14. Sawyer #3
Unfortunate.
I sit up on my knees and shrug my shorts over my hips before pressing my cock to Luna’s swollen lips.
“You sure about this?” I ask again, though I can’t say why. Some bizarre need for reassurance or … because I’m an asshole. Or both.
“Yes,” she whispers, less enthusiastic than before. But still certain.
Gripping her hips, I ease my needy cock inside of her, closing my eyes at the hug her pussy gives me. Predictably warm. Surprisingly welcoming. I’m not a noisy lover, but as my balls slap wet flesh, I groan.
It’s good.
It’s really fucking good.
“Tell me you want me,” I say, slowly rocking my hips into her.
She hardly hesitates. “I want you.” Her tone is flat, but she doesn’t successfully hide the heat in her voice. She likes this … physically, at least. Soon enough, she’ll love it.
“Like you mean it.” I thrust, hard, for the sake of getting her attention. She clutches to the edge of the bench, shoulder blades jutting as she braces herself—not only for more of my cock but to give me what I really want.
“I want you, Sawyer.”
Another groan, this one from deep in my chest.
Shackles, charades, and bullshit fall to the ground as my body decides the pace, hips bucking while the sound of our bodies colliding fills the room.
The splat of wet skin with every thrust.
Chilled air fleeing as heat envelopes my body—and hers, based on the warmth of the skin beneath my grip.
The smell of old dust cloaked by the growing musk of pheromones, sweat, and arousal.
I’m too lost in the moment to start a count, but it’s no more than a few minutes before Luna’s moans start, first low and restrained, her hands clutching for dignity at the end of the bench. Then deeper. Louder. Longer.
She lets go. Pulls her hands beneath her chest, grinds her forehead into the black padding. Muffles a cry as I slice my fingers down her stomach and eagerly rub her clit.
I’m so consumed by every twist and jerk of her body that I hardly notice my lips parting. An open-mouthed fucking neanderthal caught up in an ecstasy frenzy.
Every time Luna moans, my pulse jumps. Every time her hips lift to match my rhythm, my breath wheezes.
I bet she can be fun. Maybe not freaky, but fun.
“You like it, baby?” I ask, and this time, I’m not playing the role of asshole captor. I want her to say it, for me. I want her to mean it.
She doesn’t answer. For some reason, I’m surprised.
I lean low enough to kiss her back while working her clit even faster, fucking her even harder. She moans like a whore, but she still has the nerve to be stubborn.
“Come on, baby. Tell me you like it.”
There’s a click when her teeth clamp, and I picture her grinding. I can almost hear her brain swirl with all the nasty remarks she wants to say, but she’s smart enough to lock it in. For now.
“Luna.”
“I like it,” she spits out. Her hand slaps the bench before she bunches her tits together with her arms.
She’s close. I could hear it even if I couldn’t feel the way her body tightens or the way her hips lift. I rub her for another few seconds before she explodes. Her lungs empty on a long, sweet moan as she stretches out.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.
I plant one foot on the floor so I can give her everything I have. If my hands weren’t dug into her ass, they’d be trembling. She jerks while I clench, bruising her just to prove I’m not weak.
“Fuck,” I groan, hips jerking one last time.
Luna’s pussy squeezes as cum bursts from my cock, anticipating the orgasm as well as I do.
I feel the energy drain as though all of it was stored inside a million squirming cells.
By the time the last drop of cum spills, I don’t know how I could fuck in the first place.
No more adrenaline. No more tension. The hell I trekked through most of the night has come for its due.
I pant while hunching over Luna, my leg on the floor the only thing keeping me from tumbling on top of her. She’s still for minutes as she tries to catch her breath, and when we both finally do, I climb off the bench and stare at her. Wait for her to follow my lead.
She doesn’t. I’m positive she plans on sleeping here. For a moment, I consider letting her.
But it’s too cold, in more than one way.
“Come here, beautiful,” I whisper, using the last of my energy to lift her limp body, as limp as if she were asleep.
I abandon the lantern and walk blind to the bedroom, counting my steps as I go—mildly self-conscious that she’ll wonder how I can do so without bumping the banister, doorframe, or walls.
She doesn’t ask. I don’t think she’s awake.
But she must be because after laying her on the bed, she crawls beneath the covers. There’s no protest when I curl up behind her and wrap my arm around her waist.
I listen for footsteps on the stairs, voices shouting, questions hurled about a missing baby. Expecting, waiting for the hammer to fall.
But it doesn’t. All is quiet as I fall asleep.
When I wake up, the day repeats.
Again.
And again.
And again.