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I already had bruises from his hands when he fucked me the first time.
Now I would have bruises from the counter.
Did I care?
That was a big hell no.
I didn’t care in the least.
In fact, looking at the bruises from his fingers digging into my skin made me remember how those bruises got there.
And from there, I got to fantasize about how good he felt inside of me.
It was a vicious cycle that I anticipated every time I lifted my shirt up.
“You’re daydreaming instead of focusing on coming,” Slate growled.
I bit my lip and turned my head to look at him over my shoulder.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I was also thinking about you. About how this counter is going to leave bruises, and how I’m going to look at them tomorrow and remember how good you feel inside of me. How deep you are. How thick and full and…”
He cursed and began to pull out, but I stopped him from going too far by tightening my legs.
“No,” I keened. “I’m so close.”
He pushed back inside, but with much less force.
“I don’t want to leave bruises all over your body,” he growled, sounding torn between wanting them there, liking how they got there, and hating them and how he’d hurt me.
But they didn’t hurt.
Not right now.
“Fuck me, Slate,” I ordered. “We don’t have much longer in this bathroom before people start to notice.”
He cursed again, knowing that I was right.
“Hold on,” he ordered.
Then he was once again taking me viciously, hard and fast, making sure that he reached so deep inside of me that his cock head hit my cervix with each hard thrust.
I moaned into my arm, loving the way we sounded as we connected.
I was so focused on not coming, on wanting this to go on forever, that I hadn’t expected his hand to latch onto my ass and squeeze.
I squeaked and jolted upward, gasping in air.
And then my orgasm hit me like a two-ton Mack truck.
One second, I was pushing it away, and the next I was struggling to breathe through the tidal wave of feeling that coursed through me.
I held my breath and closed my eyes, hoping that my cries of ecstasy would be held in check.
And then I felt his cum hit my back, the wet splashes traveling all the way up to my shoulder blades where he’d shoved my shirt up during our sex.
“Fuuuuck,” he growled, returning his cock back into my pussy for a few strokes before going still.
I dropped my legs from around his hips, feeling them well and truly protest.
I hadn’t done this much walking…ever.
I’d literally walked an average of eight miles a day for the last five days.
Today was our last day at Disney World, and I was seriously sad to be leaving.
Even worse, I was wishing that I really could sleep in the hammock in his yard, because the idea of having to go to my dad’s place really sucked bad.
I wanted to stay near him. Wanted to continue sleeping in the same bed.
Waking up next to him and showering with him. Eating next to him.
Hell, I was so in love with this man that it wasn’t even funny.
Then there was the fact that I didn’t even care that my house had burned to the ground.
Not that, technically, it was my house. Dre and I had rented it. But still, I felt bad for the owner.
A wet towel wiped its way down my back, and I shivered at the coolness.
Once he was done wiping his release from my back, he helped set me down on my feet, then bent down to lift my semi-wet clothes back into place on my body.
“Not sure how the hell I keep losing control,” he murmured, turning me around so he could see my hips. See the redness and promise of new bruises to come. “But I’m sorry.”
Then he placed a kiss on each hip, so softly that my breath hitched.
I touched his head, digging my fingers into his hair.
“If I didn’t like them, I would’ve said something,” I teased.
He looked up at me, and for a second, I saw him on his knee, thinking that more than anything in the world, I wished he was asking me to marry him instead of apologizing about my bruises.
“We need to go,” I murmured, trying to hide my discomfort.
He stood up, his eyes going wild for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go. But wash those hands first.”
I did as he asked once I’d resituated myself completely clothes-wise.
He grabbed his rain jacket and did the same.
“Might want to act like you hurt yourself or something,” he murmured.
I pulled out a Band-Aid and pasted it on my forehead.
He rolled his eyes.
“Have you been carrying those around in your pocket this entire time?” he asked as he used the paper towel in his hand to unlock the lock.
