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And I liked it.
Even though he hadn’t gotten laid in days, he could hold his load remarkably well, especially through the intense stimulation between our bodies. But his determination seemed to override his other feelings, because the only thing that mattered was fucking me so hard that I was sore for days.
It didn’t take me long to come.
“Babe…” I closed my eyes as I came around his big dick, moaning uncontrollably because it was so good, so intense.
“Look at me.” He grabbed my hair and gave me a hard tug.
I opened my eyes, which brimmed with tears, and watched him watch me come. I screamed so loud my neighbors definitely heard, and tears streaked down my cheeks like waterfalls, diamonds that glittered in the dark. “Oh my god…” I appreciated every second, every minute, every sensation. I rode it all the way to the end, my body convulsing because it was so good.
Just when I finished, he gave his final pumps, slowing down as he filled my pussy with more come than I’d ever taken. He didn’t moan or make a single sound, just stared at me like he’d proved a point. He shoved his entire length inside just to hurt me, just to give me every drop before he pulled out again.
The second he was gone, my body went limp, exhausted even though I hadn’t done anything except take that monster cock.
He got off the bed and started to dress without even wiping off.
I lay there and caught my breath, ready to sleep hard after what just happened. “What are you doing?” I pushed myself up so I could look at him, naked on the bed with his come spilling onto the sheets I had just washed.
He zipped up his jeans and gave me a cold look. “Leaving.” He moved to the door.
“Wait.” I turned on the bed so I could continue to look at him. “Don’t you want to stay…?” He never fucked me and took off. It was always a few hours packed with kisses, sex, and talking. Now that I had him, I didn’t want him to go. It was always hard to watch him walk out, but now it was even harder because I needed more of him.
He stared me down from the doorway. “You said you were too busy, remember?” He left my bedroom and walked out.
I closed my eyes in a grimace, forced to swallow my own words that he’d taken so poorly. I listened to the door open and close, listened to the locks turn, listened to the alarm beep once it was reset. Then I sat there in the dark alone, his come still leaking out of me, wishing that man would stay…and never leave me again.
I texted him the next day.
Come over.
The entire day passed, and he didn’t text me back. His responses were always immediate, and now that they weren’t, I realized how he used to make me feel—like I was his top priority. Now, he reminded me how insignificant I could be, how he would treat me if I didn’t make him my priority.
Lesson learned.
At the end of the night, I texted him again. Heath?
This time, his response was immediate. I’m busy.
Jesus, he knew how to hold on to a grudge. I’m sorry, okay?
Pussy-ass apology.
Then come over here so I can apologize to your face.
Nothing.
Please.
I’ll come over whenever I fucking feel like it. And when I do come over, you’d better have learned how to treat a man. Because I’m not gonna waste my time with a woman who doesn’t know how to be one.
I was home on Friday afternoon, staring at the blank TV as I considered my dilemma. Tonight, the shit was about to hit the fan, and I had to decide if I was going to do anything about it. I had been upfront with Heath and said I would do nothing to avert his demise.
But now, I wasn’t so sure.
The locks clicked and the door opened, revealing the hard man who stepped inside my apartment. He shut the door behind him and stared at me on the couch, like that was exactly where he expected me to be.
And he still looked pissed.
Now that he was there, I didn’t know what to do. I was paralyzed by his presence, paralyzed by the way he made me feel. I felt dead and alive all at the same time, felt like I couldn’t get enough air because he sucked all the oxygen for himself.
“Where’s that damn apology?” He came closer to the couch, in jeans and a black shirt, looking sexier than usual when he was angry. His blue eyes were unforgiving, like his stare alone was enough to burn me to the ground.
I left the couch and faced him, weak now that I actually looked at him. How did a man so bad make me feel so good? How did this man strip me down to my bones with just his gaze? It didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry…”
