Page 48 of Dark Fey Captive

The words barely left my mouth when the first high-velocity blast hit my stomach.

He grunted. His hands closed over my shoulders, and his hips jerked forward.

I kept stroking and twisting, my rhythm unhurried and unchanged as it came shooting.

And shooting.

And shooting.

How much could he possibly have in him? This was the second time in less than an hour.

Maybe I really was his first. Well, first human. It would make sense, honestly. He was a bit scary to look at. I looked up at him, seeing his parted lips and heavy, adoring gaze, and felt a jolt of heat. He wasn’t scary anymore. He was…hot. Tempting.

I swallowed hard, more turned on by him than I would like to admit.

He groaned and leaned in to set his forehead against mine.

“What do you think? Is it still dirty?” I asked, not stopping.

“Yes,” he rasped.

Intrigued, I kept going. His breathing returned to normal, but not his cock. It didn’t deflate.

“Are you taking pills or something?” I asked.

“No,” he said, his fingers rubbing my shoulders. Silent encouragement to keep going? It wasn’t needed. I was fully invested and needed to know how many times he could come before his sledgehammer unsledged.

The soap started to dry on his chest. I rinsed him and kept going, once more lathering the part I was rubbing clean.

He came again.

No deflation.

I took a quick break to turn off the water on the stove, heated up what was in the sink, and gave him another “wash.”

Another orgasm.

It was just as intense. Just as plentiful. But it did seem to take a minute or two longer.

I rinsed and repeated seven times before I realized something was seriously wrong with him.

“If we keep going, you’re going to be sore.”

He nodded, looking unhappy.

“Are you already sore?” I asked. “You should have told me to stop.”

“I never want you to stop touching me,” he said quickly. “I don’t mind being a little sore. It is a good sore.”

Pretty sure I wouldn’t agree with him if the roles were reversed.

“Here. Let me wash you,” he said, taking the pitcher and pouring the warm water over my front. “My seed will dry and make you itchy.”

“It’s okay. I can wash myself,” I said.

He had his soapy hand on my belly before I could stop him, though. His big, warm hand felt really good as he rubbed slow circles over my skin. I was pretty sure I had a glazed-over vacant look in my eyes now, too.

Warm water washed down my front. He smoothed his hand over me, making sure all the soap was gone, then his fingers trailed lower to brush over my hair.