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I kneaded the heavy globes, sucked and nipped the nipples, and lavished all my passion on the parts of my queen that would one day feed my son. Sloane seemed to enjoy this incredibly, because she moved on her own accord, as if to fuck her own ass with my cock. She was obviously craving another orgasm.
Not one to deny a good girl something a good girl deserved, I did the only thing a king should do in such a situation. I fucked her good and hard until she was yelping out like the little anal whore I knew she was.
And I swear she made me work extra hard for her love, with me practically folding her in half and pounding into her ass with such vigor that I wondered if she would be able to walk when we were through. But on she went, rising to meet my thrusts, her passion evident, a sheen of sweat on both of us glistening in the low light.
As time passed and the drug lessened, she could form words, and thus cried quietly in her sleep, “Yes, oh, yes, hurt me so good. Oh please. Make me yours.”
I wasn’t a man often moved to tears—I didn’t even cry when forced to kill my own mother—but I swear my eyes burned with emotion.
“Do you know who I am?” I grunted. While I knew she didn’t know my name, she better say something to indicate that it was me she was dreaming of. Else, I might be also moved to slit her throat.
“You found me.”
And like that, I came. Hard.
She did as well. And it was fucking perfect.
I laid in her for a bit, my dick shoved up her ass, my head buried in her cleavage. This was heaven, and I didn’t want to leave it. But I had to clean us both up and get back home.
I carried her to the bathroom, holding her like a koala bear. Even in her pseudo slumber, her arms clung around my neck and her thighs to my waist. When I got the shower water to temperature, I put us both in it.
Fuck if I didn’t fuck her one last time against the shower wall. And fuck if she didn’t open her eyes and look at me, seeing me, and then kissed me. But it was so fast, I thought I had imagined the moment. Because by the time I came, she was out again.
I tucked her in the cum stained bed, with the sheets now double the mess from when she went to nap, but so how it had to be. Soon she would be with me. But until then, I would enjoy every clandestine moment. And she would too.
SLOANE
Sloane
I was dreaming ofhimagain.
My one-night stand had become my dream lover, now often replacing the godawful nightmares that had plagued me since I was sixteen. If I weren’t careful, I would become addicted to sleeping, which was an addiction a woman like me did not have the luxury to indulge when targeted by offended bikers. I needed to work. All the time. I needed money.
But oh…those nights when my lover would come…
Some dreams were soft and disjointed. Others felt so hard and real that I was sure I was being roofied and raped. Even my body felt achingly sated after those intense nights where the world of fantasy and reality blended. In the morning, I’d wake up coated in sweat, sticky with cum, and everything would hurt in the most pleasant of ways.
Hell, maybe I was being used like that—made to be unconscious and fucked silly. I never knew what the MC would do, although they usually preferred me conscious and in front of an audience when they raped me so I could suffer more. Also, it was rare I would orgasm. They just didn’t bother. But when my one-night stand haunted my dreams, it was non-stop coming.
I sighed and stretched out but was only able to enjoy the afterglow of a more tender dream for about thirty seconds before the nausea began to swirl in my tummy.
I sprung out of bed and raced to the bathroom, hurling the contents into the toilet. Fuck this stomach flu. I’ve been feeling sick for a few days now. I was done with it. Since catching the bug, every morning started like this.
It was hard enough having to work when I was sick, but Megan had been pressuring me to hang out. And bad things happened when I told her “no” too many times. But between the two—my job and my social obligations to my MC sitter—I apparently had not got enough rest to recover from whatever illness plagued me.
My body ached, and my head pounded. Not to mention, I felt off-balance. Weak.
Worse, for the past week, I’ve felt like someone was watching me. Now, it was probably paranoia, stemming from my inability to keep food down, but I swear things had moved in my house. My new shampoo bottle was now half empty even though it was a new bottle that had been filled to the top just a couple days ago. I knew for a fact that I didn’t use that much shampoo. Also, I couldn’t find my racy thongs. My sheets had an unfamiliar smell on them. No matter how many times I washed them, the scent wouldn’t leave.
It was driving me crazy.
A pounding on my door made my heart lurch into the back of my throat. I never had visitors as I did not have friends. So as much as I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t. If a Devil was on my doorstep and I ignored them, there would be hell to pay.
I wiped my mouth and brushed my teeth, taking my time. I wouldn’t rush out there for those assholes to harass me. I crept over to the one window in my living room and pulled back the curtain.
There was a bike parked in front of my house. I hadn’t even heard it pull up.
“I know you’re in there,” a familiar voice grumbled through the door.
