Page 48 of Stroked Hard
“And they’re fucking gorgeous, but sometimes I have to give your boobs attention too. They wrote me a letter the other day, asking if I would finally squeeze them, flick them, pull on their little nipples with my teeth. I kindly said I would be more than happy, but their owner just has to let me first.”
“My boobs did not write you a letter.” There is a little smirk on her face, and I take that as a victory.
“They did. Come back to my place, I’ll show you the post-mark date. And then, my dick can meet them. He’s been wondering what it’s like to rest between them.” Fuck. If only she knew how many times I’ve come with that vision in my head.
“You’re not going to fuck my tits.”
“But, I can suck on them?” I ask with hope.
Rolling her eyes, she shifts in place and says, “You either spill about the Laffy Taffy or I’m taking off.”
“Fine. When you’re eating your Laffy Taffy, and you want to fold it, you don’t just try to do it when it’s cold, or else it will snap. You warm it up between your hands first. That’s what you have to do with your muscles. You have to warm them up, baby.”
“I’m fine, but thanks for the advice. See ya.” She starts jogging away, that pert little ass bouncing with each movement and the next thing I know, my aching muscles are propelling me forward, catching up to her attainable pace . . . if I wasn’t so fucking sore.
Eyeing me from the side, she looks me up and down and asks, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Wanted to go for a run. It’s a free country, you know.”
“This is my time to relax, Hollis.”
“Good, me too. I’m so glad we get to relax together.”
Frustrated—it’s all over her face—she sticks her earphones back in her ears and continues to run through the walking paths in the apartment complex that lead to the beach. Keeping in time, I run next to her despite my screaming muscles.
Fuck, why am I so stupid? Am I really that desperate?
I eye her from the side and unanimously agree that yes, I am that desperate. She is worth the pain. Call me a pussy, but Melony captivates me. I need to be around her. When she’s near, I’m fucking happy. I forget about the stress I have mounting on my shoulders, the guilt I have for destroying Holly’s life, and the pressure from the diving community to bring home another gold medal. Instead, I get lost in her hair, her eyes, those fucking lips.And her mind.Shit, I love sparring with her, seeing how feisty I can make her, how much fun I can have pressing her buttons. It’s goddamn addicting. I know there is physical attraction there, but if she really hated me, really wanted nothing to do with me, she wouldn’t put up with my shit. She’d firmly shut me out, and never allow me the interaction we have now.I just hope she’ll eventually let me in fully. Isn’t she lonely?
She’s mine.
That is why I’m currently jogging next to her, pain ricocheting up my legs with each step. Yup, I’m so fucked.
We make it to the beach in silence and that’s when the pain really starts to hurt. Running in sand is the FUCKING worst. Yes, let’s run on unstable ground, ground that sinks in with each point of pressure. SO fucking smart . . . said no one ever.
I suck it up for about five minutes until I can’t take it anymore. I puss out, but for good reasoning, I’m literally on the edge of losing my shit, I’m so damn sore.
Thankfully, when I stop, Melony does as well despite her not wanting to run with me earlier.
“What’s wrong?” She pulls out her ear buds and I cringe, hating that I’m going to have to show weakness to this strong, confident woman.
“I’m sorry, honey bunny, but Big Daddy is sore.” I grip my waist and catch my breath for a second.
“What? And don’t call yourself that?”
I smirk. “Don’t like that name, princess?”
“No. It’s creepy.”
I wink. “It will grow on you.”
Not putting up with me, she turns away and starts to run again. With all the fucking force left in my body, I take after her and grab her arm to halt her. She looks surprised when I reach her.
Wincing some more, I say, “For the love of God, don’t take off again. I want to go after you, but I can’t.”
“Are you really sore? This isn’t one of your perverted things you do to get attention just so you can say something like ‘would you like to come over to my place and massage my dick? It will make me feel better.’”
“That would make me feel better,” I say much to her chagrin. She starts to move away so I hold out my hand, practically begging with my eyes. “I’m kidding. For the love of God, please don’t move.”
