“Oh?” He pulls out. “Whatdoyou mean?”
“Raffi.” My snarl echoes around the walls of the garage.
“Say it.” He rams his dick back inside me.
“I want you to fill me with your cum. Happy?”
“Why?” This man is on track to die if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get to the good bit.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want me to fill you?” He kicks my legs apart enough to get just a little deeper with his dick.
My back arches more, hips rolling to meet him, but he holds me steady, pinned against the hood of the car. “I like your cum.”
“Because…”
The desperation, the heat building between my legs, the pressure in my nipples as they press against the car are all too much. “Because I’m a dirty cum slut.”
The rumbling hum of approval from him warms my extremities, but he’s not done tormenting me. He plucks me off the hood, holding me against him by my tits, dick firmly buried inside me, face in the crook of my neck.
“You forgot the most important word, Firecracker. You’re not justadirty cum slut, you’remydirty cum slut. And I fucking love filling you with my cum.” He drops me back onto the car and drills into me from behind.
By the time we collapse into bed, we’ve fucked on the car, the washing machine, the stairs, and in the shower. But we’restill not done. The ache in my muscles doesn’t stop me from wanting him inside me all the damn time. But he’s insisted on a time out.
He’s eating crackers and cheese sitting upright next to me in bed. “You’re too quiet. Want some?” He offers me his plate, and I steal an apple slice.
“I have something to tell you,” I say.
His eyebrows jump. “Me too.”
“You first.”
He taps my nose with a piece of apple. “Nope. You started, you go first.”
My hands are clammy again, like I did another pump class. “I start the business program in the fall.”
He almost drops his plate as he whoops and cheers. He sets the plate on the bedside table, drags me out of bed and spins me in circles as he gushes about how proud of me he is.
“What if I hate it?”
“What if you don’t?”
“But…what if I hate it?”
“Then you’ll know and there won’t be a ‘what if’ anymore.”
I hate when he brings the logic. “Your turn.”
“I started the paperwork to create a charitable organization to help people like me. Athletes with concussion problems.” His face starts to get red.
“You didn’t!”
“I did. It takes a while. I wanted to start the admin stuff now before we ramp up into finals.”
“What’s it going to be called?”
“Hard Knocks.”
