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Still rock hard and aching for her, I lift her up and wrap her legs around my waist. She holds onto my neck, and I squeeze her ass as I find my home inside the walls of her wet pussy and rail her like a beast.
My knees almost buckle when she starts riding my tool. She rotates her hips and grinds on me, chasing her orgasm and sending me into a frenzy. Tiny whimpering cries start to escape her, and I know she’s close. With my hands guiding her hips, I slam into her over and over until she tightens her arms and legs on me, yells my name, and eventually loosens her hold.
“My turn, baby,” I whisper as I bury my entire length into her. I chase my own release, and I bury my face in her neck as my hot come spurts in waves inside her sweet pussy.
Even if my entire body feels like melted wax, I hold her close. I’m never letting this one go. Never.She’s mine.
13
A Lead on Lucky’s Owner
Sara
Since Sam works long hours and I’ve temporarily closed the shelter, he gives me a key to his place so that I can take care of Lucky while he’s at work. I come down to the kitchen for breakfast and coffee before heading over there to take him for a run at the dog park.
Mom looks up at me and asks, “What are your plans for today?” I haven’t told her that I’ve moved the dogs out of the shelter or why because Sam said it would be best not to make our parents worry. It feels deceitful, though, and my mother has always had a way of knowing when I’m not telling her the truth. I think I’ll need to bring this up with him when we’re together later.
“I have a few errands to run,” I tell her as I retrieve my coffee mug, trying to avoid her eyes.
“Will you be seeing Sam today?” she asks, and I look at her to try and gauge her motivation.
“I’m planning to see him tonight when he gets off work,” I answer. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking,” she says, looking down at her cup, “that maybe it’s time that the four of us sit down together and have a talk.”
“I guess it depends on what you want to talk about.” I eye her warily, wondering if this is a good idea.
“I think you know what I want to talk about,” she looks back up at me.
“What I mean is, I don’t want an altercation. Like Sam said, we’re all adults and capable of making our own decisions.” I’m standing up to her, but my voice is shaky. My mother and I have never argued, but Sam’s right. We’re not doing anything wrong, and it’s not fair if they separate us just because it makes them uncomfortable.
“I’m not your enemy, Sara. I want you to be happy, but I have reservations about this thing and I need some reassurance,” she explains.
“It’s not a ‘thing’, mom, it’s a relationship.”
“Again, I think we should all sit down,” she reiterates.
“I’ll discuss it with Sam.”
My phone chimes, and I see that I have a new email message from Karla at the Camden shelter. I open it and can’t believe what I read. I put my phone back in my pocket and tell my mother that I have to go.
My mind is conflicted as I take the drive to Sam’s place. According to the message, I may have found Lucky’s owner. The man only lives a few blocks from the building where Sam found him, so it’s possible that Lucky got out somehow and wandered in there to get out of the rain just as Sam suggested. As much as I would love to see a happy reunion between a dog and its rightful owner, I’m saddened by the idea of no longer having Lucky in my life. He’s become such an integral part of my relationship with Sam, and I know that we’d both miss him terribly. Some say that getting attached is the biggest pitfall in animal rescue, and while I agree, this one’s different. I try to call Sam to prepare him for the fact that Lucky may be gone when he gets home, but his cell goes to voicemail and I leave him a message.
“Hey, it’s me. I was calling to let you know that Karla sent me a lead on Lucky’s owner. The home breeder she told us about sold a puppy to a man who lives close to the abandoned building. She didn’t get a phone number, just the address, so I’m gonna pick up Lucky and go over there. Call me back if you get this. I’d love it if you could come with us.”
When I don’t hear back from him, I take Lucky for a short stroll around the neighborhood and load him in the car. It’s a short drive into the city from Sam’s place, and in no time, I’m stopped at a traffic light with a bird’s eye view of the remnants of the building that was decimated in that first fire. I pat Lucky on the head and think how thankful I am that Sam was brave enough to go inside and get him out.
I turn the corner and begin scanning the mailboxes for the house number in the text, 4427. When I find it, I pull up to the curb and check my phone to make certain that this is the place. It’s an older one-story single-family house, white with black shutters. The grass is cut short and surrounded by a chain-link fence, which also closes off the driveway that leads to the one-car garage. There are no cars in the driveway, but the garage door is closed, so I think that maybe they park in there. I look at Lucky, who’s standing on the passenger seat looking out the window, and ask, “Is this home, boy?” He hears me and hops into my lap. I set him back on the seat. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
I cross the street and step through the gate to the house, peering up at the windows for any signs of life inside and almost trip on the broken concrete walkway. When I reach the porch, I open the creaky storm door and knock on the inner door. Its white paint is peeling, and I begin to wonder if the owner of this house would be the type of person who’d spend several thousand dollars on a purebred Dalmatian puppy.
No one answers, so I knock a second time and try to peer through the dirty glass at the top of the door.
I’ve all but given up when I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, so I pause and wait to see who answers. I hear a man clear his throat and the clicking sound of a lock. I see the doorknob turn, and the door begins to open slowly. It opens a little more than a crack and I say, “Hello? I’m sorry to bother you. I run an animal rescue, and I think I may have your dog.”
The door opens a bit more, but the person on the other side is shielding himself behind it. I move slightly to my left in the hopes of catching a glimpse of this person, but when I do, a hand reaches out of the darkness and strong fingers dig into the flesh on my arm. I try to pull away, but I’m not strong enough to break their hold on me. Lucky barks frantically in the car, sensing that I’m in danger, and I lean back on my heels and use the force of my body weight to try to pull myself free. When I do, my attacker lets go, causing me to tumble backward off the porch. My head thumps against the broken concrete, and the world goes black.
14
