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"As you wish."
One powerful, deep thrust, and I almost came right there. He slammed into my wet pussy, and all I could do was wrap my legs around him and take it like his bitch. I loved every second of it.
"Harder!" I demanded, getting excited, and the bed banged into the wall. My breasts bounced freely. His arms were on either side of me, and he kissed me. I moaned into his mouth as our tongues circled each other.
"More!" I cried when we broke apart.
"Fucking hell," he hissed, placing his hand on my shoulder and ramming himself into me more and more.
It was heaven. I had died, and he was my own personal angel, fucking me right into heaven.
The ties on my hands loosened, and I was free, free to push him onto his back. Placing my hands
on his sculpted chest, I threw my head back and rode him.
"Yes… oh… I… Theo!" I cried out as I came.
He didn't stop. He thrust deep into me repeatedly before he, too, came.
"God, you’re beautiful," he moaned, holding my waist.
Smiling, I fell on top of him.
"You’re not bad yourself," I said, taking the blindfold off as I tried to catch my breath. My skin was on fire, my hair sticking to our sweaty bodies.
He flipped me over so he was on top of me. “Are you hungry?”
“For what, exactly?”
He smiled wickedly, and it was contagious, causing me to smile in return. We both knew the answer.
Yes, no matter what for, we were hungry.
CHAPTER FOUR
Blue or Red
Felicity
1:21 a.m.
Thou shalt not judge thyself harshly.
Thou shalt not judge thyself harshly.
Thou shalt not judge thyself harshly.
I kept telling myself that as I stood under his hot shower, trying to wash away every sinful thing we had done in the last four hours. I didn’t know him! It was supposed to be one screw, then while he was sleeping, I’d planned to disappear into the night and never cross paths with him again.
We fucked.
We ate and talked about nothing important or deep, like who our favorite teams were, which didn’t really matter since neither of us liked sports all that much. At least not football or basketball. Sex though, we had that in common. I could still feel his hands on my thighs.
Stop, Felicity, stop!
Why though? Why couldn’t two people who liked sex just have sex? Why did I feel so dirty and guilty?
Societal guilt. Mark’s voice popped up in my head, and I remembered what he had told me when I first realized his nights were a lot more NC-17 than R-rated. When he said he was going on dates, I’d thought he meant dinner, hanging out, getting to know one another. But instead he was going over when she or he wanted him, they’d screw each other’s brains out, and then he’d leave.
