Chapter 15
I cannot believe that I’m lying to him again.
Even after learning my lesson – and this lesson I promise I learned – I’m still making the same mistake. Actually, I’m back to where I was when all of this began, one twin blackmailing me to hurt the other. Although Shepard isn’t exactly blackmailing me but still. I can’t not do what he wants me to do and let him down. I’ve already done that.
It’s just a lot harder than the first time when I lied to Stellan.
Because now I know the consequences. I know how painful it is for him and I don’t want to hurt him that way. I don’t want to torture him and play with his emotions.
God, I want the opposite.
I want to keep him safe.
I want to protect his emotions, the ones he clearly doesn’t want to have but does.
And second, all this just goes to show even more that these two need an intervention. They need to sit down and talk it the fuck out. Shepard needs to apologize for always provoking Stellan to get his attention. And Stellan needs to apologize for not giving enough attention to his own twin brother.
Or fight it out.
Whatever helps solve the problem.
The issue is that they need to reach out to each other, and freaking have a conversation about their long-standing but clearly not buried feelings.
Which I realize is such a hard ask when it comes to men.
I mean they won’t even engage in a conversation about the symbolism of it all.
The ring, in this case.
“Give me my ring back,” I tell him one night, playing with the damp ends of his hair.
Like a few days ago, he’s sprawled on me, all lazy and languid, so deliciously relaxed that I want to eat him. Or lick the muscles of his back that flutter with every breath he takes, the side of his neck. His chest too. His hard jaw. His cheek. The roll of his biceps.
Basically, I just want to lick him everywhere.
And I did all of that, not five minutes ago.
I even sucked him off.
Or rather he fucked my face. After which, he made me dance in his lap with his dick inside of me and I don’t know what’s my favorite: getting fucked in the throat or in my pussy and riding him like a pole while doing it.
I guess it’s all my favorite.
He’s my favorite.
The only difference is that we’re in a new city and instead of his room, we’re in mine. Because he wouldn’t let me walk – two doors down – to his. Because he thinks it’s unsafe.
Because he clearly has the top spot for crazy.
And maybe that’s why I love him so much and keep falling in love every second of every day. If this is his way of fixing things and getting me to fall out of love with him, then he’s not doing a very good job of it.
Anyway, back to the conversation at hand.
To which he replies, mumbling into my neck, “No.”
“Just give it to me,” I insist, fisting his hair.
He looks up, his eyes hooded. “Why?”
I try not to get too lost in his dark gaze.
But apparently, don’t succeed and reply, “Because...”
“You want to wear it?” he asks belligerently.
My heart clenches in fear. “I’m… It’s just –”
“Because last time I checked you were in love with me.”
Now my heart clenches more but for a different reason. A reason that makes me wind my arms and my thighs around his body even more tightly. And in response, he slides his arms up my back and tunnels his fingers in my sex-tangled hair.
Then, “That still true?”
I squeeze him with my limbs. “Y-yes.”
He’s taken to doing that.
Asking me if I still love him. I don’t know what the purpose is – because hello? Allergic to emotions over here – but I know that as soon as I say yes, he stops breathing for a second like he can’t believe it and then breathes out a long breath as if relieved.
So there’s no way I can stop telling him the truth.
No way I can stop controlling his breaths like he controls mine.
No way I can stop giving him relief.
“So then, no. You’ll wear his ring when you’re not in love with me anymore.”
After delivering that decree, he goes back to tucking his face in my neck.
God, this man.
I pull at his hair again. “Just give it back, Stellan. As a sign of respect to your brother.”
Because that’s what it is.
Now that I’ve broken things off with Shepard, it’s not as if I’m going to wear it. I’m going to give it back to him. He should have it. It’s his. It’s not a token of rivalry between them, or a competition. It’s also not a symbol of jealousy because there’s nothing to be jealous about.
Although I can’t really say that to him.
Hate you, Shepard.
Hate you for making me keep secrets from Stellan.
Even though, clearly, he has secrets of his own.
“Not interested in respecting him, remember?” he murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.
Okay, this is it.
This is my opening.
Sighing, I blink up at the ceiling. “I think there’s clearly, clearly, something between you two. Some sort of a tension. And I think you need to talk to him about it.”
He hums.
I frown. “I’m serious, Stellan.”
“Hmm.”
I turn my face to the side. “Are you listening to me? I know you think you’re a shitty brother and I know you have a secret. You don’t have to tell me, even though I’m dying to know it. But maybe you can tell him.” This idea occurred to me only recently, that if he can’t tell me for some reason, maybe he can tell Shepard. “Maybe whatever it is that’s keeping you both apart can be solved. It can be fixed if only you opened up and –” I feel him, getting heavier on me and I push at his shoulders. “Stellan? Are you falling asleep on me?”
Then, with an alert, a very awake voice, he replies back, “If you insist on talking about things that don’t interest me, then yes.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible. You’re –”
“And I don’t want to fall asleep just yet.”
I dig my chin in his hair. But the joke is on me because I don’t think he felt anything because of his hard head and I’m the one who ends up with a throbbing chin.
“Why not?”
“Because I still have to draw you a bath.”
This is not fair.
I don’t think this is fair.
Him being so sweet after shutting me down like that. How am I supposed to stay firm and push him to do the right thing when he makes my heart race the way he does?
Then, biting my lip, “With lavender bath salts?”
His chest grazes my sore nipples – sore from all the sucking he’s done – as he breathes, and I squirm under him. “Yes, with lavender bath salts.”
“And a rose scented candle?”
He looks up then and takes me in, my heated cheeks, my spread-out hair on his pillow. “At the risk of smelling like a fucking flower bouquet, yes with a rose scented candle.”
“Hey, you’re the one who insists on getting me a rose every day.”
“Still your favorite flower, yeah?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“So then,” he whispers back.
Every single morning since he found out that roses are my favorite flower, there’s a rose waiting for me on my pillow. And like I did with the first rose, I eat it. Not alone though; I share it with him. He thinks it’s nuts but he never denies me when I pluck a petal and urge him to open his mouth. He never shies away from it when I place it on his tongue like we’re both sharing a drug and getting high together.
On roses.
And so again, I don’t know what’s my favorite: finding a rose on my pillow every morning or getting to see his face as soon as I wake up.
Because he insists on us sleeping together.
He insists on cuddling with me all night – and yes, he’s a total cuddler – with his strong and heavy arm tucked into the dip of my waist and my butt fitting against his lower abs and of course, his dick.
Which I have to say never ever goes down all the way.
He’s always semi-hard and heated and I love wiggling against it to wake him up.
What can I say, I love his dick.
I love it even more when he puts me on his cock and asks me to give him a lap dance first thing in the morning.
I love him.
So I slide my arms down from his neck and cradle his stubbled cheek. Looking into his shimmering eyes, I say, “I’m ready for my bath now.”
He circles his eyes over my features before muttering, “Thank fucking God.”
And then he carries me to the bathroom where he gives me a bath fit for a princess. Well, he slides in as well so he can massage all my sore muscles, untangle the long strands of my hair with such gentleness that I always want to weep. But instead, I turn around and make out with him. Which helps because along with making me want to weep, he makes me go breathless with his tenderness. So this way, he gets to revive me with his breaths and his kisses.
Once that’s done, he towels both of us off and rubs my strawberry scented lotion on me. Again, something he insists on doing even though it makes him question my chaotic scent choices: lavender scented bath salts, strawberry scented lotion, rose scented shampoo, and gardenia scented face moisturizer. Sometimes while putting the lotion on me, he’ll get waylaid and eat my pussy. Sometimes he’ll just play with it with the fingers of his one hand while asking me to stay still so he can finish rubbing the cream on me with the other.
Either way, I always come after the bath.
When that’s done as well, he carries me back to bed and proceeds to make me ginger and honey tea because he very hungrily and lovingly fucked my throat.
But that’s not the best part.
The best part is that he does it naked.
While I get to watch.
His gorgeous body on display.
The broad muscles of his back fluttering with the movements of his arms; those two dips on the side of his ass flexing when he shifts on his feet. When he’s done, I get to watch him, and his glorious naked chest and those ridged abs bring me the tea he made.
“I seriously cannot get over how fucking amazing your body is,” I say as he hands me my tea.
With his lips twitching, he slides in with his own, chamomile. And I have to say that I find very adorable that Stellan ‘The Cold’ Thorne loves drinking chamomile tea before going to bed.
“Well, ditto.”
I settle against him, using him as a pillow and take a sip of my soothing tea. “And your chest hair.” Then, looking up, “Is that crazy?”
I feel him shrug. “But you are crazy.”
I look up. “Not as crazy as you though. You still hold the top spot.”
“How’s that?”
“You love that thing about me.”
“What thing?”
I give him wide eyes. “The thing.”
His lips tip up slightly in a lopsided smile. “Your tasty fucking asshole?”
I gasp, almost spilling my tea. “Not that, you perv!”
Although he does love it.
Love licking it, eating it, putting his finger in it.
His tongue too.
Oh my God.
It’s… embarrassing.
And he does it all urgently and enthusiastically. Like he can’t get enough of it. Like he loves it as much as he loves eating my pussy.
He chuckles in response.
And I narrow my eyes at him. “The other thing. My sixth toe.”
Oh, did I mention that I have an extra toe on my left foot?
I do.
I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to acknowledge it. Growing up, it was a great source of contention for me. Especially because my mother didn’t like it. She’d think it was another one of my ploys to steal attention. Because I’d come back from school, crying over how kids would make fun of me. How they’d point at it and laugh. Not to mention, since both my feet were of different width, we had to have special shoes made for me to wear. Maybe that’s why I love flip flops and open-toed sandals so much. Even though they show off my toes.
But the story is entirely different for Stellan.
He loves it.
He hadn’t noticed right away, thank God, because they all blend so well together. But one night while he was propped up on the pillows, waiting for me to pick out a movie to watch, and I was on my tummy, facing away from him and swinging my legs, he saw it for the first time. When I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it, he insisted, and we all know what that means: I had to tell him.
Since then, he makes sure to kiss all eleven of my toes to tell me how much he loves them all.
And for the third time, I don’t know what’s my favorite: him leaving roses for me or kissing my extra toe.
I feel him sigh and then shift. He goes for my tea and takes it from my hand even though I protest with, hey, I was drinking that, and sets it aside. He sets his mug aside too before sliding out and moving to kneel in front of me. Grabbing my ankles, he yanks at them, causing me to go flat on my back.
Then keeping my legs raised, he nuzzles his nose against my left calf. “I want you to count, okay?”
Frowning, I go to protest, “Stellan, you –"
Keeping our gazes locked, he brings my left foot to his lips. He blows lightly on the arch and I squeal because holy God, that’s my ticklish spot. “That’s n-not… fair.”
He tsks, blowing on my foot again. “So then you should do what I say.”
I squeal in response again and struggle against his grip. “This is b-blackmail.”
He hums, nuzzling my ankle again. “I tend to enjoy that.”
“I h-hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, blowing another little puff of air.
I squeal and arch and twist and struggle. Then, “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”
He smirks, a triumphant glint in his eyes.
That asshole.
And then he proceeds to kiss all of my toes as I count them one by one. When he reaches my extra pinkie toe, he makes sure to look at me as he kisses it not once but twice, making me blush and squirm. When I reach the end of the count – eleven for eleven toes – he comes down at me.
My thighs wrap around his naked hips as he rumbles, “Eleven.”
Panting, I whisper back, “Eleven.”
He shifts over me, his hard dick rubbing over my pussy lips. “And what’s eleven?”
I arch up against it. “S-Stellan’s favorite number.”
“Stellan’s favorite number,” he approves.
“You –”
“And what else is Stellan’s favorite?” he asks, nudging my wet hole with his dick.
“All three of my p-pinkie toes.”
“All three of your pinkie toes.” Then, “What else?”
“And my t-tits.”
“Fuck yeah, your tits.” Then, rasping, “Keep going.”
He slides in but only a little bit, making me moan in response.
When I forget to answer him, he prods, “What else, baby?”
My fingers dig in his shoulders. “M-My pussy.”
Humming, he slides further in. “Your sweetheart pussy, yeah.”
“Stellan, I –”
“There’s more.”
“My mouth.”
“Your sweetheart mouth.”
“Stellan, you need to –”
“You forgot the last one.”
“My a-ass.”
Finally, he’s all the way in and we both take a second to absorb that. I writhe under him and he grunts over me. Then, “And your sweetheart asshole.” Then, “But what’s my most favorite of all?”
My heart races and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “D-Dora.”
“Yeah, Dora,” he says both roughly and warmly. “My sweetheart is my favorite of all.”
After that, all bets are off.
He pounds my pussy until I shatter around him causing him to come as well. And as always, he pulls out and sticks just the tip in my asshole and comes in my ass.
To give me what I want – his bare cock – but also to protect me.
Which makes me fall in love with him even more.
But the day is not done yet.
Which means I have more occasions to fall in love with him.
Despite this little detour and cleaning me up, we continue with our nightly ritual. Where he sits propped up on the pillows while I go back to using his chest as a pillow for me. And then I sip my tea – he rewarmed it, including his own – as he reads to me from his favorite series. I’m not going to lie, I’m really enjoying it. I’ve never been a reader before but I could listen to him read me all day long. And that’s how I go to sleep every night, with his heat on my skin and his voice in my ears.
It’s all very peaceful except we both have secrets and I’d like that to stop.
While I can’t do anything about his, I get to share mine after the championship game.
Because that’s the deadline.
When Shep insisted that I keep our fake engagement a secret, I gave him until the championship game. That’s when I’m going to tell Stellan the truth.
Not that I know exactly what I’ll say to him.
He’ll be pissed, that’s for sure.
He’ll be crazy pissed.
But then again, there’s always this hope that he’ll fall madly in love with me by then so he’ll laugh it all away and forgive me for playing with his emotions again.
Ha!
What an absolute joke.
Even if he did fall in love with me – which is not going to happen because he’s so adamant at making me fall out of it and because he just plain doesn’t want to – he’s going to get over it pretty quickly when he finds out the truth. So all I can do is make the most of the time that we have right now and be with him until it all blows up in my face.
Which is why I hate that we have to keep this a secret.
For all intents and purposes, I’m still engaged to the captain of the team. Which means I can’t be caught sneaking around with anyone let alone the head coach, his twin brother.
Not to mention, my own mother.
She still calls me and checks up on me every single day, reminding me of the rules and her threat. And I’m sure she’s keeping an eye on the media about any gossip about me, waiting for me to slip up. Not that I’m going to. Even though I’ve broken all her rules and even though Stellan doesn’t fear her, I do. I absolutely am scared of her and what she’s capable of.
So it’s imperative that we keep this under wraps until everything comes to an end at the last game.
But apparently Stellan has other plans.
Because now at parties, he blatantly stares at me.
Without any regard to anyone else around.
He follows me with his eyes no matter where I go or what I do or who I’m with.
When Isiah makes me laugh at his silliness, Stellan looks like he’s going to break something on Isiah’s body. And the next day he punishes Isiah by giving him extra laps to run. When this other guy on the team started chatting up with me – about his girlfriend no less – the next day I find out that Stellan rode him extra hard at practice and the guy was almost limping back from practice.
On top of all this, Shepard has upped his flirting game.
Even though I told him very specifically, along with giving him a deadline, that if I’m to keep our fake engagement a secret, he can absolutely under no circumstances flirt with me or use me to provoke Stellan.
But as I’m coming to find out, he didn’t listen.
So he goes ahead and throws his arm around my neck whenever he wants. He goes ahead and kisses me whenever he wants, but thankfully only on my cheek or in my hair. He insists that I have dinner with him every night. He insists on holding hands and being all lovey dovey and couple-y when before he’d just leave me alone.
And he simply insists on dancing with me at every victory party.
Like the one we’re at right now.
“Shepard, you need to chill out,” I tell him while twirling in his arms.
Because it’s not as if I can say no to him – my stupid fiancé – in front of everyone.
He smirks. “Why, is he going to finally lose it?”
I keep my mouth shut.
Because I do have a feeling that Stellan is reaching his breaking point.
It’s going to happen any day now.
He already looks like he’s this close to breaking the neck of his beer bottle. While also turning his own teeth to dust from how hard he’s gritting his teeth.
I throw him a small smile.
That only makes all the gritting and that pulsing muscle on his cheek worse.
So I look away and focus on Shepard who’s still smirking. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“He’s your twin brother.”
“Unfortunately.”
How is it that their expression, their tone, their entire freaking demeanor become exactly the same – identical; a word I never use for them – when I talk to one about the other? How is it that they can’t see there’s a severe lack and need for a discourse between them?
I shake my head as he twists me in his arms so my back is pressed to his chest. Then, “I’m not even going to get into how dysfunctional your relationship is with each other. But have a little compassion, will you? You’re torturing him. We’re torturing him.” Then, “Let me tell him, please.”
“No.”
Before I can protest, he spins me back around so we’re face to face, our chests colliding. I glare at him for pinning me close and he keeps smirking.
Then, “He’ll live. But most importantly, do you really want to be with a guy who goes apeshit just because you’re looking at another guy? He’s fucking crazy with his jealousy. Not to mention,”—he looks me up and down—"I wouldn’t do that. I’d never be this crazy or this jealous. I’ll let you be free.”
I realize – not for the first time – that yes, Shepard isn’t like that. He doesn’t get jealous. He doesn’t burn. He doesn’t go crazy. And I should’ve realized that right away and called Stellan out on his deception when his jealousy was spilling out in the text messages.
“But I am free,” I tell Shepard as we sway in each other’s arms. “He makes me feel free. He makes me feel like I can be myself. I can dance in the middle of a crowded bar where guys are all wanting a piece of me because I know he won’t let them take it. I can jump off a high building because I know he’ll either jump with me with a parachute or stand on the ground with a safety net. I know he’ll always save me. I know he’ll always be there. And I…” I lick my lips. “I want that, Shepard. I want him. I want his safety. I want his warmth, his heated glares, his anger, his jealousy. I even want the way he hurts me because I hurt him too. I want everything that makes him him. Because sometimes I think I’m the way I am because he’s the way he is. We’re different but we’re the same.”
Only I want him to love me.
But he doesn’t.
And sometimes I think – again not for the first time – that if I remove this love condition of mine, maybe we can stay together, Stellan and I.
“Well,” Shepard murmurs, breaking into my thoughts, “that was very poetic.”
I feel a sting in my heart. “I didn’t…”
“Hey,” he throws me a lopsided smile, “I can take it. I’m a big boy.”
I swallow. “You will –”
“If you’re going to say that I’ll find someone like that,” he says with his jaw tensed, “then I’ll ask you to just not.”
I was going to say that, yes.
But after this all I say is, “It’s not a bad thing. To want that for you.”
“To go as feral crazy for a girl as my lovely twin brother who, let me remind you, is known as the Cold Thorn?” He pulls a face. “Nah, I’m okay. I’d much rather see him suffer than suffer myself.”
I keep silent but I do hope, in my heart, that he meets someone who makes him feel the way his brother makes me feel. I know it’s not all good but I wouldn’t know the good without knowing the bad.
So I’ll take it.
I’ll take every single emotion that he’s made me feel ever since I clapped my eyes on him under that pink magnolia tree. Every single torturous emotion just so I can experience the wonderful ones too.
Maybe that’s why love is a drug.
And people get addicted to it despite the heartbreak.
They get addicted to the highs despite the torturous lows.
Despite knowing that there’s a chance they wouldn’t get the same devotion back.
So when the dance is done, I look his way again. He’s still as a statue but I feel his gaze blazing. Keeping my eyes on him, I excuse myself from Shepard. I watch as he sets down his beer bottle on the nearby table as well and pushes off the wall.
And then keeping our gazes locked I walk toward him.
With every step that I take, he grows even tighter, even heated.
So much so that I can feel the heat of him all the way over here.
I wonder how the world isn’t melting off from it.
I wonder what he’ll do to me when he gets his hands on me. And since he can’t touch me where people can see, I veer off the path and make a beeline for the exit. And I know he’s following me because I can feel that heat of his at my back. In fact, I think he’s crowding because as soon as I get out in the winter, he’s right there.
He’s right there to grip my elbow and spin me around.
To pin me against the brick wall and surround me in his heat as he comes over me, looms and leans and hovers over me like a dark shadow, blocking the moon.
“What was he saying?” he growls lowly.
I grip his face. “It doesn’t matter.”
“He was touching you.”
“Stellan, it doesn’t matter, okay? It doesn’t –”
“Why was he touching you?” He keeps growling, his face a collection of sharp angles and angry lines. “You’re not married yet.”
“It doesn’t –”
“You don’t even have his ring on your finger.”
“Just –”
“Because you’re still in fucking love with me.”
At ‘me,’ he borderline punches his own chest and I wince. But before I can say anything, he goes on, “Tell him to keep his hands off you. Or I will.”
“Stellan, no.”
“And I will make it hurt.” I keep shaking my head as he continues, “You know what I did to Isiah the other day, don’t you? I can do it to him. I could do much worse to him.”
When he still won’t stop, I come off the wall and inch closer myself. I tip my face up, my fingers still on his hard and dense jaw. “Stellan, baby, stop, okay? Come back to me.” I press my lips to his throat because he’s so freaking tall that I can’t get to his lips. So I skim my lips over his skin as if calming a beast as I whisper, “Just come back. Come back, please. I’m here. I’m with you. I’m not with him. It doesn’t matter if he touched me. You’re the only one I want. Your touch is the only touch I crave, please. Don’t be mad. Don’t –”
He fists my hair then and yanking my head back, he kisses me. And as much as I like his kisses, I realize this is belt day.
The day he uses his belt on me.
I call them belt days but he refers to them as bad days. Days where he’s more restless than usual, where he wants to withdraw into himself. Where he’s angry and agitated. I don’t know what causes them. Sometimes he wakes up that way; sometimes things will happen at practice that may make him that way.
Either way I think I’ve come to at least recognize the signs, if not the triggers.
Although in this case, I know what triggered his bad mood.
Shepard and his shenanigans.
Again I wish there was a way for me to fix this between brothers but I can’t. All I can do is give him my wrists to bind and my throat to fuck.
Which is what I do.
I go down on my knees and go for his belt. He gets my intention and helps me. He ties my hands behind my back and I offer him my mouth. Which he takes and fucks and makes me moan. When I feel like he’s close, his length is pulsing and has gotten bigger and heavier – he pulls me up and attacks my mouth.
He kisses me as I am.
All sloppy and pretty for him.
Then, ripping his mouth away, “You’re my fucking baby, you know that. You’re my fucking sweetheart, my treasure. You’re every beat of my racing heart.”
Before I can respond, he comes down on the ground.
He flips my dress up, gets his head between my thighs so he can get at my pussy. He eats the fuck out of my pussy as I whine and moan and shatter on his tongue. And while I’m still pulsating from my first orgasm, he emerges, his mouth all plump and red, wet from my juices, and spins me around. He yanks my hips out and kicks my feet apart. And before I know it, he’s thrusting into my still fluttering pussy, making me cry out his name.
He fucks me against the wall, filling me, pounding me, making me lose my mind. He’s leaving bruises on my skin, my hips where he’s got ahold of me. And I’m probably drawing blood from his skin where I’m scratching the side of his neck, his face even.
He yanks my dress down and gets my tits out. He pulls on my nipples, making them all sore and swollen. And in response, I draw blood on his skin and strangle his dick from how tight I’m clenching my pussy.
And I’m so dazed by all of this that I don’t realize we’re not alone anymore.
That there’s someone here.
The only thing that alerts me of their presence is the fact that he speaks.
Growls really.
“Look away.”
I gasp, my eyes blinking open; I never knew I’d closed them. Panting and horrified, I turn my head to the side, which had come down to rest on his chest, to look at the intruders. This was the worst idea, wasn’t it? We weren’t supposed to do this here. We weren’t supposed to look at each other lest someone finds out our secret let alone do what we’re doing.
But thankfully, it’s the two guys that I don’t recognize.
My relief is still short-lived because of what they inadvertently stumbled upon.
And it’s not their fault either really.
It’s not as if we’re hiding or anything. We’re doing this right by the exit doors of the bar and we’re not even on the other side of the big dumpsters that line the wall, no. So we’re in their direct line of sight.
They can see us.
They can see what’s happening.
And so Stellan should stop, shouldn’t he?
I’m not going to lie, I kinda hate it. We have only so much time together and now we have to break apart because of these morons.
But he doesn’t.
Oh my God, he doesn’t stop.
Instead he growls, while still moving inside of me at the same pace, “Look the fuck away if you want to live.”
They don’t listen.
So then I have to force myself to think about what we actually look like.
Although I have very little idea of it.
I don’t even know if my dress is all the way up, exposing my lower half, my ass and my pussy to the world. I don’t even know if his jeans are all the way down or just open enough to get his dick inside of me.
All I know is that he’s hugging me to his body like he always does, his heat and his fingers overwhelming in the best way.
“Listen, you fuckfaces,” he growls again, his fingers on my hips tightening. “I’m about to come, yeah? And I need to switch holes to do that. I can’t come in my girl’s hot as fuck pussy because she’s not on the pill and I can’t breed her. Even though,” he thrusts really hard, making me moan and close my eyes again, “I’d like nothing more. I’d like nothing more than to put a baby in her belly so fuckfaces like you, including his fiancé, know exactly who she belongs to. Me, her daddy.”
I moan crazy loud at that and rake my fingers down his jaw.
“And from the sound of it, my girl would like that too. My girl, here,” he smacks my ass under my dress, making me jerk and whine, “would love a baby in her belly. She’d love for me to breed her. She’d do anything to steal the cum out of me. She’d fucking poke holes in a condom if she could.” He smacks me again and this time when I whine, I also nod. Because it’s true. In my recklessness, I’d do anything to keep him tied to me.
“But I’m her daddy so I need to be responsible. I can’t be fucking reckless like she is,” he smacks my ass again to emphasize his point, “I can’t let her run around with a big load of my cum in her fertile cunt. She’s getting married soon and I can’t ruin her life like that, by tying her to me. And that alone is pissing me the fuck off, that I can’t have what I want, her swollen belly and milky tits. That I have to control myself and pull out of her sweetheart snatch so I don’t accidentally get her pregnant. So to make myself feel better and to keep her happy, I come in her asshole. Which I’m going to do in about two point five seconds. And if, in the process, you get a flash of her tight asshole or God forbid her sweet pussy hole that I’m fucking right now, that’ll be the last thing you see. You already got an eyeful of her tits before I covered them up so if you want to save your life,” he punctuates that with a harsh pound, “look the fuck away from my girl and let me fuck her in peace.”
Of course.
Of course they can’t see anything.
As in, they can see he’s fucking me but they can’t see anything on my body. Because he’s protecting me. I bet he pushed my dress down which is now fluttering around mid-thighs and he wrapped his arm over my swollen, jiggling tits, hiding them from their eyes.
Good.
Even though I don’t care that they’re looking, I still don’t want them to actually get a look at what only belongs to him. And just because they’re still frozen, I moan, “Please, please go away. Or my daddy won’t come inside of me. And I want him to come inside of me. I want my daddy’s cum. I want my daddy. Please.”
Which is very ironic because that’s the moment I come.
I clench around his hard pounding length and writhe against him. And through my own moans and whines, I hear the shuffling of feet and muttered, did you hear that? Was he really her daddy…
But everything once again fades out because he chooses that very moment to pull out of me and push into my asshole – just the tip of his dick – and give me his cum.
And again, I wonder what if I tell him he doesn’t have to love me back?
What if when I tell him my secret after the championship game, I also tell him that I’ll take him however he comes. I don’t even want to know his secret if he doesn’t want to tell me.
All I want is him.