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Could be because of the way he’s squeezing his hand around my throat, barely allowing me air.
Could be because of the intensity in his gaze.
Could be because it’s been such a long time that I felt this whole.
Could be all of them.
Being with Aiden is like going through a roller coaster ride in a dark tunnel. There are ups and downs. There’s black and danger. But most of all, there’s excitement and the euphoric feeling of being alive.
I’m alive.
With Aiden, I never stopped feeling alive.
He picks up his pace, ramming inside me like a mad man, like his body can’t contain his passion. Passion that bleeds into me, flaring inside me in the form of sparks and fireworks.
It’s slightly painful, and I’ll be sore for days, but I revel in that sting of pain. I revel in the way he can’t control himself when he’s with me.
“I missed you, sweetheart.” Thrust. “I missed your tight pussy.” Thrust. “I missed your tiny moans of pleasure.” Thrust. “I even missed your fucking stubbornness.”
Our breaths mingle together, rough and unpolished with raw, unhinged pleasure. Our scents mix and fill the air, killing the chlorine smell and replacing it with pheromones.
Is it weird that pheromones should only be in the brain, but they’re now floating all around us? I can inhale them off Aiden’s skin, taste them on my tongue.
He angles my thighs up, and I gasp as he hits that sensitive spot inside me. He pulls out almost completely until only the tip remains, then rams back in over and over.
And over.
The orgasm hits me with a power I haven’t felt before — sharp, deep, and violent. My back arches off the ground as I scream.
Aiden swallows the sound with his lips against mine. He kisses me through my orgasm. He worships my mouth with his tongue and my pussy with his cock.
I can feel myself clenching all around his length, almost strangling him, suffocating him.
He continues his onslaught for a few more seconds before he growls, “Mine.”
22
Elsa
Past
I strain as I drag the heavy bag behind me. I had to bring everything. The sandwich, my drawings, and all the Maltesers.
I tricked Uncle Agnus into buying me more behind Daddy’s back.
The boy with grey eyes must like Maltesers, too. He’s so generous and always shares them with me.
I stop near the basement door and throw a glance around the dark corridors. Them monsters lurk here, you know, but I’m not scared of them. I’m scared that someone — a person — follows me and finds Grey Eyes.
Yesterday, Uncle Reg almost found me. If I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs and smelled his pipe, I wouldn’t have escaped in time.
I hid in my room and didn’t see the boy with grey eyes.
I miss him.
I was counting down the hours until I could see him again, sit by his side, and listen to him talk all night.
He doesn’t say much, though. I have to always talk because he’s usually silent.
