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“I like it when you plead,” he said and squeezed my nipple harder. I winced with desire and bit down on my lip.
“Please, fuck me…I can’t hold back any longer. I want to come. I want you inside me when I come,” I urged him and he wedged a hand between our bodies.
I could feel him guiding his cock towards my pussy. He pushed me forward, and I fell on my hands so that he could have access to my pussy. He searched it out from behind me, checking to see how wet I was and then his cock thrust into me. I moaned as he inched deeper and deeper inside.
Before I could even begin moving myself, he had grabbed me by my waist again and was pulling me back up. His cock remained inside, and he had started a slow rhythmic thrust. My back was pressed to him again; my head was resting on his shoulder, my eyes staring up at the ceiling as we started moving together.
Jesus’ thrusts were strong, and with each of them, he grunted. His hands gripped my waist, keeping my body in position as he plowed into me. Somehow, this time the sex was slower, more meaningful. That hungry desperation to possess each other had disappeared. This time around, with his arms around me, holding on to me possessively, with the rhythmic thrusts he was using…it was like he was trying to tell me something, that he had me, that he was going to keep me safe.
When Jesus’ fingers moved down, from my waist to my belly and then my pussy…I knew that he wanted me to come. His thumb stroked my clit now, and I could feel a searing electrical shock running up and down my spine. He didn’t stop thrusting, didn’t stop moving inside me as my clit became even more engorged, a sudden quivering overwhelmed my body.
“Come for me, Valentina,” he whispered in my ear, and I gave up. I could feel the fissures opening up, my body revolting against my mind as I allowed the feelings to take over me. My orgasm jolted my body, and I screamed. I clutched his hair with one hand and squeezed his hand on my pussy with the other as I stretched myself against him. My senses opened up. I could feel every stroke he made inside me, his thumb frantically playing with my clit, the tuft of hair on his chest that gently grazed my back as I pressed myself against him even more.
Then Jesus came too. He had burst inside me, and our orgasms swallowed us up together. I could feel him shoot deep, and he growled and cried out my name.
“Valentina…” he grunted, and his voice shook as we came together.
“Jesus…I…I…” I was on the verge of confessing I still loved him, but the sound of his growls deafened my voice, till he was done and his orgasm began to subside.
Our bodies swayed, as I remained in his arms for a moment longer. Then he was sliding out of me again, that familiar feeling of panic overtook me. He was going to be gone, just like he had done before. He was going to put on his clothes and leave.
Instead, once he had slid himself out of me, he crashed down on the bed. The mattress creaked under his weight as he lay himself down, crossing his arms behind his head. I remained sitting on the edge of the bed where he had left me, my breasts heaving from exhaustion.
A film of sweat covered Jesus’ forehead, and when I least expected it, a smile flickered on his face.
“Come over here,” he said and stretched an arm out towards me. I crawled over to him on my knees, my heart quickening in my chest as I settled into his arms. I couldn’t believe this was happening…that there was a chance that he might stay.
My head was supported by his arm as we stared up at the ceiling together.
“Try and get some sleep, Valentina,” he said, in a breathless voice and I quickly closed my eyes. I knew there was a smile on my face and maybe finally, I would be able to sleep again.
Chapter 11
King
The next morning, I left Valentina asleep in bed, and I snuck out of Moira’s apartment, hoping that she hadn’t heard us the previous night. I was just about to get on my bike and head back to my place to shower and change when my phone rang. It was my mother calling.
“Mijo, I need your help,” her voice cracked as she spoke into the phone.
“Is everything alright?” I asked her, already preparing to ride away.
“I had a fall,” she said.
“I’m on my way.”
I reached her house and parked my bike in a hurry before I ran up the steps to her apartment on the second floor. It had been three years since I found this new place for her to live in. All my life, I had worked towards earning enough to take care of my family and now finally, I could. My life had changed ever since I joined the Rogue Rebels and now I could do the things I always wanted to do for mom, which included buying her a safe and spacious new apartment to live in. I also made sure that she always had new clothes to wear and her pantry was stocked with food. Whatever had happened to me in my teenage years was not her fault. It had all been my dad’s doing.
I burst through her front door and found mom lying on her living room couch. The television was on mute in front of her, and she had one leg raised up.
“Are you bleeding? Did you break anything?” I rushed to her and knelt down beside her on the
rug.
“No, just a sprained ankle, mijo,” mom reached for my face and stroked my cheek affectionately. She had fought hard against my father when he traded me in with the Muerte Viviente; essentially selling me into slavery. But against the physical and mental abuse of my father, neither she nor I were immune. She was powerless, spoke very little English at the time, and had no friends or family to turn to. She had left her life in Mexico, and immigrated with my dad to America at a young age and since then, she had been alone. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep me safe from him.
I sat down on the rug now, pressing my back against the legs of the coffee table that I’d bought her a few months ago. Now, she was at peace. My dad had been dead for four years, and I knew she was proud of me. Proud that I had escaped the clutches of Muerte Viviente and managed to make a life for myself. I looked into her aging face and saw a woman who had lived a hard life and had tried her best to give her son a better one. She had failed, at most of it other than raising someone who was strong and could stand up for what he believed in.
“Are you okay, mama’? Should I take you to the doctor?” I asked her, resting my arms on my folded-up knees and she shook her head. Some strands of her graying hair came loose from her bun and fell around her face.
