Page 62 of Bleed Me

Our hips, both bucking and gyrating, made us look like a damn bull riding rodeo. Except, this bull didn’t want the rider to fall off. Hell. No. I hoped she was up for riding all night. Maybe that’s why I sucked her fingers into my mouth. I was hoping to help her hold on.

Her eyes rolled back into her head. “Oh my God. Now he’s sucking my fingers.”

I was willing to suck anything of hers. I would have sucked her damn toes if my mouth wasn’t already full.

When her body started spasming in a way I had seen earlier that day, I said, “Oh, no you don’t,” and flipped us over. Ramming into her, I demanded, “You come when I say—” My balls exploded. “Ah, shit.” I drove into the poor woman like I had to push her body to the finish line or I would never get to fuck her again.

Justice, probably to save her skin from being scraped across the floor, threw her hands over her head and propped against the door. I thought she was going to ask me to stop, in case I was hurting her, but that’s not what happened. “Harder.”

Demanding more of the orgasms bursting its way through the both of us, my hips thrust into her. “I.”

Thrust.

“Can’t.”

Thrust.

“Ever.”

Thrust.

“Stop.”

Thrust.

“Fucking.”

Thrust.

“You.”

And then I collapsed on top of her.

Never. Never had I ever been so out of breath and content, both at the same time. It was like a baptism, cleansing my soul and my heart. Was it Jesus who saved me? Nah. I’m sure he does a standup job, but my true savior was Justice.

From under me, her chest was heaving, too.

Incoherently, I mumbled, “Am I sqoosh’ you?”

Perfect match to my soul. “Move.” Gasp. “And.” Gasp. “Die.”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled.