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I become stiff, and Booker slows, sensing the sudden change.
“What is it?” he asks, suddenly worried for me. He instantly felt the change and ignored his own desire to check on me. “Genevieve?”
“I need to see you,” I rasp out, panic clawing at my throat. “I need to see that it’s you.”
I can’t explain further than that, the panic stealing my words.
Without another word, he pulls out of me and spins me around until his face appears fully before me. There are no questions, no shame, and the moment he checks me over, the panic disappears.
Blowing out a puff of air, I reach for him, and he steps into my arms without complaint. Just as quickly, he has my leg hiked over his hip and he thrusts inside me again, fucking me against the wall. His lips go to my neck once more, nipping and leaving behind marks that I’ll happily bear. He slams into me over and over again so hard, the pictures rattle on the walls and start to fall, crashing like I am. My cries get louder, and I’m sure the others can hear, but no one comes running. The thought that they can hear me getting fucked by Booker only turns me on more. He reaches down and pinches my clit hard. With the thought in my head, his cock in my pussy, and his fingers punishing me, I explode, my core clenching around Booker’s cock. I cry out as his teeth sink into my neck, prolonging the orgasm until I’m shaking in his arms and rolling right into another one as he continues to pump.
“Fuck yeah,” he rumbles against my skin, fucking me harder. “Let them all know what I’m doing to you.”
So he’s thinking the same thing. That alone makes me leak with desire.
Releasing my clit, Booker rubs little circles on the engorged nub, pressing against it and building another orgasm in my core.
“This time, together,” he orders, his muscles standing out in sharp relief as he strains to hold back. His hips snap with the force of his thrusts. “Scream for me.”
As if he commands it, I shatter, everything combining to set me off until I cry out my pleasure for all to hear. My words run together, only Booker’s name making sense, but that’s all he needs to hear. With a guttural groan, he jerks inside of me, pumping as he fills me with his release. His breath dances across my skin as he pants, still nestled inside of me. I relax into his arms, trusting him to hold me up as I lie limply against him.
We’re both panting so hard, I’m surprised someone doesn’t come to make sure we’re not dying.
With shaking yet strong arms, Booker lifts me and carries me to the bed, settling me into it quickly. When he slips from my body, I feel the wetness there, but he quickly grabs the towel I’d been wearing and gently cleans me up. Tears prick at my eyes at the thoughtfulness.
When was the last time someone cared enough to clean me up after?
“Thank you,” I rasp out, trying not to reveal the emotion clogging my throat, but I fail.
He doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he throws the towel aside and climbs onto the bed beside me, tugging me close.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. Trust me, baby, I should be the one thanking you. Fuck, I should be on my knees in gratitude,” he murmurs, his warmth soaking into me, making me want to nestle closer. A few seconds later, soft snores sound behind me and I smile.
He’s wrong—I have a lot to thank him for.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep so deeply, not even memories can penetrate my mind.
