Page 86 of Lovefool

“I wanted this to be more of a celebratory thing after we win the semifinal game, but I can’t wait that long,” I confess breathlessly, hovering over her as my sticky cock drags over her belly.

Lake hikes one of her legs over my side. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find another way to congratulate you.”

I lower my neck so that my lips graze her collarbone, the action bereft of any vestigial chivalry. “Music to my fucking ears.”

I like this version of myself—the one that operates without restraints, that obeys primal law. Our moans overlay in volume, circumambient, probably meeting the standards for a noise complaint.

“But for now, fuck me like you mean it,” she growls, shedding the shy innocence that guarded her the first time we had sex. She’s just as desperate as I am—eager to make up for lost time.

I want my back covered in claw marks; I want my blood underneath her fingernails.

“With pleasure.”

I don’t waste any time before yanking her down a few inches, and my hands find her waist with an automaticity that’s equal parts impressive and terrifying. The bed shakes, and her breasts hitch from the movement. My palms mold to her curves, smoothing over her silky skin with the same reverence a potter has for their clay. There’s an ancient want housed in my ribs—one that’s transcended droughts and wars and waited, out of necessity, for this very moment.

I spread her legs apart, watching her sex glisten with slick. Like clockwork, a small, bleating noise rebounds off the paper-thin walls, and I exploit the angle of her body to deliver a slap to her clit.

“I want you to beg for it,” I rumble, my teeth aching to sink into something soft. The order tumesces in the already-charged air, and my stomach tightens with an amalgamation of anticipation and anxiety.

Lake is quiet for a second, but then I hear her acquiesce, the modulation of her voice turning shaky. “Please,” she implores, balling the sheets between her fists.

“Use your words, baby.”

I guide the blunt head of my dick over the seam of her sodden cunt, prodding only enough to narrowly breach her folds, taunting her with a friction that I know she craves whether her outward countenance reflects it or not. Her legs are shaking; her skin is molten; sweat drips into the shallow valley of her chest. Knowing her combative nature, I don’t know how long it will take to break her, but I’ve got all the time in the world to watch her grovel at my feet.

“Please fuck me, Sutton. I need your big cock stuffing me full. I need you stretching me out. I need you to get me pregnant,” she cries, looking at me with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks and her mouth in the shape of a prayer.

That single word awakens something inside of me—usurps my whole plan to keep cool while I take charge and make her cry for mercy. She knows exactly what makes me tick—what to say to have me spurting an egregious amount of pre-cum.

It’s the first crack in my exterior of polished marble. Small, sure, but deep. So deep that there’s no telling the extent of the damage until it’s too late and the foundation has collapsed inward from the pressure.

My hard-on is an obstruction—sticking out with no possibility of a cool-down period—a meteor shower of pins and needles seeming to stab at my length in protest of the prolonged waiting.

“Yeah? You want to carry my baby? You want everyone to know that I fuck you raw whenever you want because you’re a spoiled princess? You want everyone to know how wet I make you? How you’re always dripping down your thighs because that greedy pussy has never waited a day in her life for gratification?”

She nods eagerly. “God, I want it so badly. I need to feel every drop of your cum deep inside me.”

My heart buzzes like an agitated wasp, and my tongue knots without my permission.

She’s a goddamn sight when she begs—thighs quivering, eyes wide and hopeful like she hasn’t been beaten down by the world quite yet. It’s terrible that my mammal brain whirs when I watch her lower lip tremble. Ironically, she’s broken me without having to do much heavy lifting.

The only warning I give her is, “Hang on to the bed.”

There is no gradual descent, no buildup. Her entrance is dripping from some kind of sadism kick by the time I bully my cock into her pussy, feeding off the slurred whimpers and babbled nonsense that severs the silence. With each ridge I notch deeper inside her fist-tight cunt, I feel her walls pulse around me, welcoming me with little resistance.

Our natural lubricant makes it easy for me to seat myself to the root, a groan taking the place of the words I fail to string together. Tears of pleasure pinch off in the corners of my eyes, my muscles shifting reflexively.

“Fucking hell,” she gasps. “How are you bigger than the last time we did this?”

I make a disgruntled noise in the back of my throat. “Seems like you already forgot how to take this fat cock. Do I need to remind you?”

A broken “yes” flies out of her lips, any attempt to outlast my own resolve dissipating in the same breath.

Pulse drumming out a gnarly rhythm, I begin to thrust inside her, snapping my hips and slamming my heavy balls against the backs of her thighs. She rocks, clinging onto the duvet like I told her, enveloping my length with a gush of wetness that tells me it won’t take long to make her orgasm. I drag my dick against her insides—feel it butt up against her cervix, stretching out the swell of her stomach.

“Look at the way your needy cunt squeezes around me, Trouble. So hungry, so impatient, so abundant with cum that she’s making a mess all over the bedspread. So eager to milk my dick until there’s nothing left.”

I pull out halfway to ram right back into her, carving out a space for my crown each time, each stroke lacking in finesse the further I stray from my self-control.