Chapter 56 Zeth #2
Her breathless pleading is like music to my ears.
She’s already wet for me—I can feel it through her panties, already soaking my dick—so I’m not gentle.
I can’t be. I have zero restraint. I grab hold of those pretty panties and I rip them, not even a little remorseful about the waste.
I’ll replace them. I’ll buy her thousands of dollars’ worth of black lace in exchange for this one pair.
It’s the fairest trade I’ve ever made. Sloane cries out.
I can tell she’s trying to stop herself, but she’s far from succeeding.
I crow like a fucking cockerel in my head over that.
I grab hold of my dick and squeeze, my muscles tightening at the pressure, sending a burning wave of adrenaline around my body.
I don’t sink myself into her right away, though.
I ease my fingers over her soaked pussy and work her clit, working my dick at the same time.
With every little stroke and flick of my fingers, Sloane becomes more breathless.
It takes her by surprise when I slide my hand back and I use the slick moisture on my fingers to touch her ass.
In fact, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
“Trust me, Sloane?” It’s a risk, asking for her trust outright. I won’t break it, though. Not now. Not with this.
“Uhhh…”
“Trust me.” I rub my dick against her pussy, causing friction in just the right places, using my fingers to tease and stroke and knead her ass at the same time.
She may never have thought she would react this way, but before long she’s pushing back against me again.
Enjoying it. Presenting herself to me, allowing me to apply more pressure every time she rocks her hips.
I push a touch harder this time, inserting my finger just a little, and Sloane cries out, her body shaking hard against me. “You like that?” Not a throwaway comment—I need to know. If I think for one second she’s not enjoying it, I’ll pull the pin on this immediately.
“Yes. Yeah. Yeah…” Her voice is hazy, as if she’s drunk. But she isn’t, she’s sober, and she’s rocking against me like she’s asking for more.
I’ve waited long enough. I take hold of my dick, and I slide it inside her, pushing so hard that my balls clench.
I want to be rough with her. I wanna bruise her, leave my fingerprints all over her, but I don’t.
I gather her hair and wrap it around my fist, jerking on it hard enough that her head pulls back.
With it, her body bows again, far enough for me to lean forward and bite her shoulder.
She gasps through the pain. “Oh, fuck!”
I pull her head to one side so that her chin tips back toward me, and there it is: I’m not overstepping any boundaries.
Far from it. Sloane’s eyes are rolled back in her head, her bruised lips swollen and parted as she pants out my name over and over again each time I force my way inside her.
She’s so fucking tight, gripping me from the inside like a glove.
I risk applying a little more pressure to the fingers still playing with her ass, and she sighs, pushing back against me.
“Oh my God, Zeth. Yes. Please. Please…”
Yep. That’s what I thought. It’s game on. I’m not a fucking douchebag, though. I’ve shown her. I’ve shown her that she likes it.
“Please…”
Shit. Well, I’m not a fucking douchebag, but I’m no saint, either.
I thrust my dick into her as deep as I can, and I ease my finger forward at the same time, going slow so that I can stop as soon as she wants me to.
Her legs wobble, and I can tell that she’s fighting it, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
Her panting and whimpering are thanks to pleasure, not pain.
I can feel my dick inside her through the wall of her pussy, and it’s… it’s just… I can’t…
I fuck her. I fuck her hard. I gauge her reaction and act accordingly.
When it looks like she’s tilting, when the pleasure is turning to pain, I stop playing with her ass altogether and grab her hips with both hands.
With the added leverage, I pound myself into her even harder than before, my blood singing through my veins.
I can tell when she’s about to come. She starts to shake, her muscles straining, trying to keep her upright.
I don’t have a hope in hell of holding back.
We come at the same time, and neither of us is quiet.
I slowly pump myself in and out of her, catching my breath.
I must be a freak, but I take a great and perverse pleasure in rubbing my cum through the slick folds of her pussy and into her asshole.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Sloane rockets off my dick like someone’s just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over us.
In the hallway, leaning up against the wall opposite our alcove, a guy with a torn black T-shirt and ripped black jeans claps, grinning ear to ear.
I don’t recognize him. He’s young. Like, early twenties.
And he’s a Widow Maker. “Good show,” he says, still clapping.
“Didn’t think the fun started ’til tonight.
Obviously, I was wrong.” Sloane scrambles for her clothes, swearing under her breath—her panic is nowhere near as funny as it was when someone busted her in the toilet.
Now, it makes me angry. I turn and angle myself in front of her, blocking her from view.
“Usually polite to announce your presence, asshole,” I snarl. Fuck that I’m naked. Fuck that Jacob will be pissed. I’ll break this kid’s jaw if the next words out of his mouth aren’t I’m sorry.
Lucky for him they are.
“Sorry, bro. My bad.” He’s not laughing anymore.
He holds his hands up, looking suitably concerned about my reaction.
He must have thought I’d be embarrassed, but living in prison takes all that away from you.
Your modesty, your humility, everything.
“I didn’t mean to come up on you like that, man,” the kid continues.
“But shit, dude. You were fucking in a hallway.”
We were. But I still think I should hit him. My knuckles are already cracking when Sloane grabs my arm. “It’s okay. He’s totally right.”
She sidles out from behind me, fully dressed now, though looking mighty disheveled. Despite her crimson cheeks, she manages to look the kid in the eye. He blanches when he gets a proper look at her. “Holy. Fuck. Me! What the…?” He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Mal, what the hell are you—” An annoyed voice comes from behind us right as another Widow Maker rounds the corner.
Black boots, black jeans, black tee, finished off by a leather cut adorned with a VP badge over the top pocket.
The guy stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, and this time it’s my turn to look like I’ve seen a ghost. Because he is a ghost.
Motherfucking Cade Preston.
He stares at me, his own shock rippling across his face before he says, “Zee?” And then, brow furrowed, “Why are you naked?”
I can’t think of anything else to say, so I settle for the first thing that comes into my head. “Never mind that. Why the fuck aren’t you dead?”