Page 68 of Drowning
"I know." I grin, my body trembling and my legs tensing painfully as hot cum jets into her underwear.
I grunt and groan through gritted teeth, my jaw clenching hard from the raging waves of pleasure coursing through me. She watches intently as I pump my hand frantically up and down my dick, squeezing the tip with intense pressure until every drop of my cum is emptied into her thong.
"Fuck, that felt good." My cock still throbs, not having nearly enough of what it desperately wants.
"That wasn't fair," she pouts, clearly needing to come.
As the tension builds between us, I drop the cute act and bunch her soaked panties in my hand, standing at the edge of the bed with my cock in the other.
"Enough," I growl, shoving them into her mouth as a gag to silence her, wanting to watch as she sucks my cum out of the lace.
She looks at me, shocked, not knowing how to react, and all it does is turn me on even more. Crawling over her and pushing her flat on her back, I speak softly, knowing what she wants to hear. "It's my turn to take care of you, Brat."
With that, I position myself between her legs and enter her with a firm thrust, feeling the flood of her wetness coating me. She gasps, her underwear muffling the sweet sound, arching into my touch as her hands claw desperately at the sheets beneath her.
"Be a good girl for me and suck my cum off your thong." I raise my brow and fuck her roughly, shaking the bed with my wild movements.
The feeling of being inside her, the warm, velvety grip of her pussy, is almost too much to handle. I give into the fevered pace building inside me and ravage her with everything I have, claiming her with every rough thrust as my hand finds its place around her throat.
She meets my rhythm, matching my fervor with her own, her moans catching in her throat as she reaches the edge of release. Iadmire every sound, look, and feeling I coax from her, falling in love with her a little more with each thrust.
With a feral cry, she unravels, her body convulsing beneath me as I ride out her orgasm, my own release teetering on the edge. Her cunt squeezes my cock as she soaks it, bucking her hips into mine while trying to chase the feeling of me ripping through her tight, clenching walls.
As she comes, writhing and shaking from her high, I let go again, finding my own release deep inside her, filling her with everything I have left to give.
With every touch, kiss, and twist of our bodies, we let go of the past and embrace the fierce desire drawing us together. In each other's arms, we find refuge from the turbulent storm building outside, as we lose ourselves in each other.
Collapsing on top of her, I pull her underwear out of her mouth. Desperately, I catch my breath as I roll to the side, pulling her to my chest and wrapping her in my arms. And under the relentless symphony of thunder and lightning, our passion ignites, bringing us closer in ways that neither of us have ever experienced before.
And I fucking love it.
thirty-eight
Admitting It
E m e r s o n
Clutching my phone in my hand and occasionally peeking at the time, I work diligently, trying to control my breathing, knowing that what I'm about to do is going to be absolutely terrifying.
But I can't back down now—I fucking won't—not when I've already prepared myself for it. Not when I've finally admitted—regardless of how fucking hard it was—that I needed help, and most importantly, that I fucking wanted it, too.
Admitting that you're powerless is a hard step, of course. But the hardest step of them all—to me—is to openly admit that you're willing and ready to ask for and accept help.
Strolling along the deserted beach, feeling the soft sand caressing my painted toes, a gentle breeze envelops me in a comforting embrace. Yet, it fails to soothe the anxiety consuming me. The only time my mind is blank and I'm not dwelling on my trauma is literally when I'm being fucking railed six ways from Sunday.
I've had more sex this week alone than I have in the last fucking year, but it's the only thing that silences the harsh reminders of what happened. And it's fucked. I know.
The scars on the inside may not have healed, but the bruises on the outside of my body have, and I'm slowly starting to feel like myself again.
Every so often as I walk, I glance toward the house, catching a glimpse of the guys in the backyard setting up for the BBQ we're having to celebrate the end of summer. Remembering that I'm in a bikini for the first time in weeks, I get nervous when I catch them looking at me, but I force it down, trying to push through the awkwardness.
This isn't me. This was never me. And fuck, I refuse to allow myself to become this timid person all because the devil took my power and confidence away. I've come too far to let that happen.
As I continue to walk along the shore with a light bounce in my step, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand brings a sense of serenity to my troubled soul. I take a deep breath and blow it out, trying to focus only on the good. Like how close Seven and I have become, or Ace and I, even with Kane and Stone. And even though I've pushed them away lately, and am still kind of keeping them at arms length, each man has helped me grow and heal in their own way.
The vibration of my phone kind of pulls me out of my head, only making me a bit more nervous than I originally was. Glancing at the screen, a lump forms in my throat when I see the name blinking, taunting me almost.
You can do it. I tell myself, slowly swiping up the green phone icon to answer the call.