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“Yes, oh, fuck…”
“Tsk. Language.”
“Oh, please. As if you don’t say it yourself.”
“Are you sure you want to talk back to me when I can leave you unsatisfied?”
“No, no…please…please…”
I’m almost there, I can feel it deep inside me. The more he strokes and curls his fingers, the more he spreads my inner juices over our fingers.
He pumps them in me and I’m clenching him—us—in a choke-like hold.
“Fuck. Do you feel how your tight pussy is strangling me?”
“Yeah…”
He groans deep in his throat and it does things to me, things like making me tighten around him harder, swallowing him deeper.
And I can’t help moaning. I don’t have the space of mind to control it or the rest of the sounds that come out of me.
I’m a mess of chaotic emotions and sensations, and there’s no way I can mute myself anymore.
“Is it because it feels full?”
“Yeah, full and good and…and…I’m…”
“And you’re what?” He pumps harder faster, pressing the heel of my palm against my clit.
The sureness in his movements, the pure dominance of it, drags me under in one swift movement.
“I’m coming!”
I clench around him the hardest yet as that wave crashes into me. The orgasm is neither gentle nor soft. It’s callous and demanding, just like him. My legs shake over his shoulders and my head is a fog of mixed emotions—emotions I can’t get hold of, so I let them swirl around me like a halo.
Or maybe I’m the one in the halo, floating in a dreamless land where everything feels so good.
After what seems like forever, I’m brought back to the present, suddenly and without warning, when he removes the fingers from inside me—his and mine. And I grab onto him, not wanting to let him or this feeling go.
What if this is a dream and I’ll never feel this way again? What if I’ll wake up and never find my way back?
But his next words erase any misconception I had about how real this is. “From now on, if you have any sexual urges, I’ll be the only one who satisfies them.”
17
Nathaniel
Amistake.
That’s what it should be.
Every second from the moment she walked inside and I lost my fucking cool to when she detonated in my hold as if she’s waited her entire life for me to come along.
As if she’s been saving up for me, for the moment she’d explode all around me, strangle my fingers, and refuse to let them go.
And it all started with when I saw her hopping off the kid’s motorcycle. Her lips were red and her hair was blown by the wind and she was smiling. Wide.
I should’ve looked the other way and kept my distance, as usual—that’s what I’ve done ever since I moved in. I make sure she has everything she needs from afar. Like her stock of vanilla ice cream, her milkshakes—vanilla again—and her favorite fruit, bananas, just because there isn’t a version of vanilla fruit.
