Page 61 of The Stalking King

“Fuck me,” she whimpers. “Just fuck me, please.”

I squeeze onto her hips and pull out, then drive back into her. The reverberation through her curvy body almost breaks me. Come gathering in my ball, threatening to break loose.

I swallow, focusing. There’s no damn way I’m exploding before she creams all over my dick.

She pushes back against me, using the stairs as leverage. I slide back in, deep and hard. The flesh-on-flesh clapping only adds to the heat. We move together rhythmically, sweat sliding down my body, sticking my shirt to me, my belt buckle rattling around my knees.

I stare in awe down at her ass when she turns her face away. She’s too caught up in the moment to keep in that twisted position.

My gaze moves up, to the way she’s owning this moment. Bouncing back against me just as much as I’m thrusting into her.

I move fast. Unhinged. The heat is too much. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than inside her, buried to the hilt, her hot pussy squeezing and flexing around my rock-hard cock.

She collapses forward with a cry of pleasure and exhaustion. I wrap my arm around her, holding her up and pulling her against me. Her pussy squeezes onto my cock over and over as the orgasm surges through her, juices sliding around my dick, a dollop of white creaming out of her tight, eager hole.

I roar when I see that, emptying in rhythmic waves. I come inside of her, deep, and long. We’re caught in the haze for what feels like hours.

Then she turns, sitting on the steps, her legs open, my release leaking out of her. There’s something so savagely hot about that, I can feel myself growing hard again.

I reach over and smear my come all over her folds, feeling hypnotized.

She takes my wrist with both her hands, gently guiding it away, but she’s shivering like it takes a big effort.

She’s got a dizzy smile on her face as she fastens her bathrobe. She raises her eyebrow, nodding at me. I pull up my pants and buckle my belt.

“What now?” she asks.

I chuckle. “I thought this was the part where you kick my ass out.”

“I got carried away,” she murmurs. “With the texting and the…” She hesitates.

“The thinking?” I ask. “The obsessing? The needing?”

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell I’ve struck the truth.

“So?” I say. “Are you getting ready to kick?”

Another smile. It feels like a victory. But then, from upstairs, a metal song starts to play loudly. She turns and bolts up the stairs.

“Lia?” I say, following her. What's got her so rattled? Whatever it is, I immediately want to help her. “What’s wrong?”

She ignores me, rushing into the bedroom and slamming the door. I wait outside, my hands in my pockets, as she talks anxiously on the phone. I walk further down the hallway. I don’t want to eavesdrop on her.

After a few minutes, she walks out with an angry, sad look on her face. It’s a conflicted expression that sums her up: this beautiful, messy, perfect person.

“What is it?” I ask.

“My mother,” she murmurs. “I haven’t been to her place in a few days. She’s not doing too good.”

“Why haven’t you been?” I ask, then quickly add, “You have every right not to go. You understand that, right?”

“She’s my mom.”

“Yes, she is,” I say. “And you do a good job at being there for her. But sometimes, you need someone to be there for you too.”

She lifts her hand as if to gesture at the stairs. I think she’s trying to work up the courage to say, Okay, we’ve had our fun, you can go. But she can’t bring herself to do it.

I step forward and gently bring her into my arms. She fights it for a moment, but ultimately collapses against me as if this is just what she needs. She wraps her arms around me and clings to my side.