Epilogue I
OPHELIA
The roar of the stadium had faded to a low, distant hum, swallowed by thick concrete and steel. The team was still out there celebrating, but the locker room door could swing open any second.
Matty had me bent over the bench, my tiger costume shoved down to my knees, orange fur bunched and clinging, soaked through with sweat and us.
He knelt behind me, tongue buried deep in my core, lapping at me greedily like he’d been starving for days.
His lips sealed over my clit and sucked hard, then let go with a slick pop before plunging back inside.
He flicked his tongue in tight, relentless circles, tasting every inch.
I moaned loudly as my palms smacked the wood, nails clawing as my hips bucked helplessly against his face.
“Matty,” I gasped.
He growled into my pussy, the vibration ripping straight through my core.
His tongue lashed over my clit, slow circles that built the ache, then dipped lower, thrusting inside me, his breath hot and ragged against my slick skin.
His hands slid up, and he spread my cheeks wider, exposing me completely.
One thumb brushed my tight hole, pressing just enough to make me whimper and my legs shake.
His free hand snaked around, two fingers plunging inside me alongside his tongue, curling hard against that spot that made my vision blur.
“This,” he rasped, his voice muffled against my folds, “was in one of your journals. Volume Ten. ‘Locker room. After the championship. He eats me on the bench until I scream.’”
I whimpered, my thighs trembling as slick dripped down his wrist.
He sucked my clit hard, fingers pumping faster.
I detonated.
Screaming his name, I clenched around his fingers, sobbing as I pushed against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.
A second later he was on his feet.
His cock, thick and dripping, slapped heavy against my ass. He gripped my hips, lined up, and slammed into me in one brutal thrust, filling me to the hilt.
I cried out, back arching, hands scrabbling for purchase on the bench. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He fucked me hard, hips snapping, balls slapping my clit with every thrust, the bench creaking under us. His hand fisted my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to arch deeper.
“Mine,” he demanded. “This pussy. This body. This life. All fucking mine.”
He pounded into me, relentless, one hand sliding around to rub my clit in tight, filthy circles. I came again, harder, my pussy milking him, tears streaming down my cheeks as my whole body convulsed.
Matty followed, driving deep until he finished and the excess was dripping down my thighs and then onto the bench.
We collapsed forward, my cheek pressing against the cool wood, his weight heavy and perfect on my back.
He kissed the back of my neck. “Fantasy number forty-three, check.”
I laughed, breathless and wrecked. “There are still four hundred and twelve to go.”
He grinned against my skin. “Good. We’ve got forever.”
Then he nipped my ear, his voice dropping to a dark whisper. “Want to hear more obsessed things I want to do to you?”
I shivered, still impaled on him. “Yes,” I said instantly, because Matty telling me every obsessed, insane thing he could come up with was my favorite game.
He pressed deeper, rutting in and out slowly as he talked. “I’m going to marry you, Ophelia. Even if you say no. I’ll drag you to the altar, put my ring on your finger, and fuck you in the vestry while the priest waits outside.”
I grinned, clenching around him.
He kept going. “I’ll breed you in every room of our house. Make you wear my jersey to every game, pregnant and glowing, so the whole world knows who you belong to.”
I moaned, pushing back against him.
“It’s going to happen, Ophelia. All of it,” he murmured as his fingers brushed against the Mrs. Adler on my hip, making me shiver in ecstasy.
“Now there are only four hundred and eleven to go,” I whispered, blissed-out and on the verge of falling asleep on the bench…despite our precarious position.
He laughed, happily, and thrust again.
“Challenge accepted.”