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His thickness and warmth make my pussy twitch and clench around him.
I make a noise I’ve never made before…a deep guttural groan.
“Almost there…”
Dane slides all the way home.
I’m like a sock with a foot in it, stretched to his shape. My eyes roll back, and I don’t know what noises I’m making.
Dane wets his thumb and presses it against my clit while his cock stretches me to the limit. He rubs slow circles while sliding his cock in and out of me an inch at a time.
Sometimes an inch is all you need. The head of his cock nudges against my deepest, tightest place. His thumb makes a whirlpool of pleasure.
I look into his face, and I see all the openness and intimacy and pure, raw lust of someone who has nothing to hide. He wants me. He loves me. And he’s going to take care of me. But first…he’s going to make me come.
I give in…all the way in. I let him take me wherever he wants to take me. I float in dark red bliss.
Because I trust him.
And I know he’ll keep me safe.
* * *
Tom Turner getsoff his crutches and immediately crashes his truck. I visit him in the hospital for the second time, where, thankfully, he’s being treated for nothing worse than a scrape on his arm and a bump on his head.
“You’ve had more concussions than a quarterback,” Emma informs him sternly.
She looks grumpy, but she’s brought him an entire basket of her best muffins and croissants. Tom tears into them with both hands, his substandard hospital breakfast shoved to the side.
“It really wasn’t my fault this time,” he mumbles, mouth stuffed with baked goods. “There was a woman standing in the middle of the road. I had to swerve…”
“What kind of woman?” Emma demands. “What was she doing, what was she wearing?”
Her eyes light up at the prospect of this new mystery while Tom recounts every detail of the apparition he saw on Route 88.
“I saw a ghost at the hotel once,” Amy Archer says.
She seemed very keen to visit Tom with us and brought him a jug of her homemade kombucha.
“This is the second time I’ve seen one,” Tom informs her proudly.
“Well, next time, don’t swerve.” Emma says. “Ghosts are already dead.”
I murmur, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
There was no phantom piano player in my house. The only vengeful spirit was my brother.
“I still do.” Dane lays his hand lightly on mine.
Even Dane brought Tom a gift, a neat little shaving kit to take care of the orange stubble from his overnight stay.
Tom seemed surprised and grateful, but I don’t know if he’ll ever look comfortable around Dane. It doesn’t help that Dane goes stiff as stone if Tom so much as brushes my hand. Or Emma either, for that matter.
My present is a set of keys.
“I left Jude’s moped out front so you can at least get around until your truck is fixed.”
“Don’t give him that!” Emma shrieks. “He can’t even drive his truck in a straight line.”
