24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Mercer carried me inside the house, the fading aroma of Nonna’s cooking welcoming us home. She was already in bed, the house in darkness. He flicked a light switch, and the room brightened up to show me Damiano was gone, along with all the blood.
I didn’t ask or care how.
Mercer walked us toward the kitchen, the dark cabinets appearing black until he flicked another switch. He held me tightly. One hand held both my legs and the other kept me close. I could feel the rage vibrating from him.
He moved around the work surface, not putting me down as he poured two drinks. The apple juice he poured me would be much easier on my throat than the scotch that burned his.
He was quiet...of course he was, but more so than usual. He made no sound as he breathed. His empty glass didn’t clink as he placed it on the shiny surface of the breakfast bar. He sat on a bar stool, rocking me. My heart pounded against his, both beating to the same hasty rhythm.
I stared at the full glass waiting on the table for me and licked my dry lips.
I reached for it, taking a sip.
He searched the room for his keyboard, but it wasn’t here. Remembering where he left it on his exit, he bobbed his head to his glass, giving a silent indicator that he wanted me to pick it up. He gripped the neck of the whisky bottle, strangling it, and moved us into the living room.
An over-stuffed sofa cushion took our combined weight. A coaster welcomed his empty glass as I placed it on a nearby table. He didn’t bother with the glass, drinking straight from the bottle.
Glassy eyes stared down at me.
And I stared back, seeing him through my blurred vision, his image corrupted by tears of fear and pain.
I wiped my eyes, wondering if he wouldn’t look so unhinged when the sadness shifted away.
But he still looked manic, with his wet hair, icy stare, and tense muscles. Muscles that were still wrapped around me.
I pushed away—my aim to sit at his side and not straddle his lap evaporated under his strict touch. I wasn’t allowed.
He didn’t want that.
He wanted this. Me. Close.
“Tell me what happened.” The demand transferred from the keyboard in his hand to the speakers in the room, and I rushed to his pockets, searching for the Post-it notes.
They were there, like I hoped, accompanied by a pen, not a crayon, but they were wet and ruined.
He typed away, and the voice in the room boomed from dark corners.
“You prefer the notes?”
A dark eyebrow raised, questioning me.
I didn’t want to offend him, in case the robotic twang was modeled from his own lilt.
“The voice reminds me of the cell.” I remained respectful.
“I can change the tone,” the voice I loathed told me. “From the main drive.”
I nodded.
“Now...back to my question.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I felt meek and lowly. Weak for getting upset. But I was the opposite. I was strong for surviving.
“I know what he did.”
“Then why are you asking?” I was louder than intended.
A creak upstairs grabbed my attention, and I instantly hushed, not wanting to wake Trix or Ethan, who may have been staying over.
“I want details.”
“Why? That’s sick.”
“It’ll determine how painful his death will be.”
I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t form any words at all.
“Tell me,” he pushed. “Fucking. Tell. Me.”
Cold tears ran from me. “He would rape me,” I stuttered, and something like understanding brushed over me with Mercer’s fingers.
“You said you were a virgin. I was sure you were.”
In a low voice laced with shame, I told him, “He didn’t use that hole.” My eyes finally moved back to his, and I didn’t like what I saw. It scared me because it was so hateful and full of desire, the desire...to kill.
I tried to shift away, my hands pushing his soggy chest. He stopped me from moving, one hand wrapping around both of my wrists tightly.
“Since you were little?”
I shook my head. “Since the transplant. Practically as soon as I got home, I was abused. I fought and fell from the bed, but he didn’t care. He forced himself on me. I remember panicking, thinking I could catch an infection as my bandages frayed against the floor.” I tensed, penetrative phantoms haunting me. “My father wasn’t there anymore to protect me, and my uncle always had a dark side.”
“The man at the house isn’t your father?” Mercer was surprised, but of course, the voice didn’t indicate that.
I shook my head, finally ready to tell him more about my personal life. “My father was killed when I had the transplant. My uncle said it was something to do with a late payment with some dodgy people.”
“The traffickers?”
The heart in my chest sank, guilt pulling it down. “He died because of me. That’s why I can’t talk about him.” Tears welled in my eyes, desperate to get out and escape the pain inside me. “He tried to save me, and I never got to see him again.” My hand brushed my chest, coaxing a steady beat. “It’s all my fault.”
“You’re the only innocent party in this. You and Chandelle.”
Chandelle...it always came back to her. It always would.
The light from the foyer highlighted her shrine. She had decorated this place. I knew that much. I knew it because all the colors in the house matched those she wore in the videos I saw of her. And not a fucking thing had been changed.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You asked me to.”
I nodded. “I told you, you could kill me instead.”
A smile hiked up the right side of his mouth, making him look more dangerous and beautiful at the same time.
“Why would I want to do that?”
I didn’t answer, sitting in silence for a minute that felt more like an hour.
“I’m never gonna be her. Her heart keeps me alive, but it’s not hers anymore.”
“I know.”
“And I know I’m not what you want.”
“Am I what you want?” His eyebrow raised again, and his gaze trapped my soul, asking the question before the voice caught up.
My lack of reply said enough. His tender touch manipulated me into talking.
“You shouldn’t be. You kidnapped me. You tricked me. You led me in under a false pretense, fed me a lie, and I liked the taste. Of you. But when I kiss you, you long for someone else. Wishing for the taste of another.
“I hate that. I hate that you made me love you before I even knew you. And I know how stupid that sounds.” Especially when what I did know were all horrible things. But spending time with only one person, day in, day out, made it feel like you’ve been with them so much longer.
“You’re in love with another woman. And for everything I feel for you, you can’t give me anything back.”
“I gave you a beautiful room, one that you spied on me from when I was out with Trouble. I gave you paint supplies.”
He listed the trivial stuff but deepened the conversation just as I was about to use his chest to push away from him again.
“I gave you attention that I never planned to...but yes, I did trick you. There’s no justifying that.” His dangerous smile exposed fangs, ready to sink into me and rip out all my truths. “And I will always love Chandelle.”
My heart exploded in my chest. I shouldn’t care about who he loved. But I did, and it hurt that he admitted it was her and not me after all I just said. After all we had done today.
I swallowed down my pain, but hearing her name made me shiver, and the omission he would never stop loving her replayed in that robotic voice over and over inside my head. I felt sick hearing it.
Mercer’s touch softened, whispering promises of gentleness that stalked down my spine as he stripped the dress, heavy with rainwater, from my body and tossed it into a heap on the floor.
I tried to look away as he did the same with his shirt, popping enough buttons to drag it sexily over his head.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. And I couldn’t stop them from shedding tears, even as they locked on him, tracing all the details of his pretty tattoos.
His eyes glanced over my body, his gaze caressing each breast. He didn’t look at me with longing. This was something else…something hard and cold, and it made me shiver.
His fingers traced the scarred heart, and I knew I was never really meant to get that injury.
I shivered again, knowing he didn’t want me harmed, and that knife appearing back in the cell was not his doing but Damiano’s.
A remote at his side lit the fire opposite us. Orange heat filled the wall, condensation rising to the poorly placed mirror above.
“Thank you.” I appreciated the additional heat, but my voice was still heavy with sadness.
I couldn’t compete with Chandelle, and it hurt.
He sat vacant, listening in on all my silent thoughts somehow. His fingers glided over the touchscreen keyboard without even looking.
“She was my best friend. Nothing can change that. Nothing will change that. I know you don’t like it.”
“I guess you could say your plan worked well. You wanted me to fall for you. To rip out my heart like they did yours.”
“I could. But we both already know that it failed, too, in other ways. I can’t honestly say that I don’t care for you, and that was never meant to be part of the plan.”
“Is it only because I have her heart?”
“It’s because you're stealing mine. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You were kicking me out!”
“I was taking you home because I thought you needed your family’s support to overcome the trauma you had been through. I had every intention of killing your father until tonight. But I walked away, without blood on my hands, for you.”
His words sank in as rainwater dried between us, encouraging my tears to do the same. His feelings for me would have kept my father alive...and...and I was stealing his heart.
I didn’t make jokes about him not having one.
My mood was too low.
But I stopped crying long enough to let my nails trace the designs on his body to an inked woman with brunette hair. She didn’t look like Chandelle. She looked like me.
“I got her as an insult,” he told me.
There was a blank expression still on Mercer’s face as he continued.
“Chandelle was a childhood friend who became more, but we should have stuck it out as friends. There was never a time when we were it for each other.”
I found that hard to believe, given how much he loved her. Thoughts of her with him stole my warmth, and he wrapped me in a blanket—one she no doubt had chosen—to warm me back up.
“She said we were end goals, and her heart belonged to me, but she had wandering eyes and was happy to give her body to anyone who commented on it.”
I breathed deeply, listening to the words he didn’t say...lots of people commented on it.
“I took her away on a make-or-break trip to Mexico. And that’s where she was taken. Me, too.” He took a moment. A breath. And then he continued typing.
“We were ambushed by five men. I wasn’t prepared. I took a bad hit to the head, and they almost left me behind. But one guy convinced the others I was worth something. I woke up in a room that I’d never seen, surrounded by other men. We were all naked. All bruised.” The heavy words felt so weird, spoken by such a monotonous voice.
“They were quiet. Well behaved. I wasn’t. I screamed, insulted, ridiculed, and as a result, one of those fuckers tried to cut out my tongue. I got a lucky punch in and killed the guy. He was my first kill.”
Mercer’s heart was racing now.
“I got out of the room, two of the other captives daring to run with me. They were the distraction I needed in order to find Chandelle. I never did find out what happened to them. But I found her in another warehouse in the area, similar to where I was kept but set-up for medical work. She was cut open, her heart already gone. Lungs and kidneys, too. It changed me. I went from medical graduate to murderer. I killed the doctor. Shot him with a gun I stole from the man who butchered me.”
“I was ready to put it to my head and pull the trigger. Then I saw an invoice with a name. Yours. And something inside told me not to do it. I waited in that room for what felt like hours…waiting for someone to come.”
“I was stitching my tongue, my shaking hands making a mess of it, when they finally did. There were too many of them for my bullets to save me. I had to run. I grabbed a few files, some that would lead me back to the monsters’ den and one that would lead me to you. I went back with help, but the whole place had been cleared.”
“I started working in art, remembering childhood stories that Nonna told me of all the dodgy people my Nonno met in that industry. It wasn’t long before one came along, and he led me to the others. I found three of the five men I was looking for quicker than I thought I would. But I didn’t find the others for months and never saw Chandelle again.”
I rubbed his chest, feeling the tension beneath my fingers caused by his pain and guilt.
“And it hurts to admit that my love was fading before her death. Deep down, I knew we wouldn’t last. But I hate that our time together was cut short by others. Our choice to fight for us was taken away.
“I hate the guilt that tells me it was my fault because I took her on that vacation. I hate the fucking world because there’s so much evil in it. And because I became part of it.”
“Because you took me.”
“With the intention to make you feel like I did when I found her, her heart missing and mine broken. I wanted you to fall for me, and I wanted to rip your heart to shreds. I wanted you to feel guilty for having it.”
“I do.”
His hands were in my hair again, finding more knots and brushing them out.
“You shouldn’t. You didn’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a woman wanting to live. Accepting something you thought was meant for you. I just needed someone to share the guilt with. It was wrong to put that blame on you. And aside from that stupid fucking trip, you’re the only thing in my life I’m sorry for.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. People do crazy things when they're in pain.” I hid my gaze from him, knowing his reaction before I even said the next part. “My father did.”
Mercer turned to stone. His hand stopped combing my hair, the other rapidly typing another message.
“There’s no excuse for what he did...” His fingers paused on the device. “But I can understand why he wanted to save you, why he’d do anything to save you. I don’t even know what would have happened if you and I had somehow met when Chandelle was alive.”
He took a swig from the bottle before dumping it at his side. “We’d be over anyway, but at least she’d still be alive. And I would feel less guilty for how badly I fucking want you.”
My eyes found his icy blue ones, surprise wiping away new tears. “I wish she was still alive, too. I wish things—so many things—were different. I wish I never needed a transplant.”
Mercer nodded, agreeing with me.
“I wish Chandelle didn’t have her life cut short, and you didn’t have the guilt. I wish you didn’t have to hate my father because he really was a good man. Na?ve but good. I don’t think he knew someone would be taken off the street for me to have their heart.”
Mercer didn’t answer.
But his gaze softened.
He still hated my father, needing to share the blame for this situation with someone, and I could live with that, as painful as it might be on birthdays and anniversaries when I would want to celebrate his life.
But, at least, Mercer didn’t kill the last man he hated. The only other man I ever cared about.
Someone else already had.
And it caused me tremendous pain to think about it.
But at least it wasn’t Mercer.
At least I would never have to hate the man I fell in love with so quickly, so undeniably, despite all of his flaws.
The robotic voice spoke again, interrupting all my thoughts and tarnishing them. “Tell me about your uncle.”
My shoulders slumped, and Mercer’s gaze turned sinister, promising he would kill another member of my family instead.
It would have broken me to pieces if he had hurt my father.
But, my uncle? I would thank him for it.
Feebee had fallen asleep in my lap around an hour ago. Tears had dried her eyes closed after she told me of how her uncle—Samuel—would touch her, of how she had cried over the blood in her underwear, having no way to assess her injuries.
My blood was still boiling, only chilled slightly by the woman on top of me, still shivering despite my efforts to keep her warm. He had hurt her like that while she was recovering from major surgery. I fucking hated him for it.
The cunt overpowered every thought. He made it onto my kill list and said, step aside, motherfuckers, as he pushed his way to the top. Thoughts of how I could murder the asshole swirled with the liquor in my system. Burning anger flowed from my veins, dissipated by his perfect niece resting on my chest.
She woke to a quiet room where the fire still crackled a sweet lullaby, trying to croon her back to sleep. She fought it, rubbing tiredness from those pretty blue eyes.
I hadn’t slept, my bloodshot eyes were proof. However, the empty bottle at my side could also be blamed for those.
The scotch tainted every exhale. I felt drunk from it, or from my feelings for her. Lust. Need. Want. And yet, drained by all my other feelings. Disgust. Hatred. Rage.
Her soft hands roamed my chest, and my beating heart assaulted her palm.
“You’re still awake.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
“I think it’s time for bed.”
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t rest until her uncle would never wake again. If she had fallen asleep at my side, not draped over me, I would have already been back at his door.
She twitched, her body fighting for the impossibility of getting closer to me.
“My stomach still hurts,” she told me, not waiting for my gaze to question her.
I swallowed down my anger for her. The alcohol in my system would soon push it back to the surface.
I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to stay with my ass glued to this sofa all night, our bodies on display for when Ethan yanked the blankets off of us in the morning. So, with heavy feet, I stumbled, taking my first steps from the sofa.
The stairs were hard work. The wooden slats almost had me face-planting more than once. The thought of pinning Feebee to the steps, with me hovering over her stripped body, made my cock grow hard.
Dirty thoughts gave me another reason to feel guilty, and they stayed with me as we made our way across the hallway.
She clutched me tightly as we neared her room and the broken banister. Her face burrowed into my neck, her warm breath on my skin, making me hot. Her nails created another scratch on my skin beneath the shadow of tattoos, making my skin tingle and my cock ache harder than ever.
My bed welcomed her, the soft mattress molding to her delicate shape.
She didn’t stay still for long, searching through the dark before a modern lamp gifted a romantic glow to the room. The search for whatever it was she was looking for came to an end. Wrapped snuggly in the blanket from downstairs, she looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Where’s my...” she trailed off, changing what she was about to say. “Where’s the beanie?”
I moved to the bedside table to collect a pad of Post-it notes, not damaged by tonight’s weather.
I glanced at Feebee while shuffling through the drawer, wondering if she noticed the photo of Chandelle I had rehoused there.
Her downcast look told me all I needed to know. I pushed the drawer closed, penning a quick note on top of the table, before stepping out of my pants and scooching onto the bed, getting closer to her. I handed the note to her, her fingers brushing mine as she accepted the little green sheet.
I gave her time to read the message...
Your hippo is downstairs, and I know what you’re wondering. He was never hers. He was mine. A gift from my parents when I was little. But you can have him, if you promise to look after him.
I jotted another message, handing her that one, too.
I said some awful things a few nights ago. I didn’t mean them.
My anger was misplaced.
I’m sorry.
Sorry that I let my guilt manipulate me into monstrous actions when it comes to you.
I leaned in on her, this doing nothing for my persistent erection, my body shadowing hers as a single tear rolled over the roundness of her cheek and onto my finger as I lifted it away.
“Please, don’t let alcohol apologize on your behalf.”
Another note was given, this one written and rushed while I leaned over her. I added to the stereotyping of doctor’s handwriting, and her squinting eyes proved she had a hard time understanding it.
A drunken heart speaks sober words.
Her stare turned soft, her lips turning up. Mine mirrored hers. A magnetic pull brought us closer, gazes falling to each other’s lips. Our moment was interrupted by her head crashing into mine as another pain in her stomach took her hostage, bowing her forward.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She spoke with pain still heavy in her voice.
My fingers delicately brushed the red patch on her forehead, my pain sensors not even reminding me of the twin mark on my head.
“Maybe you should get my hippo.”
Another smile lifted my lips, my teeth popping through my lips, ready to nibble, bite, and brand.
I hated that I had to rush another note that wouldn’t convey the playfulness my voice would have.
You know...there are other things we could do to help with your cramps.
Given all that happened in the last twenty-four hours, I knew it was a risky suggestion. But she had a choice here. She held the power. A way to push Damiano from her mind because I wouldn’t allow another man there while I was inside her.
And, if she gave into me now, opened up her body willingly, her beautiful soul, too, after all the fucked-up shit I had done, I would never let her fucking go.
Her beautiful crystal gaze landed on me, fire and heat burning beyond the cool blue shade.
“Would it be weird if I said yes? You know, after what happened earlier.”
I shook my head, keeping my gaze sympathetic.
“It’ll be messy. I heard guys don’t like it.”
My left eyebrow practically hit my hairline, my sharp stare cutting the truth from her.
“I heard it in a movie.”
I’m not your typical movie guy, another note told her. Curved lips made a promise of desire. My teeth punctured the bottom one, eager to give me something to focus on other than my throbbing cock.
“I think it might help.” Pink nails—courtesy of Nonna yesterday, bright with layers of glitter—skated over my skin.
She looked so fucking beautiful, the low hues of light creating a beautiful dewy glow on her face, highlighting such delicate features, along with two small cuts and one fucking bruise. I hated them. But only them.
And I couldn’t help swooping in for a kiss. My tongue barely touched hers, teasing, making sure she’d want more. My teeth pulled her heavy lower lip.
I placed a line of kisses, moving down to her jaw. The last kiss landed on her neck, a gentle pulsing beat kissing me back. A breathy sigh of frustration escaped her full lips as I reeled back onto my knees.
“Second thoughts?” she asked, wearing a mask of indifference to hide her disappointment.
“No fucking chance, cuore mio,” I mouthed.
Her stare was full of need and heavy with want.
She wanted me.
She needed what I could give her.
She needed my cock in her wet pussy, driving away the pain, physical and emotional.
She needed our bodies and souls to come together.
I gripped my cock through my shorts, exposing the desperation I also felt.
I needed her, too. I wanted her. Fuck, I wanted her more than I could take.
“Then end my pain.”
I fucking intended to, in every possible way.
She tossed the blanket to her side, a layer of sweat coating the body I was almost fucking drooling over.
My thumbs hooked in the sides of her lilac panties, ignoring the pad and anything on it as I threw them behind me, not giving a fuck where they landed.
Lust-filled eyes followed my shorts as they slipped down my thighs, freeing my cock. The black boxers got lost in the satin sheets of the same color.
I pushed her legs apart because she couldn’t, then situated myself between them. My hand guided my desperate cock through her pretty pink folds, teasing her with the tip.
Something slapped my forehead, reminding me of the bump—a little green note with better handwriting than mine.
I’m not on birth control.
A little heart dotted the “i” in birth.
Oops. I forgot to mention that little detail. That I didn't trust condoms to keep me safe from unwanted offspring, and I had already put a prevention in place by jabbing a contraceptive into her ass upon arrival.
I pulled the note from my face, turning it over. I stole her pen to fill the back with words.
That’s not true, and before you moan about it. I knew it was safe for you. Your medical details were on the form for your operation.
“How?” She had lots of questions. “When?”
A raised eyebrow gave only one answer. The cell.
“Really? You promise?”
I promise.
My jaw lowered, eyes back on her pussy as it began accepting me, swallowing an inch. “Trust me, cuore mio,” I mouthed.
And she did, giving no protest as I pushed deeper inside her. Fingers raked my skin, pulling me up to kiss her quickly.
Her hands were on my face, desperate for more connection. For another kiss. My tongue entered her mouth, dancing with hers. Her fingers dug into my skin, my cock stretching her and forcing a gasp through her mouth I was devouring.
“Not too fast. Start like before.”
I nodded, pulling our faces apart.
I reeled back, lifting her slender legs over my hips as I rocked into her. Pain still showed on her face, but it was dispelling, and my pace altered because of it.
I increased speed as her features loosened, her gaze taking me in.
Her perfect teeth sank into the lip I wanted clamped between mine.
My eyes moved back to her pussy, my entire length disappearing inside her, dragging moans from me.
I wanted to tell her how fucking tight she felt. How the pain caused me pleasure.
Tell her what a good fucking girl she was for taking me so perfectly. For taking every fucking inch and doing it while looking so fucking beautiful.
I fantasized about grabbing her hips, rocking them to meet my thrusts while I leaned over her, whispering how she would forever be my personal little slut because no one but me would ever touch her perfect fucking pussy.
My personal little slut requested more attention with gentle moans as my hands on her hips gave me half of my fantasy. It wasn’t enough. I wanted her fucking screaming, her voice loud enough to voice both of our excitement.
I pulled her close, my body pressing into hers as I flipped us over—always a fan of the girl on top.
Her arms pushed against my chest, her pert little tits in my view.
A look of perplexity shadowed her beauty, embarrassment at having no clue what to do pinked her cheeks, rivaling the light flush of excitement already sitting there.
Her mouth opened, forming the perfect o-shape. Images of me pushing my cock between those lips flooded my head.
Another day.
Another day, she could swallow me, inch by fucking inch.
Eager to wipe the worry from her face, my fingers took her hips, my hands taking her full weight as I lifted and rocked her in a way that would feel fucking divine for us both.
Heavy breathing called me to her chest, the heart-shaped scar finally fading to match the jagged line through it. My lips grazed an erect nipple before sucking it into my mouth. My hands and hips continued what they were doing, giving the illusion she was riding my cock while I sucked her nipples. She had the best tits. A pair she’d probably say were small, but to me...perfect.
I couldn’t see my cock sliding in and out of her pussy, but I saw her expression change. My cock grew impossibly harder while inside her, her tight pussy wetter for me.
It was clear my throbbing cock was hitting her g-spot. A whining noise echoed from those pretty lips as I pumped into her. Her body tensed in the throes of passion as I forced her down entirely onto my length.
I rolled her nipples with my tongue. Another suck gifted me the moan I wanted. Loud and uncontrolled. Her pussy tightened around me, and her cum dripped down my balls.
She collapsed onto my chest, her ears taking in the sound of my pounding heart as I continued fucking her soaking hole. She came again, nails digging into my skin. Her teeth left marks on me, too. It pulled a noise from me, a growl of some sort, something primal that had her eyes on me, full of lust, and that was good because I wasn’t fucking done.
I had already given her the two orgasms she was owed for the times I had used her body or image and brought myself to pleasure.
This next one...well, that was purely for here and now.
Guiding her in for another kiss, I rolled us over again, centering us in the middle of my giant bed.
Our roll pulled me out, but I quickly remedied that and thrust back inside her wet and ready pussy, which opened right up for me. Nothing mattered but her third orgasm and filling her with my cum. She groaned as the fullness rushed through her. And I returned her legs to the hiked-up position on my hips.
“I want you.” Her back arched, pushing her tits up into my face, showing me what else she wanted—my tongue all over her.
“I want you hard and fast. I want you to fuck me so deep, I won’t ever question your devotion.”
I nodded, a smug smile lifting the corners of my mouth, knowing I could do that. I moved faster, and pleading moans fell from her lips. Reaching down between her legs, I gently rubbed her clit while pushing into her as deep as I could.
Moans thrilled my ears, echoing in the dark room.
That’s it, cuore mio. Fucking scream for me.
“Fuck, Mercer! Don’t stop!”
I didn’t. I fucked faster, harder, chasing her orgasm as I felt mine approaching. My lips moved over her body, from her perfect tits to her stretched throat. My fingers moved there, holding her, owning her.
My breaths came fast, growls slipping from me and into her ear, reminding her, without words, that my devotion, my honor, my fucking everything, was right here in this room...on this bed, laid out between us.
I sat up, my hand still around her throat as I watched her pussy lips suck my shaft. Watched myself drive in and out of her. Watched her pleasure, pink-tinted and plentiful, splash my balls and thighs.
It drove me fucking wild, and I was done for.
She clamped around me, her pussy fully encompassing my cock as she screamed my fucking name. I pushed harder, her orgasm still going, stronger and more powerful than the others, and I came inside her with a growl.
She shuddered beneath me, her arms reaching out in welcome, testing to see if I felt the same now that it was over.
Lowering her legs, I happily collapsed on her, my hand slipping from her slender throat. My dick still pulsed, still dribbled cum into her. Her fingers, all shaky with worry, lifted my chin, bringing my mouth to hers.
Her trembling lips kissed my nose instead of my mouth, and I kissed her chin in return. I kissed her mouth once, twice, but it was still not enough. I kissed everywhere before pulling her onto me for the second time.
Feeling sated, I held her close, her strong heart beating at my ribs. A musky and metallic odor became more present in my nostrils, filling the air around us.
I was still inside her, keeping most of the mess we made—a concoction of arousal, blood, and cum—trapped.
“We made a mess.” Shyness laced her sensual voice.
My fingers on her soft skin told her I didn’t care. Slipping down to the curve of her stomach, they asked a question of their own.
“I do feel a little better. Thank you.” She smiled with gratitude, a soft inquiring stare asking another question, if here, in the silence, was I wishing she was someone else.
But I wasn’t.
She was the only one of us with Chandelle on her mind.
As of tonight, I would leave her in the past.
I was content for the first time in years.
Happy, and it had nothing to do with Chandelle...and all to do with Feebee.