Page 81 of Secondhand Soul

My cock lines up with her slippery, soaking entrance. I don’t think she was this wet fifteen minutes ago when I made her come.

Adrenaline.

My Victoria gets turned on when she’s in action.

Good, because when they built me, I know they did something to bulk up the muscles and endurance, and my cock is bigger than it should be—well, bigger than others, I’ve been told. Victoria didn’t complain before—but she also didn’t have it inside of her. Right now, I’m too high on her love to worry too much. I find my tip parting perfect pink folds, instantly sinking into velvety, dripping heat. I think I’ll go slow, just a little at a time, but Victoria has other plans.

She moans, head back, gasping as I stretch her. “Holy fuck!” she whimpers, her hand leaving the wall it was braced on and racing between her legs. I can feel her rubbing her clit as I push in deep. “You fill me up all the way, so good. Oh, Lazarus. Oh, God!” Her cries are happy and incredulous. “This is amazing.”

“You act like it’s never felt good before,” I tease.

“It hasn’t,” she whimpers, pushing back into me. “More. More, fuck me, baby, please,” she begs, and her hips set the pace.

Fast. Hard. Hungry.

Just like me.

“My perfect, vicious little angel,” I purr. “My treasure. Can’t believe I found you,” I breathe out as I feel myself lodging as deep as I can, her low, breathy groan surrounding me, making me dizzy.

“I found you. I was hunting for you for years, and didn’t even know it.”

My hand slips down and joins hers, rubbing her slippery clit as I stay inside of her, rutting hard and fast, loving each sound I pull from her, loving the wet, slick noises that I can hear as my cock marks its new home.

“You caught me. All yours now,” I rasp, one hand smashing over hers as it grips the wall. My fingers are thicker, my skin tougher, and I belatedly realize I’ve probably scratched her palm. My teeth are grazing her neck, but I can’t bring myself to care right now.

All I care about is how she squeezes me, how good it feels to bury myself inside her without restraint. Someone who loves me.

“I love you, Vic. I love you, Victoria,” I grunt into the waves of her silky black hair, nuzzling her head with a contented sigh.

Contentment is fleeting, though. Her walls shiver and clench, pulling me up, pulling me in. I feel my cum practically boiling inside of me, so eager to get out, to mix with her sweet nectar.

Victoria’s hand freezes between her thighs, and my fingers lock over hers. I feel her muscles twitch and her legs tense, then go limp. Her pussy dances on me, and everything is suddenly so much hotter, so much wetter.

So much better.

Her ragged, breathless gasp is all the sound she makes at first, but she follows it up with a half-sob, “Laz! Oh. God, so good.” She sags back in my arms.

But I’m not done with her. I have a sudden realization that I never want to be done with her, that I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for the rest of my strange un-life than ravage her, ravish her, and live in her heat, with her sweet juices all around me.

“Did you just come, my pretty little gift?” I demand, even though I know she did. I wanted her to make noise. More noise. Scream for me—in the good way.

“Y-yes,” her teeth are chattering now, but her skin is hot. Her neck is delicious—a sweet meal with bloody edges and waves of her skin’s own perfume, something branded on my senses.

“Come again. I want you to come again, harder. Your pussy’s all soft now. So gooey,” I marvel at how warm it feels, how I can feel her nectar dripping down my shaft. This isn’t like a vampire or anything else inhuman. I can feel her blood pounding and pulsing under my touch, feel each little frantic squeeze as I lift her up, crying out when the change in position drives me in deeper. With a curse, I slide out of her and turn her to face me, taking in the sight of her flushed face and wild hair framing beautiful, surprised eyes.

And then I take in the sound of her long, gasping wail of pleasure when I plunge back inside of her.

I CAME.

I came, which means he can come now. Most men I’ve been with (like all but two) don’t even have manners like that. They try to last because they don’t want to be a two-minute racehorse in the sack, but they usually fail around ten minutes, and then when they’re done, they groan, roll off, and tell you that you did good. The men in my former line of work did not ask “Was it good for you?” because then they would have to hear the response. They did not apologize for finishing first and leaving me behind. I was paid to be used, and how I was used was up to them.

So this is new.

This is better than being licked and sucked into a happy, toe-curling oblivion.

Probably because he said he loves me.

He loves me.