Page 149 of Vicious Butterfly
Oh, god. Please don’t be something dead, or something that used to be part of someone. I open my hand. He places something round, glassy, and blue. I squint. “Is that a glass eye?”
Some might be creeped the fuck out, and don’t get me wrong, it’s creepy, but it’s a lot better than I thought it was going to be. I study it, holding it up to the light.
“Not just any glass eye. It’s from my doll. We’ve been reunited.”
Okay, mind changed. If he thinks of this glass eye as his doll, we’re back to abnormal levels of creepy.Sigh.But it’s special to him. What do you say when someone shows you what they consider to be the soul of their beloved childhood doll? The one their uncle made them toss into a fire.
“Um, nice.”
I hand it back to him. He’s so careful with it, rubbing his thumb over the surface before he zips it up safely again. It’s a metaphor. If he could carry me in his pocket, bet he would.
“Lay with me,” he says, tugging us to the ground.
“It’s wet.”
But he doesn’t care, lying in the wet grass, piling me on top of him. His hand finds the buttons to my cammies, pulling, sliding inside to rest over my heart.
“There,” he breathes. “That’s what I was looking for.”
Is there any point in talking to him right now? Maybe I just enjoy this. Everything’s gone to fucking shit. Everything we worked for crumbled to ash. Is he even able to pull me out? I don’t know the full story, but if he ended up like this, it’s got to be even worse than I’m imagining.
Not gonna think about that right now. This week was hell on earth. Being with him takes all of that away.
Thick fingers comb through my hair, and I forget where we are, closing my eyes, pretending we’re far, far away from North Point.
Tate cinches my hair with one hand, uncharacteristically gentle, and paws at my pants with the other. “I need you. I fuckingneedyou, Ryan. It hurts.” His voice breaks as if he’s really so turned on that he’s in pain. His hips thrust mindlessly upward, seeking friction. “I’ve been obnoxiously horny for days. Ethan wouldn’t let me see you.”
He pouts.
I smile.
He’s been cock-achingly horny because of whatever the fuck they shot him up with, and he could have stuck his dick anywhere. I would have been pissed, but under the circumstances, I would have eventually forgiven him since he’s not in his right mind. But even high and horny, all he wants is me.
“Take your dick out, baby,” he murmurs. He’s already tugging at his own waistband, shoving his hand down there. He pulls his nuts over the elastic, and the angry purple vein up his shaft pulses. Pre-cum drenches the head, still leaking.
This is such a bad idea out here where anyone could find us, but I fucking need him too, so fuck it. I need to feel him against me. Know he’s still real. And mine. Jesus, fuck, seeing his cock like that, leaking just for me. It makes me so damn hard. I get my cock out quickly, giving it a few strokes, but he thrusts and reaches with his hips at the same time, pressing the silky skin of our cocks together. We fuck our dicks in time with our breaths, too mindless and turned on, savoring the delicious glide.
“Oh, yeah.Yes,” he breathes. “I’m so sensitive, dollface. Could do this forever.”
Tate spits into his palm and holds it out to me. “Your turn.”
I spit onto it without hesitation. He uses our combined saliva to jack us together with that monster paw of his. He strokes slow, then fast, then slow again, keeping me on a lustful tether.
I’m transfixed by the way our cocks slip against the other when we move, both fucking into Tate’s palm. All the blood rushes to my dick as the pleasure consumes me, burning a fire up my spine. He sets a rough and hurried pace, barely able to control himself—something unusual for my relentlessly composed husband. Except when he’s with me. He loses himself with me, drugged or not.
He brings us to the edge more than once, backing off before we go over. Each time increasing the desperation of my movements. I can’t help it. I whine.
“I know, baby. But I like you needy for me, hanging off my every stroke. If I let you come it’ll be over. I want you to stay mine.”
I get what he means. Holding me on the edge of an orgasm is like having me on a leash, knowing we’re bonded tangibly. But we’re visceral by this point. I’m tied to him whether we’re in the same room or not, touching or not.
“I’m all yours, Tate. Every inch of me. Forever.Please.”
He finally lets me go over the edge, and I come hard over his hand, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.
He doesn’t let the cum go to waste, scooping it up, pushing it inside me. I’m still enjoying the pleasure-filled tingles warming my body as I’m flipped, his fingers clawing my pants further down till my bare knees hit rain-softened earth.
Crack!
