Page 47 of Adam
I want to shove my cock so deep inside her she forgets her own name and only remembers mine.
“Mine,” I growl under my breath, hips bucking into my fist. “Fucking mine.”
I want to be the reason she can’t touch herself without thinking of me. The reason she can’t breathe without remembering the first time I made her come, screaming.
And I will.
One day I will.
I’ll make her kneel. I’ll make her say it.
I’ll make her beg for the cock she’s not supposed to want.
I jerk off with rough, angry pulls, like I’m mad at myself for how badly I want her. And I am. I hate that I’m this weak. That the girl I barely know has clawed herself so effortlessly, fast and deep in my brain that it’s past any logic. The girl I want to bend over her daddy’s desk and fuck until she cries.
I stroke harder and faster. My jaw clenches.
I bet that pussy’s tight as fuck. Needy. Soaked from nothing but attention. I’d slide in slow just to hear her beg.
I picture her on her back, legs spread, tears in her eyes from how much it hurts, and loving every second of it.
I’m not gonna be gentle.
My grip tightens, and I fist my cock harder. I picture her gagging on it, crying around it, coming while I hold her down.
My balls are tight. My abs are flexed and I’m right there, thinking about her mouth open, her hands gripping my forearms, nails in my skin as I fuck her for the first time. No slow, careful bullshit. Just the thick stretch of my cock splitting her open while she cries and begs and takes it anyway.
“Fuck.”
I come with a grunt, thick and messy all over my hand, hips jerking into my fist like I’m inside her.
I lean back against the wall, breathing like I fought a war, panting and staring at the ceiling like it’s gonna judge me. Not that I give a shit.
I came thinking about her, and now I want more.
The girl I barely know. The girl I made myself become a fugitive for.
Oh, I’d give everything to fuck the innocence out of her.
I’d give everything just to see what her throat looks like with my cock down it.
Silence.
For the first damn time in ages, my head’s not screaming. No noise. Just a strange kind of quiet I’d forgotten existed.
I’m flat on my back in my room. My eyes are shut, enjoying this absolute stillness, and of course that’s when the memories crawl in like hungry roaches.
Memories from ten, eleven years ago. I was nineteen, maybe twenty. Barely knew who I was back then.
Memories of the fraternity and how I got dragged into all of it. I was fucking worthless.
I ended up broke, on the street because I’d told my landlord to shove it when he hiked the rent for no damn reason. Wasn’t even in the contract, just him being a greedy prick.
Next thing I know, I’m out. Then the bar fired me. They called itanger issues. Whatever. Maybe I smashed one glass too many. Maybe I told a few assholes exactly what I thought of them. I was different back then.
That’s how, a few days later, I wound up half-dead in some piss-soaked alley with blood in my mouth, ribs fucked beyond counting. Cold concrete, colder night. I figured that was it. Curtains. Game over. No one gives a shit when you go out like that.
Then Alaric showed up.
