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I’m a Mercerchist.
It could be a new catch-phrase.
I could put it on a t-shirt.
He could tear that t-shirt off with his teeth—
Oh God.
Rolling my shoulders, I sat heavier on his straining erection. “It’s not a fever.” My vision became hazy, my eyelashes heavy. “I’m on fire.”
“You need antibiotics.”
“My blood is burning, Hen.”
“Stop that—”
“No, you stop it.” I moaned and fell onto him, burrowing my face into his strong neck.
With another bed-shaking growl, his hands slipped off my shoulders and landed on my hips. He went to shove me off—
“I had a dream,” I blurted.
He broke out in goosebumps as I kissed his hot skin.
“I had a dream you were inside me.”
His cock lurched in my hands. Words strangled from his self-imposed silence. “I-I’m not going to fuck you.”
“Why?” I nipped his jaw.
He choked. “I’ve already told you. You’re hurt.”
“That never stopped you before.”
He stiffened into stone.
He shut down.
Every connection between us sucked into a black void, and…I took matters into my own hands…literally.
Rising on my knees, I grabbed his erection and angled him up. Without second-guessing, I positioned myself over his crown and sank down.
“Putain!” (Fuck!) Henri snarled as I sheathed him completely.
I cried out as his long, thick length penetrated me in one slick glide.
The thick invasion of him felt so threatening, so comforting, so familiar.
Glimpses of my dream reappeared.
Henri thrusting into me in a meadow full of bluebells. Kissing me in a thicket of purple pansies. Fucking me in a field of red, red roses.
Every glade was the colour of a bruise. Every flower stained with pain.
We might’ve been surrounded by crushed and wounded things, but each pump inside me was pure pleasure, pure happiness, pure bliss.
My thighs stuck to his as I sank down the final inch.
