Page 19 of Psycho

“You can’t fall asleep yet,” she said. “Not with that boner poking me.”

I huffed a laugh and grasped the base of my cock, rubbing the tip along her soaked pussy.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m just…”

“Tired,” Bobbie replied softly. “I know. I can tell.”

I mumbled incoherently, lulled closer to the precipice of unconsciousness now that she was safely in my arms. Bobbie took my cock herself, lining me up at her entrance.

“Wait…condom…” I mumbled.

“It’s fine, I'm on birth control."

She pushed her hips back and the silky heat of her pussy enveloped my cock with delirious pleasure.

“Fuuuuuck,” I sighed.

Bobbie gave a satisfied hum, slowly working her hips in circles until we could both feel every inch.

“What’s keeping you awake this time?” she asked.

I gritted my teeth with controlled thrusts, driving deeper and deeper each time.

“Dad. It’s usually him. Sometimes Mom, too. Mostly Dad though.”

Bobbie made a noise of understanding. She took my arm and brought my hand up to her mouth, kissing it sweetly. She rocked back to meet my thrusts, squeezing her pussy extra tight.

“The worst nightmare that keeps me awake is the fire," I said.

I’d told Bobbie every sordid detail about that hellish memory many times before.

After Mom left and married another man, my father went ballistic. He punched holes in the walls. He smashed every dish in the kitchen, leaving broken pieces scattered on the floor.

Then he started drinking.

And he didn’t stop until he was passed out stone cold on the floor of the living room. He forgot that the stove was on, forgot the abandoned pot of pasta he’d been cooking.

It started to smoke, the acrid stench filling the air. Eventually, the fire alarm went off, and the high-pitched beeping was so shrill, so relentless, that I clamped my hands over my ears.

I was too young to understand what was going on—barely three years old. The stove burst into flame, blackening the walls, the ceiling.

But when I tried to wake my dad, he wouldn’t respond. A cold clutch of terror seized around my heart like a giant fist. The fire was getting bigger with every passing second, charring the kitchen, flames slithering into the living room.

My home was burning. My father was lying there like a dead man. And I felt sick to my stomach with the certainty that I would be burned alive, with no one to save me.

“You’re here, Arrow. You’re safe.”

Bobbie’s voice sent the shadows of that memory scattering to the recesses of my mind. I held her tighter, burying my face in her neck, and pumping my cock a little harder into the velvety grip of her pussy.

I cupped Bobbie’s cheek and turned her head, tangling our tongues together to match every stroke that I buried inside her. She kept gliding up and down on my length, so slick and hot and good.

“You’re here and you’re safe,” she repeated, over and over.

The low warmth of my orgasm curled around my spine, spreading, blooming. My senses were full of Bobbie—her taste lingering on my tongue, her scent in my lungs with every breath, and her body beneath my hands, her chilled skin pressed to mine.

“Come inside me,” Bobbie murmured. “I missed the way you filled me up like no one else could.”

Gripping her hip, I grunted as I pushed deep, grinding hard. Bobbie moaned and her walls fluttered around my cock.