AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bryn’s thighs uncontrollably tremble against me while her ankles bury themselves into my back, both actions wordlessly begging me for mercy she’s not going to get.
Because it’s not what she needs.
It’s never what my little prey needs.
“W…” manages to break past her lips prompting my pumps to become completely pitiless.
Feral.
Another louder, more intense attempt is made, “W…”
Grunt on top of grunt callously crashes into her ear.
Against the side of her face.
Between the paper-thin space separating us.
“W…e…”
Hearing her get closer to finishing my name has my dick incessantly thickening, desperate to paint every letter of it onto the orgasm she’s barely holding onto.
“You need to come, little prey,” the purred promulgation is damn near instantly met. “You need to fucking come all over my cock.” Additional sopping wet constrictions clamor in anticipation. “You need to show me who you fucking belong to.”
“Wessssss!” rushes out of her agape mouth at the same time her pussy begins wildly pulsating, greedily sucking my shaft in deeper and deeper, until it can’t resist the ravenous urge to plunge to the point of no return and release scorching hot ropes of cum. “Wessss!”
Inhuman huffs are attached to additional intemperate thrusts.
I mindlessly let my hips rock to the same pace as her uneven breathing and grin in complete satisfaction.
Like I said earlier, this penthouse was initially acquired to support her career; however, I like to believe it serves a dual purpose of providing a certain type of aid to our relationship.
Here we have actual privacy.
To talk.
To laugh.
To cook.
To fuck.
And given how much of our life has to be in the public eye nowadays, I appreciate the top floor safe haven it’s become.
Chapter 2
Wes
“I told you no black on black,” Evie Jordan, my personal publicist – well now the entire Wilcox family personal publicist – scolds, long, red hair scattering all around. “You’re not Johnny Cash.”
“We both knew I was going to.” I casually slide my hands into my black suit pants. “I’m predictable.”
“Reliable,” she chastises with a small point in my direction. “It’s all about marketability.”
My best friend is the literal embodiment of the word.
From looks to speech to the woman of the week he finds himself photographed with, J.T. manages to demonstrate a level of relatability in the same breath as inaccessibility, which is essentially the ying and yang of the best enterprises.
Consumers appreciate his charm.
