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If he only knew.
My ability to turn my emotions on and off was the only thing that had gotten me though the past three years without him. It was unhealthy and unwise, but that creepy ability has helped me survive some really dark moments.
“Please,” I begged, though he couldn’t know that I was begging for more than just his dick. I was begging for it to all work out in the end.
“Christ, I love it when you beg for my cock,” he growled. “I love that it’s me that you need.”
After a few strokes to ease my body into what was coming next, Fox began giving it to me in that frantic way that was ours, and ours alone. It was always like this. It always felt like we were never going to get enough of each other. It felt like we were never going to be satiated.
“Harder,” I demanded, feeding that need, chasing that high.
He didn’t comment. Instead, Fox gave into my demand, his fingers digging painfully into my hips, his body crashing into my body with no regard to the damage that was being done. With no regard to how hard sitting down for me would be tomorrow.
Minutes, hours, or days later, my body was finally exploding all over the place, the dirty filth that he’d been spewing pushing me over the edge. Fox loved how dirty I liked it, and I loved how dirty Fox gave it to me.
We were perfect for one another.
When Fox no longer had anything to give me, we both collapsed onto the bed, my mind already fading to black with exhaustion. My final thought was of waking up in Fox’s arms in the morning, and I found that I was perfectly okay with that these days.
