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“Yes. Me too.”
“No. I mean now. I need you now.”
In sheer seconds, it becomes clear what he means. My shoes and jeans and panties lie on the floor, and I gasp at the cold against my ass when he sets me on the counter.
Within another second, his jeans and underwear are around his thighs, and his dick is inside me.
I don’t want to stop. He fills such an aching emptiness. But—
“Brock.”
He thrusts.
“Brock…”
He thrusts again.
“Brock!” I push at his chest.
His eyes are wide, crazed. “What? What is it?”
“Condom, damn it. Condom!”
“Fuck.” He pulls his jeans back up and shoves his hands in the pockets. “Fuck,” he says again when his pockets turn up empty. Without snapping his jeans, he walks out and returns a moment later, fully sheathed.
Then he plunges back into me.
And again, I’m filled.
It’s different, though. There’s a barrier between us—a barrier I don’t want there. Besides, if I’m already pregnant, what does it matter?
But he can’t blame me this time. I told him to get a condom.
Part of me was hoping he would say screw it and continue without one.
But he didn’t.
That saddens me.
He continues thrusting, and yes, it feels good. The way his massive cock stretches me every time. It’s amazing. Soul crushing.
But something was lost.
It’s not as raw and heart-wrenching as it was before he put on the condom.
I close my eyes, lean my head back as he continues.
I want desperately to recapture the rawness of when he first entered me.
But I already know I’m not going to have a climax. I’m thinking too much.
Not a problem for Brock, though. He plunges into me deeply, and I feel him. I feel the contractions as he spurts—not into me but into the condom.
He groans. “Damn, Rory.”
I open my eyes.
Beads of sweat emerge at his brow, and the hair around his face is slightly damp.
