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He squeezes my cheeks, cutting me off, as he rasps, “Fuck the game.”
And then he kisses me.
He captures my mouth in his and pushes his tongue inside. And I latch on to it. I latch onto him.
Not that I wasn’t before.
But it’s like his lips, his kisses, have jolted me back to life and I’m alive for the first time in days.
I’m alive and breathing for the first time since Monday.
When he gave me that pink permission slip.
I’ve been sleeping with it tucked under my pillow. Counting days and hours and minutes.
Pushing away, I break the kiss and tell him that. “I came as soon as I could. As soon as they would let me out.”
I did.
He was going to be there three hours later but I made sure that I was out those gates the moment I was free to go.
His response is to growl as if unhappy that I broke the kiss, that I took my lips away from him. And so he goes back for them. He goes back to kiss me and in between the sucks of his mouth and nips of his teeth, he says gutturally, “I thought I was seeing things.”
I fist his hair. “When?”
He sucks and sucks on my lower lip, making it sting, making me all wet and squirmy in his arms, rubbing my body shamelessly. “When I saw you. Back there.”
“You weren’t.”
He presses his forehead into me, his eyes dark and stormy, his mouth panting over mine. “I should go back. I should fucking rip their eyes out for looking at you. For talking to you. For even thinking about you.”
I shiver again at the violence in his voice. “I think you scared them pretty good already.”
His jaw tightens up as lust wars with anger in his eyes.
Or maybe they’re both fueling each other, I don’t know.
“They smelled it on you, you understand? They smelled her,” he growls.
I fist the back of his sweater as I rain down soft kisses on his tense features. “Smelled what?”
At my question, he has to breathe deep.
He has to fist my hair and pull my head back, making me stop
As if he doesn’t want my softness right now.
When he says, “Your pussy.”
My pussy pulses at the mention.
So strongly that I jerk and undulate in his arms, rubbing not only my tits but also my core against his body. And so all I can respond with is a needy moan.
Which only grows louder when he drops his head and runs his nose along the column of my throat, growling again, “They could smell your pussy. They could sniff out that she was freshly broken. As fresh as a week ago. They could smell that up until seven days ago, no one had touched her. No one had even laid their eyes on her. No one had tasted her. No one. Before me.” He licks my skin at this, as if imagining doing that to my pussy. “No one had seen her rosy color. Or how pink she is. Pink and Shameless. Just like your lipstick, yeah?”
I nod, all happy and horny that he noticed the lipstick that I’m wearing right now for him, that he remembered the shade, as I tilt my neck to the side, giving him more access to lick and bite and suck.
And he goes for it.
He pops my soft flesh into his mouth and sucks and sucks, growling again before he continues, “No one knew how tight she is either. How small. Like a fragile flower. A sweet fucking rose. No one knew that before last week, Bronwyn. Before me.”
“Yes.”
His body tightens again, vibrates with all the pent-up aggression. “And they could sense that. They wanted that. They wanted their turn at it.”
“But you —”
He’s back on my lips again, breathing wildly, staring into my eyes with a fever. “And guys are horndogs. You understand what I’m saying to you? They’ll fuck any pussy that’s thrown their way. Any pussy. But this here” — he rolls his hips against mine, making me moan again, making me flutter my eyes closed — “this is prime pussy. This pussy is magic. It’s what dreams are made of. Because when it was wrapped around me last week, when it kept coming and coming and pulsing around me, strangling me, I saw stars. I fucking saw pink glitter and unicorns. Your rosy fucking pussy made me see double, Bronwyn. And they wanted that for themselves. They wanted my wallflower. And for that, for just thinking that, they deserve to die. They deserve to be torn apart limb from fucking limb. And I should go do that. I should take my time with it.”
He bangs his hand against the truck, shaking the entire cab as he finishes.
I tighten, tighten, tighten my limbs around him then.
I practically fuse myself with him as I say, “No, you’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you. Because it doesn’t matter what they thought. It doesn’t matter if they wanted me for themselves. I’m not theirs.”
