Page 59 of Filthy Secret

She moans again, pushing her hips backward. Chuckling, I can’t help but think about taking that tight back entrance and truly owning every single part of her. Soon. But not tonight. I’m still drunk, and her cunt is practically dripping with anticipation for my mouth. I have to lick her. It’s a fucking need at this point.

So that’s what I do. Until she comes on my tongue.

Then I fuck her—hard.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

RYAN

I roll onto my back, my eyelids flutter open, and I stare at the ceiling. I’m sore, and Grover was right when he said that I would be sorer today than the other day. I am. Head to toe. Every muscle in my body aches.

I think about sitting up, but I don’t make it. There is an arm across my chest, fingers curled around my breast, and as I try to make a move, those fingers tighten. Grover grunts as he shifts closer to me. I can feel his body against my side, his hard length pressing against my hip.

Turning my head, I look over to him as he opens his eyes. “Mornin’, legs,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” I whisper.

“My cock wants to fuck you again, but my balls are empty,” he announces.

I almost burst out laughing at his words, but I don’t. Instead, I wrap my fingers around said cock and gently hold him there. He grunts, his eyes focused on mine. I don’t stroke him. I just hold him and look into his face. I’ve never been one for morning sex. I like to feel clean and fresh with brushed teeth and a shower, but this feels so different.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

He arches a brow, no doubt surprised by my change in normal habit. He flexes his hips, his cock moving in my hand. “Ryan,” he rasps. “You have to hurt.”

I do.

But at the same time, I ache for him.

My pussy is sore but also pulses with the idea of his touch, of him moving inside of me. I’ve never felt like this before. I feel… dare I say… horny. I hate that word. But I don’t know how else to describe how I feel.

“I want you,” I say. It’s the truth, the honest-to-God fucking truth.

He pulls his hip back, causing my hand to drop his length, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s on top of me, between my thighs and inside of me. I lift my legs, wrap them around his waist, and he lets out a groan, sliding deeper inside of me.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine.

“I love the way you feel inside of me, Grover. Can you stay here forever?” I ask.

He chuckles, his mouth touching mine again before he speaks. “You got it, legs. Your cunt is my new home.”

And he makes himself comfortable.

He moves slowly, lazily, enjoying the morning and moment for what it is. A sleepy morning-after-a-party moment. I can’t call it a fuck, because this falls more into the category of making love. Wrapping my arms around him, squeezing my thighs tightly, I just accept the moment. I accept him inside of me, welcoming the pain with each thrust of his hips.

For maybe the first time ever, we come together. It’s slow and sweet, nothing like the hard freight train-type orgasms of last night, but it’s amazing in its own way. It feels like something warm and comforting. It’s Sunday morning.

Grover buries his face in my neck, moaning when he does, his cock twitching inside of me. “Fuck,” he rasps against my throat. “I don’t know how I survived without you, Ryan.”

Sliding my nails up and down his back, I hum. “Me either,” I confess.

And it’s true. I don’t know how I lived each day without him the past six years. Then, the realization hits me. I wasn’t living. I was surviving. This right here, being in his arms, feeling him move inside of me, having his smiles, this is living.

He lifts his head, and his eyes search mine. “Let’s get dressed and go home to our boy. We’ll bring donuts.”

I let out a sigh at his words. “Grover,” I whisper. “I want to fuck you again.”