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His thrusts become harder, deeper. I spread my legs wider to accommodate the power of his thighs. His thumb circles my clit, playing with it as he moves inside me. Another pool of wetness rushes between my thighs until his slick member is coated with my essence.
“I need you to come,” Zeke whispers loudly. Then he slaps my clit, spurring me on and throwing me over the edge of a cliff into an all-consuming orgasm that rocks my body to the core. I’m still riding the end of my orgasm when Zeke pulls out, turns me over, arranges me on all fours, and pounds my pussy hard and fast. I tilt up my ass, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “That’s my girl,” he says, and kisses my spine.
I desperately want to be his good girl. One of his hands holds my hip; the other moves down my back and caresses my ass cheeks. When his finger moves between my cheeks, I tense for a moment. “I want this, one day,” Zeke tells me, running his thumb over the puckered rosette entrance. “Not today, baby. But I’m going to want to fill all of you.” Normally, this would completely turn me off, but this is Zeke, and I want to give him all of me. There’s a nervous excitement at the idea of exploring all the ways we could express our love for one another. Before I can reply, he says, “Play with your pussy, Jazzy. I wanna watch while I fill you up.”
My hand travels between my legs, doing as he asks. As soon as I touch myself, the brazen spark turns into a raging fire that needs to be quenched. I beg and plead for more. “Baby, please.” I hardly recognize my own voice. It’s that of a desperate woman begging to be fucked.
He buries his face in my neck and hammers inside me like a piston until we both come so hard and so long that I swear I black out from the intensity. When I finally open my eyes, Zeke is spooning me, his front to my back. His lips at my ear, he murmurs, “You’re incredible. So fucking beautiful.”
“That’s how I feel about you,” I say, my voice still ragged from our lovemaking, nestling deeper into his arms. “You turned a shitty night into magic.”
“Tomorrow, we’re hitting the liquor store after work,” he says.
“Huh?”
“This apartment is never going to be without tequila.”
I burst out laughing. Zeke chuckles quietly, and I feel the ripple of his chest on my back.
“Okay, honey. It’ll be the first stop we make,” I agree. I know what he’s saying has had nothing to do with tequila. It’s about giving me what I need. This is a memorable moment, the first of many secret jokes that I hope we share. A funny story we’ll tell each other one day, when we’re rocking on our porch swing.
TWELVE
Thank the Stalker
ZEKE
Ever since last night, I haven’t been able to keep my hands off Jasmine. I was struggling to keep myself in check since the moment I met her, and after our first night together, I’ve hung on to the last of my reserves. But today, I’m looking for every opportunity to be around her, and when I am, I make sure to put my hands on her. Sometimes, it’s a simple touch on her lower back; other times, I move her hair away from her face.
I’m grateful for the day to come to an end and she’s next to me once more, driving home. I reach over and rest my hand on her thigh. Jasmine holds my hand and smiles at me. The light shining in her eyes is blinding. That’s why it infuriates me no end that someone is targeting my woman.
We’re heading down the road when I notice a large SUV in my rearview mirror following a little too closely. Bad drivers exist, but, under the circumstances, I’m not taking any chances. I veer off onto a side street. The dark blue Ford Explorer makes the same turn. Coincidence? I think not.
I slow down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the driver’s face. No luck, but definitely male. The thick meaty hands on the steering wheel tell me so. I make a quick left, heading into a suburban subdivision. A Stop sign ahead forces me to come to a halt. When I look back, the SUV following has no intention of doing the same and has picked up speed. He’s coming right for our back end. Cars are crossing the intersection, and the force of the impact will send us flying right into their path.
I unsnap Jasmine’s seat belt and scream, “Out! Get out!” Jasmine stumbles out and rolls as I yank the parking brake on and brace for the hit. My car jerks forward into oncoming traffic. My car skids, spinning horizontally into the street but thankfully, the other cars at the intersection are paying attention and slam on their brakes, leaving me to deal with the impact alone. My body jerks forward, then back, knocking the wind out of me.
I’m slowly shaking it off when the SUV whips around and plows into the driver’s side. The car lifts and rolls, landing on its side. Pain shoots through my leg. It must be the adrenaline because all I can think of is Jasmine and whether or not she’s okay.
There’s a screech and skidding, then the squeal of tires tearing off in the direction the car came from. Jasmine’s screaming my name. I turn to look through the window and see her struggling to get up. A woman by her side is trying to keep her from getting up. My door is torn open and an older man reaches in and unlatches my seat belt, yanking at the metal pushing against my leg, prying it loose, releasing my leg enough for me to move with excruciating pain.
“Come on, son. We’ve got to get you out of here. The gas tank’s leaking.” He drags me out with his arms bracing my body, as I move along with him. My leg won’t hold me up, probably broken. I feel wetness on my face; I must be bleeding.
“Shit. Shit.” I groan, trying to catch my breath.
“I got you, kid. Let’s get you over to your girl. She’s losing her mind over there,” the man helping me says, attempting to lighten the mood. “Cops are on their way. I saw the whole thing. That guy was gunning for you.”
As we get closer to the curb, I drop to the soft grass, and suddenly, Jasmine’s next to me, tears streaming down her face. “Baby, please be okay,” she says, kissing my cheek, her hands roaming to check for injuries.
“I’m okay.” I take her hand and hold her still. “Broken leg,” I tell her. The sound of sirens is blaring. “Grab my phone in my pocket. Call Caleb,” I order. “Two, three, six, nine.” I give her the code, then lay my head back down as everything gets fuzzy.
I can faintly hear Jasmine’s trembling voice speaking to Caleb while the EMTs are working on me. “We’re taking him to Memorial General Hospital,” one of the EMTs says. “Are you riding along with us?”
“Yes, please.” Jasmine repeats the name of the hospital into the phone, then disconnects. She holds my hand as they carry me to the ambulance.
“I’m good, Jazzy. Don’t worry,” I reassure her, squeezing her hand and closing my eyes, trying to keep the nausea at bay.
We arrive at the hospital sooner than I thought we would, and before I know it, I’m being wheeled through the corridors and into the emergency department.
