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I gather some of the cum up off the inside of her thigh and shove it back inside her. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stifles a moan from the friction. All I can do is smile while I fuck the cum back into her pussy with two fingers, loving the slippery, slurping sounds her body makes as I force my essence back inside her.
“Keep it inside you. That’s where it belongs, because someday when I’m ready to share you I’ll stuff you to the brim with my cum, making certain you can’t escape pregnancy.”
“That sounds very psychotic,” she groans.
“Baby, I’m absolutly fucking crazy for you.” I whisper against her lips, and press those two fingers against her G-spot, while rubbing circles against her clit with my thumb. It takes literal seconds for her eyes to roll to the back of her head and her body to explode.
Once I’ve made her come a fourth time I press a soft kiss to her mound and crawl up onto the bed dragging her with me, my bruised ribs protesting the entire way.
Her brow furrows as she watches me. "You're staying?"
"For a little bit, yes. Until you’re asleep."
She snuggles against me and when my own eyes start to grow heavy and I hear her soft snoring I ease out of the bed, head to the bathroom for a wet cloth, and return to her. She barely rouses when I clean her gently. I marvel at the fingerprint bruises on her hips, and the teeth marks I’ve left on her throat. Mine.
I clean myself, and then redress. Everything in me says to stay with her, but I know I can't. Things aren't settled with Sebastian and my knuckles can't handle another fight tonight.
My lip burns and I brush my finger over the split skin. Then grab another cloth to clean my face up before I have to head out. No doubt I'm going to scare the ride app folks with the bruises already dotting my face.
I crouch next to the bed and brush the golden strands out of her face. "Sleep well, Flower."
Then I slip out through the window and head back to The Mill, leaving what I fear is my heart behind in that bed.
24
BEL
It’s been a week since I saw him in person even though he's been texting me every day. A week since he unmade me with his body and left me to sleep it off. I'd woken the next morning feeling sore and sated in a way I hadn't been in a long time.
Even now, so many days later, I get hot all over again just thinking about him and what he does to me. As if he can tell I'm thinking about him, my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I snatch it up and check the text.
Psycho: I’m bored. Wish I was with you.
Me: Sorry, but I doubt it. I’m in dress-picking hell.
He shoots a text back just as fast.
Psycho: Send me a picture, and I’ll help you choose. Though I’d prefer if the dress was on the floor instead.
I stare down at my bed and then take a seat on the edge while I type out my response.
Me: Of course you would. I’ll send a picture when I figure out which one I want to wear.
His reply is almost instant.
Psycho: You better, or else. ;)
In my mind, I can see the crease in his brow and the sexy mix of arrogance and mirth in his grin. I'm tempted to send another text, but instead, I slide the phone back onto my nightstand. I assume he’ll be at the meeting tonight, so I’m excited to see him.
I’d love to sit here and flirt with him all day, but he still hasn't responded to my all-or-nothing request. I let him have me in every way he wanted, but I'm still not sure I can let him all the way in yet. The fear of having my heart broken all over again is paralyzing.
I shift to look at the line of dresses across the end of my bed. All sent by Sebastian for the party tonight. Well, one of them will be, if he has his way. I stare at the ruffles and trains of materials I'm not so sure of. Not a single one of them is my style, and they all scream...frilly in my opinion. Which makes no sense because he's usually meticulous with his style, and what he picked out for me after I moved in was all perfect too.
These dresses scream...innocence. Like he's trying to label me as something I'm not. And as I stare at the shimmering fabrics I'm not entirely sure I appreciate it. Him trying to label me, or dress me like some Mafia Barbie.
I tug my robe tighter around my waist and furtively ignore my phone still not announcing a text from Drew. Dammit. I can spend five minutes not thinking about him.
I sigh and stand, skirting the end of the bed to stare at the dresses from another angle. Is this normal for these kinds of meetings?
