Page 112 of Pretty Lies

It left her wild.

“Hmm?” he asked. “Yeah, this?”

She nodded once. “Yeah, Cory.”

His fingers sunk into her cunt; her responding moan had his dick aching in seconds beneath his jeans. Fuck. Her legs widened more, and her tongue flicked out to strike against his lips when he leaned in close enough. Every twist of his fingers along her inner walls had him so fucking happy he was going to spend the next hour plus getting his dick massaged by those. When he treated her right, her body gave him everything he wanted and more in return.

“Be louder next time—if the fuckers next door move out, I’ll be able to buy the whole damn floor.”

Della grinned. “Make me.”

He would.

He did.

In the bathtub after it filled, while her body was hot and flush from the water and covered in bubbles. He put her on top and made her ride him until he exploded because there was nothing quite like the sight of her ass bouncing in the water against his cock to make him lose all sense of life, really. And then he held her back against his chest with an arm locked around her so that he could grab her throat while he teased her clit until she was screaming his name loud enough for his neighbors down the hall to hear.

Every time she came, he wanted her to do it again. Right then. Later. In the fucking morning. As long as she was on his dick, or sitting on his face while she did it, then he was a happy fucking boy.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

Didn’t want to.

There was something viscerally attractive to him about the way Della looked when he fucked her. Something about how she looked with his hands on her, and his marks left behind. How she moaned and whined and asked him for more.

All of it was a drug.

He didn’t mind saying he was addicted, but he didn’t need any kind of help for it. She was his greatest temptation and his biggest prize. Each time he was seduced in between her thighs, he always found something wonderful.

Why on earth would he stop?