise, it’s Darcy who pops up off the floor and squares up on me. Her face flushes red as she stomps a foot. “Nobody asked you! I’m talking to Iggy. Go back to the kitchen, Chad.” She literally shoos me like I’m a house fly. I huff for a second, shifting agitatedly in place. “Go,” she insists, and I finally retreat. “He never lets me talk about this,” I hear Darcy grumble. There’s nothing to talk about. “I don’t have the money now, but can I tell you what I’ve been thinking?”
I briefly hope Iggy will shut this down, but of course not. Why would she when she instigated this whole nonsense conversation? I strain my ears, doing my best to eavesdrop. I don’t like this. I’m itchy all over, irritated, and uncomfortable. If I’m happy to have them here, why does there have to be any talk of payment at all? Iggy and I are going to have a serious talk later. This is unacceptable. I don’t need her putting ideas into Darcy’s head about her owing me anything.
“Oh, that’s good—makes sense—” I hear Iggy say, followed shortly by, “No, that’s excessive even when inflating for gratitude, but do you know what he’d really value?”
My ears perk with curiosity, but just then, there’s a knock at the door, and I stomp over to it, jaw clenched as I swing the door wide. I don’t know who I was expecting, but it wasn’t—
“Mom?” I blink in surprise.
“I’m here to meet my great-grandchild,” she says with a little hands up gesture that I interpret to mean if that’s okay.
“Yeah. Sure. Of course. Come in,” I say, giving my head a little shake, trying to clear it as I stand aside to let her in.
It would be the understatement of the year to say that Haisley is a big hit with her great-grandmother. The gasps, the cooing, the number of times my mom kisses her plump fingers while saying how much she wants to eat them is almost alarming. Like, we should probably account for all ten digits before we let her leave.
I know it’s a cute moment, but I’m still riding the wave of irritation from earlier. I just can’t let it go. So instead of sitting nicely with everyone, I’m up and down, pacing.
“What would I do with Haisley?” Darcy asks, and I have to try to catch up with the conversation.
“There’s on-site daycare. It’s very good. She’d be well taken care of, and I’d pop in on her too, wouldn’t I? Yes I would.” My mom says as she rubs noses with Haisley. I’m guessing there’s an opening at the hotel. Darcy’s been talking about a job, but I already told her there’s no need. I’ve got us covered.
“Are you sure it’s for all employees?” Darcy asks, looking skeptical.
“I’m positive. It’s a demon-run business. They don’t sideline half their workforce just to save a few pennies on employee benefits. They’re more practical than that. Aren’t they, my precious?” she coos at Haisley before turning to Iggy and striking up a new conversation.
I want to follow what they’re saying but my head is buzzing, and I only catch some of it.
“What type of work do you do?” my mom asks. Iggy answers, and there’s a brief conversation about a woman named Skylla Flarelion who they both seem to admire.
Would Darcy move out if she got a job? I wonder. What would I do with an empty house? I’m up out of my seat again. “Anyone want a drink?” I ask. Everyone declines, but it’s definitely time for a beer.
“Are you in Winter Bliss for private or open reasons?” my mom asks. She’s well versed in talking with demons, and it shows.
“Private,” Iggy says, and my mother moves on quickly. They talk about places they’ve traveled. All the questions and answers are incredibly vague, but both women seem perfectly satisfied with that.
I’ve got the start of a good buzz by the time my mom decides it’s time for her to go. I see her to the door, and as she’s putting on her coat, she says, “She's got a striking look, so worldly and fashionable.” She’s breathy with approval. “With just a bit of an edge, but not so much it’s unbecoming.”
I nod.
“Edgy, but poised. That’s so important. And sharp!” she gushes.
“I know,” I say. I’m well aware of Iggy’s many good qualities.
“And she’s already given me her name.” My mom beams as she pats my arm excitedly. “Did you know there are demons I’ve worked with for years at the hotel, and I still don’t know their names? But, Iggy—” she thrills just saying the name. “Warm and open. Well, by demon standards anyway. I wonder how that goes over with other demons,” she muses and for a moment she’s lost in thought before she comes back with a final conclusion. “I like her.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I like her, too,” I say, and it’s true, even if I’m currently pissed at her, and the minute I get her alone, she’s going to hear about it.
“That's—” she falters, and her eyes soften before they crimp. “That’s unfortunate,” she says, and for a second I’m confused. “She’s not right for you.” She reaches out and places a hand on my forearm. I want to pull back, but I don’t. “I’m only saying this because I care. Chad, you won't hold onto a woman like that. You're a small-town man, and she's a cosmopolitan woman. Think of all the places her life will take her that aren’t Winter Bliss. I bet she’s already chomping at the bit to get out of here.” To her credit, she does actually look sorry to tell me this, but it still cuts through my chest like a fucking knife.
I swallow hard. “Iggy’s happy here,” I say defensively, more wanting it to be true than knowing that it is. Which of us knows her better, huh? My mom who just met her, or me? I’ve known Iggy for months now, and no, she’s not a fan of her current volunteer status or her legal situation, but she smiles a lot. Every day. That’s gotta mean something, right? It means she’s happy, and if she’s happy—
I try to break off the thought, but there’s no denying it now. I’ve been secretly hoping she’ll stay, that she’ll fall in love with Winter Bliss and never want to leave.
“You should be looking for someone better suited to you, someone more—” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Outdoorsy. Actually … ” Her eyes light up as a thought strikes her. “A new ski instructor just started at the resort. I’m pretty sure she's single. Should I invite her to Christmas?”
“No,” I say firmly.
“No, you're right. I’m sure she has better things to do. Clients, probably. And how awkward would it be to invite her and then not show up myself?”
“You’re not coming?”
“Oh, who knows. I requested the day off, but it might not get approved,” she says with a noncommittal shrug, then reminds me again that it’s the busy season. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”
“ W e need to talk,” I say when I hear the bathroom door finally open. As soon as we got to the apartment, Iggy disappeared into the shower. I think it was a strategic move, but if she thinks I’m going to forget and let it go, she’s sorely mistaken. We’re having this conversation tonight.
“What if we play first and talk later?” Iggy asks, voice husky, and when I look up, I flash hot all over. She’s naked. My body responds, sending blood rushing south, and I’m sucking in air through flared nostrils.
I have to tear my eyes away before I lose my train of thought. “Would you put some clothes on?” I ask.
“What’s got your tail in a kink?” she asks, and out of my peripheral vision I see her move to the bed, not to the dresser or the closet. She’s not doing what I asked. Typical.
I can’t risk looking at her. My thoughts will scatter. So I move to the window and stare at the curtains as I say, “You can't go around telling my family that they owe me for—for whatever I choose to do for them.” I didn’t mind it so much when she strong-armed my dad into coming to Christmas. I’m not sure anything short of that would have worked on the old goat. But with Darcy, she crossed a line.
“I'm not telling them anything they don't already know,” she says.
“Yes you are. You’re putting things in their heads,” I insist. “I don't want them to pay me back, and you’re making them feel like they have to. I don’t want anything from them.”
She snorts. “Yes you do. But you think it makes you some kind of hero to lie to yourself about it, to pretend like you’re fine giving without getting anything in return.”
“We’re family. That’s what we do for each other.”
“No. It’s what you do. You make one-sided bargains with unspoken terms and hope that their vague sense of indebtedness and guilt will turn into love and affection. It’s not a good strategy,” she says, and despite how snarky her words are, her voice is soft, full of sympathy, and it’s the sympathy more than anything that has me bristling.
“I want to take care of them. No debt, no guilt. I just want to do it,” I insist.
“I know you do, but that’s not all you want. You just won’t admit it.”
“What is it you think I want?” I spin to glare at her. It’s a mistake, one I regret instantly. My blood is already pumping, and the moment I look at her, there’s the wolf. Hungry and furious, he prowls forward out of the deep shadows of my mind. That’s not me.
Except that it is.
“You tell me,” she says, voice sharp and demanding. “Do you know? Have you let yourself think about what you’d say if anyone ever asked you what you want?” She takes a seat at the foot of my bed, crossing her legs and straightening her back to lift her perfect breasts.
My eyes lock on, and lust sings in my blood, mixing with fury over all the things she’s saying that I don’t want to hear. Every muscle from my jaw down to my toes tenses as I fight the urge to lunge at her, to—
“That’s it—say it. What is it you want?” She uncrosses her legs and spreads them wide, exposing her pussy, wet and every shade of red. Tempting, but no.
“I want to come on your tits.” There’s a snarl in my voice as my eyes roam up from her exquisite pussy to her luscious, round breasts. The wolf wants to leave his mark right there.
“Then do it.” Her nipples tighten, growing hard, and she lifts her chest to aim them at me.
Three long strides, and I’m at the bed. I grab for her thigh to drag her closer, but she pulls away. “No. You don't need to touch me for this.” She spreads her legs again, only now she leans back on her elbows. The tantalizing weight of her breasts shifting to either side. I swallow a growl as I imagine palming them, squeezing and rubbing them in rough circles.
She extends her hands until the tips of her fingers start circling her nipples. “Get out your cock,” she says. “You want to come on my tits, I want to watch you make yourself come while looking at me. That’s the deal. No negotiating.” Her fingers keep up the slow, circular rub over her nipples. Her palms cup the sides of her breasts, pressing them together. She’s fondling herself the exact way I want to fondle her. The fucking tease.
I unzip my pants.
As I pull out my cock, her tongue flicks out. She thinks she has an advantage because she can taste the air, but she has her own tells. “I don't have to be a demon to smell you, you know,” I snarl at her. “I only have to touch you for thirty seconds before you’re creaming yourself. I can smell it every time.”
She doesn't break eye contact as she nods. “Sometimes less than thirty seconds. Sometimes all I have to do is look at you. I got myself off in the shower thinking about you just now, and I’m already dripping for you again. Don’t just hold it. Stroke it.”
I grip the base of my cock firmly in hand and start stroking, running it up to the tip and back down. Fuck it feels good, and the view of her touching herself, legs spread, it’s doing the job. I’m hard and throbbing, and the wolf is loving it.
“Tell me what you see when you look at me,” she says.
“A vamp,” I say meanly, baring my teeth at her as I deprive her of the compliment I assume she’s after. But she lights up with a delighted grin anyway, and it’s infuriating how fucking beautiful she is right now.
“Definitely,” she nods, and the crown of her head dips toward me. “What else?”
“A horned seductress clenching her snatch at me.” Claws out.
Her breath catches and her eyes go heated, “Mmmm,” she moans, deep and throaty as her chest heaves, tantalizing me further. “I am clenching my snatch. I’m thinking about the last time you were inside me.” Fuck. I pick up the pace of my strokes. She pinches her nipples for a second before she smashes one tit up and dips her head low enough to lick it.
“Again,” I growl at her even as my cock responds. Every nerve is alive and eager for friction. She licks her other nipple, and I pump harder, marveling at how good my own hand feels. It’s never come close to this before. Each and every stroke tugs right at my balls.
Beads of moisture start dripping from my tip, and when she notices, her pink tongue sweeps over her sharp teeth, leaving a wet trail over her lips. She likes this. Lust and hunger are written all over her face, and her desire feeds me the way gas feeds a flame. Every ragged breath she takes, every roll of her wicked hips, has me shuddering closer to the edge.
She makes a new move, and my eyes snap to her hand. It roams from her breast down to her pussy, and she opens her lips for me to see, improving the view just a fraction more. Her thumb rubs over her clit and she lets out a soft groan as she pleasures herself. My eyes go spotty and my knees just about buckle.
“Get over here,” I growl, and my dirty little demoness smirks as she slinks off the edge of the bed, coming to rest on her knees just at my feet. She squeezes her gorgeous tits together, lifting them to me like an offering plate.
A fleeting thought enters my brain: She’s a goddess on her knees. For me.
My hand freezes.
“Come all over me. I want to be sticky with your cum when I ride your face.”
Oh,fuck. That sends me crashing over the edge. I grip my cock, and my hips jerk as I spurt all over her chest. Slick white fluid splats from her shoulder down the rounds of her breast, but it’s the glob that hits the top of her cleavage and slides down into it that has my full attention. I sway in place, vision coming and going, as I slip a finger in and out, dipping and smearing my cum between her exquisite tits.
“You have five minutes to recover, then you're jerking off again. This time, aim for my ass,” she says, rising from the floor.
“I thought you were going to ride my face,” I have just enough breath to say before my knees give out. I stumble forward and collapse on the bed.
“You can do both at the same time.”
Ah, so it's to be an early death for me? Fuck it. This is how I want to go.