Chapter 21 #2
“I’m gonna stretch you out every fucking day,” I growl, spitting on my fingers and getting him ready. “Because he’s not going to be bigger than me.”
I press the head into him, and his stomach muscles tighten as he reaches behind and grabs the back of the couch.
Slowly, I inch in, closing my eyes. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” I pant.
His body heat envelops me, so goddamn tight.
Once fully sheathed, I open my eyes to find him watching me, the rise and fall of his chest the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love seeing his body respond to me. Always did.
But I gotta move.
I pump slow but quicken my pace almost immediately.
Gripping his shoulder in one hand and his ass in the other, I thrust my hips, sliding in and out.
I grunt, his groans filling the room, and everything under my skin feels like it’s firing.
I gaze at his face, his neck arched back, his brow pinched in pleasure, the long expanse of skin down his chest and stomach calling me.
I dive down, kissing, biting, and sucking his ribs and his chest. His ass flexes in my hand, fucking me right back, and I freeze, feeling him come down on my cock again and again.
My body fires from the inside out, something building in my head, in my hands, in my mouth…
God. What the fuck is happening?
Pulling up, I stare into his eyes, rolling my hips and meeting his rhythm. I move my hand from his shoulder to his neck and up his jaw, running my thumb over his lips. He closes his eyes, arching his back, his moans getting louder.
His breath shakes, his mouth falling open, and I watch as his orgasm bursts wide open. He bounces faster, and I’m in awe. It’s a minute before I realize I’ve been in a trance, watching him.
What the fuck am I doing?
What are we doing?
I pull out. “On your stomach.”
He blinks, and I push him over. He squeezes the leather armrest in both hands as I fit myself inside him again, thrusting hard.
“Ah, Dallas,” he gasps.
I grab hold of his body again, keeping it in place, and pump hard and fast. This is what he’s for. Revenge.
My dick swells with blood, every nerve in my body feeling it. “Oh, fuck.”
I fist his hair, not looking at the side of his face, those back muscles I love, or the neck I want to kiss. I watch my dick slide in and out of the golden boy of St. Carmen, on the rich leather couch of their precious Ministry office.
“Dallas, fuck,” he grits out.
Sweat glides down my chest. “You want me to stop?”
“Fuck you, Swamp Rat.”
I chuckle. “You like it?”
I see his smile. “Yeah,” he whispers.
I pump harder and faster, my orgasm cresting. Damn right, you do.
I thrust—and then again—the muscles in my dick starting to contract until everything spills. I come, sliding in and out of him slower and slower as the tension releases and I slowly relax.
My muscles are on fire, my body drenched, and the orgasm spreads through the rest of my body. Fuck…
I collapse, my mouth on his neck.
My chest sticks to his back, and he just lies there, too, both of us breathing in unison.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and I grip it lightly, possessively.
We could stay here the rest of the night. If we wanted to. I could fall asleep like this.
I draw in a breath and peel myself off of him, though. I sleep best alone.
“Shower,” I say, standing up.
I dispose of the condom and pull up my pants, heading toward the gym showers.
We wash, him running soap over his body as I rinse out the shampoo in my hair. Every time I look over, though, he’s barely meeting my eyes.
I didn’t hurt him, did I? I look at the floor, suds draining but no blood or anything. I have no problem giving him the black eye he deserves, but I don’t want to hurt him like that.
I just…
It felt…natural. Fucking him.
When he was straddling me and we were looking at each other, I…
I didn’t like it. It was like I couldn’t get far enough inside of him or have my hands in every place I wanted at the same time.
I didn’t want to stop.
Why him?
We finish and head to the locker room, pulling on our pants and the shirts we retrieved from the weight room.
I slick back my hair. “When are you seeing him?”
I see him look over at me as he pulls down his quarter zip. “Tomorrow night,” he mumbles, then clarifies. “Tonight.”
It’s past two in the morning. I want to know where and when, but I don’t need to know, so I’m not fucking asking.
God, I need to fuck someone else. Tonight.
“Well, if you don’t like him,” I say, meeting his eyes, “send him my way.”
He says nothing, just stares at me as he slips his phone into his pocket and pulls out his keys.
The guy was hot enough.
Finally, he looks away. “I’ll send a car for Sophia at seven a.m.”
He walks away, and in a moment, I hear the locker room door slam shut.
Lifting each shoe onto the bench, I tie my laces and grab my phone to text my brother. I need to make sure he made it back to the pub.
But something fills my throat, an invisible thread pulling at me the more the seconds tick by and the farther away Callum Ames gets from me. The breath leaves me, and I lower my hand before I can send the text and drop my forehead into the lockers.
A sob lodges in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Why him?
What do I care if he’s with someone else? He’ll still give in to me whenever I want. Of that, I’m certain.
I shake my head, grinding it into the locker.
I don’t want him. I don’t want anyone. I don’t want that life.
He can’t be trusted anyway.
Neither can I.
I could never say things to him that he’d want me to say.
The images won’t go away, though. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. Someone else kissing him, in bed with him, making him feel good and touching him…
Slamming my hand into the locker, I bolt out of the locker room, shoving my phone into my pocket.
Taking a right, I charge down to the attached church where the students go for Mass every Wednesday morning.
Yanking open the doors, I stalk down the center aisle as lightning flashes through the stained-glass windows.
I glare up at the crucifix hanging behind the altar. “Send a fucking hurricane,” I bark at him. “Kill him or wash out the road or ground all the flights or…”
Clenching my jaw shut, I draw in deep breaths and close my eyes, not sure what’s happening to me. What the fuck do I want?
I open my mouth and close it again, water pooling in my eyes.
Finally, I can’t hold it back anymore. “I don’t want anyone else to touch him!”
My fists are balled, every limb tight, as the realization that I’m falling for him hits me.
I’ve never felt this. Ever.
I can’t touch him again.
I can never forgive what he did to Liv, and I can never let the Ameses into our lives in any real way.
I can’t touch him again.
He should sleep with someone else. So should I.
But I backtrack, murmuring, “Don’t kill him.” I shake my head, my eyes on the floor and the bronze crucifix looming overhead. “Don’t kill him.”
I didn’t mean to say it.
Retreating, I leave the church and crash in my classroom till six.