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And I’m not exaggerating.
I’m so not exaggerating.
In fact, I might be understating the gloriousness of it, the sheer marvel of his thick cock pumping into me raw and unprotected because his moans are far louder, far more pained and erotic. His thrusts and pushes are far more potent and jerking. So much so that I feel my entire body shuddering. I feel my tits jiggling and my belly trembling with his pumps.
I feel my entire world shaking as he pounds my pussy.
As he commands, “Eyes.”
At which point, they snap open.
And then I’m looking into his chocolate chip eyes. I’m staring into them as he fucks me for the last time.
As he moves and slides over me, our limbs slippery and sweaty and misty.
As he kills me.
I guess it’s true what they say, that your life flashes in front of your eyes when you die. It’s flashing right before my eyes. Starting from the moment I heard his name in my study, Alaric Rule Marshall, to the moment I talked to him for the first time, up on the roof of this very mansion. The moment he became my devil guardian because I decided I hated him.
Who three years later became my tyrant principal and my hate for him increased.
Then I see the moment all of that changed and he simply became my guardian.
He simply became the man who protects me and guards me and spoils me.
Who is now the man I love.
And as I see all of those things, those pivotal moments in time, I scratch my nails on his fingers like the troublemaking wildcat he calls me. I grind my hips against his like his cute little whore and I whine and moan like a diva, urging him to go faster. Urging him to bring me to completion.
And because I am all of those things to him, he does.
He grinds back, speeding up his thrusts, the water on his dense muscles evaporating and turning into sweat. The chocolate chips in his eyes melting and burning.
Something happens then.
Something shifts inside of me that not only makes me come, clenching and jerking on his cock, but also renders me temporarily insane. It renders me temporarily thoughtless and so fantastically reckless that I know I’m going to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
The moment when I died.
Of love. Of heartbreak. Of misery.
The moment I crossed my ankles at the small of his back and raised my hips, clinging onto him. The moment I decided to tighten, tighten, tighten my hold on his magnificent body as he pounded, pounded, pounded my pussy.
The moment he went over the edge and I locked him in my hold so he couldn’t get out.
And he knew.
God, did he know.
And it’s happening right now.
My body is all tightly wrapped around him, trapping him against me, trapping his dick inside of me and his eyes flare for a second as he understands my meaning. As he understands that I want him to come inside of me.
I want him to blow inside my cunt when I’m all unprotected.
When my pussy is unguarded and bare and raw and fertile.
When I know this can lead to dangerous consequences. Life-changing and future-breaking consequences.
And that’s exactly what I want.
That’s exactly why I want him to give me his cum, his seed so my life changes. So my future breaks and molds and shifts to accommodate him in it.
So I can keep him in it.
So he stays and never says goodbye.
I mean, he trapped me twice, didn’t he? Can’t I trap him too?
Can’t I steal his seed and hope and pray that it sticks to my womb so I can take what I want from him?
Besides, he understands what I’m doing. He knows my intentions. I can see it on his face.
I can see it in his dangerous eyes and his clenched jaw. I see it in his sharp features.
Features of a predator.
Of an animal.
Of a desperate man, being tempted and tempted to the brink of insanity. And I would’ve done it too. I would’ve pushed him if not for that despair in his eyes. If not for the despair in my heart too.
If not for this heavy regret that’s threatening to overcome our last fuck.
This is our goodbye. I can’t taint it. I can’t ruin it.
So in the last second, I loosen my hold from around him and he pulls out.
He manages to spill his cum on my belly.
And with every lash of it, tears drip from my eyes.
“I want you to go.”
Those are the first words I’ve spoken since we finished saying goodbye to each other.
Since I tried to trap him inside of my body and inside of my life.
Before deciding to let him go.
Since that time, I’ve managed to put my discarded shirt back on. He’s managed to don his discarded shirt as well. Although he hasn’t buttoned it, nor has he buttoned the pants that he also pulled on.
