Chapter 8 #2
Fiona complies with my demands because she knows I’m not the type that plays games.
In our time together, I’ve come to learn what she enjoys. And it’s my tongue, everywhere. I start by nibbling her ear, trailing down her jaw to the hollow of her throat, lower, to the valley between her breasts, cupping her small mounds as I bury my face in them.
She responds with primal, guttural cries that turn my cock to steel.
The one place I’ve never allowed my tongue to travel is her mouth. Her eyes tell me she wants it. That perfect kiss that heroes bestow upon their brides.
But I’m no hero, and we’re not getting married.
We are what we are and no amount of role playing will ever change that.
The Keep was built on fairy tale lies. A mask that hides something so ugly, no one dares call it out. Except Christine, but she’s a different kind of beast.
“Hurry!” Fiona gasps, pushing down on my shoulders.
Her urgency amuses me, but I’m not one to withhold relief, so I scoot down her body and do my job, licking the petals of her sex like a ravenous beast.
Which is how she likes it, wild and untamed. Completely without reservation.
I lick her, hole to clit, up through her folds, and down again, all the way down to her puckered ass, which she thoroughly enjoys. A few sloppy strokes have her writhing, drenching me in her feminine juices she makes so abundantly.
Again, I think of what I could have had if my life had been different. A beautiful wife. Children. A house with a two-car garage.
I should be thankful I wasn’t so blessed, because the apocalypse would have surely taken that all away.
Fiona claws my hair, pulling me to her as though she’s scared I’ll retreat, and while they’re definitely a deviation from the order I so enjoy, I love those greedy hands. They tell me what a good job I’m doing and how helpless Fiona is when she’s with me.
“Hunter—”
“Yes?”
“I’m…I’m…”
I suck her clit into my mouth and enjoy the fallout of my good work. Of how beautifully she comes undone, shattering into chaos.
Fiona does for me what only torn flesh could accomplish before, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let her go.
When she finally stops grinding against my face, my throbbing cocks alerts me to its distress. I yank down my pants, freeing myself with the intent of spearing into Fiona, but instead of welcoming me, she rolls over, getting up on all fours.
She wiggles her bottom and looks over her shoulder at me. “Care for doggy style?”
“No,” I snap, anger roiling my gut.
Fiona’s face falls, overwhelmed with a hurt expression.
“I can’t…not with you.”
“Why?”
“Whenever I took a woman like that, it was so that they would see my work.”
She nods slowly. “Oh…”
After a beat, she flips back around onto her back and spreads herself for me. “Hurry!”
A normal woman may have panicked or made a big deal out of my confession. But not Fiona. That she’s so willing to accommodate me makes her incredibly ideal.
I bring my body over hers and rub my length against her slit. She rolls her hips up to meet me, moaning obscene sounds that needle my lust.
“I want you to kiss me,” she says softly.
“Your cum is all over my face,” I say, hoping it deters her.
“That only makes me want you to kiss me more.”
Fuck—how is she so capable of turning my world on its head? I swore I’d never kiss her, and I meant it, but all at once I’m overwhelmed with the desire to taste her mouth.
So I do.
I plunge my tongue past her lips as I drive into her, fucking her with punishing strokes for what she does to me.
Her hands are all over my back, kneading, pulling, clawing. I love her tight cunt stretching around me as I fill her and feeling her gasp around my tongue as I do so only heightens the pleasure coursing through my body.
When I try to pull my mouth away, she leans up, sucking my tongue and nursing it obscenely.
I wasn’t built to withstand this, and before I know what’s happening, I’m coming like a damn teenager.
And for a small moment, I feel innocent of this world.
But that feeling doesn’t last long.
Fuck, I can’t believe I came so quickly.
Fiona giggles. “Wow, what a minute to be alive!”
Although the words are insulting, I don’t feel she meant them to be, so I reply with a joke of my own. “I value efficiency. Soon, I’ll have my time down to mere seconds.”
Fiona’s brow lifts, but her attention is diverted when she looks over at the egg incubator.
She points fanatically. “It’s wiggling!”
Anxious, I say, “Chicken eggs hatch every twenty-ish days. You’ll have plenty of opportunity—”
“But I want to see these ones hatch,” she whines. “Please! It’s not a big deal. There aren’t any dead up here.”
And because this girl makes me lose my damn mind, I say, “Fine.”
“You’re going to stay with me, right?”
“There’s a lot of work to do tomorrow. Homesteading on a city rooftop isn’t easy.”
“You don’t have to stay up. We can sleep up here. In sleeping bags.”
I should say no, but the look on her face stays my tongue.
It’s only one night of sleep. One night. I’ll stay up the entire time, or at least until the egg hatches. Then we can return to the apartment.
“Fine.”
She rushes gleefully behind the tomatoes and grabs two pillows and a sleeping bag she had stowed up here. The extra-wide one that sleeps two. She places them on the existing blankets.
“You planned this,” I deadpan.
“Yep, and now you’re stuck.”