It’s been a while since we were like this, and not entirely because I’ve been so distant. Story’s been so busy with school, trying to speed up her credits to give herself some downtime farther along in the pregnancy. I’ve been all tangled up in the dregs of South Side, struggling to balance it with all those dreams she seems to think are worth half a shit.
My cock’s been hard since she took off her shirt, but it surges at the sight of her tits in my hands, and when I dip down to press my lips to one, the sound she makes in response is enough to make every muscle in my body flex in anticipation.
Grunting, I push her back against the other side of the tub. The water sloshes messily over the edge, but I’m too busy licking into her mouth to notice it. She makes a plaintive sound and wraps her legs around my waist, a hand fisted tightly in the back of my hair.
“Please,” she mewls into my mouth, reaching down to wrap her fingers around the hard length of me. But I know what she wants—what she needs. Tris and Killer have been treating her like spun glass. Even when they’re fucking her, it’s usually planned and slow and painstakingly normal.
But she’s right. I’m not like them.
I am not a practical man.
With a twist of my hips, I enter her in a hard thrust, hands clamped onto each side of the tub for leverage. Her eyes fly wide as she grasps for me, fingertips slipping against my wet shoulders. I give her a moment to send me a signal that it’s too much—too rough—too fast.
She traps her lip between her teeth and bucks up into me.
Alright then.
I pull my hips back and slam forward. The sound of her sharp cry mingles with the slap of water against the tiles, but I don’t stop. Not this time. I fuck my girl the same way I always have. Ruthless, seeking, desperate for her desperation. My muscles strain and flex as I hold myself up, surging into her like waves battering a coastline. The dim glow of my candle throws the cut of her jaw in sharp relief when she throws her head back, gasping. She digs her fingernails into my shoulders, a nice slice of pain to go with my pleasure.
I like making love to Story. At night, when all of us are in bed, moving together or waiting our turn, the way she looks at us as we fill her up is so potent that my knees still feel weak the day after.
But goddamn, I love doing this too.
Steady, hard fucking.
I shift my weight to one hand so the other can palm her tit, thumb toying at her nipple. It makes her cries bite off into something high-pitched and full of agony.
“Tell me, baby,” I grit out, slamming my hips into hers. “Tell me what you want.”
Her throat swells with a moan, but she lifts her head long enough to look me in the eye for her answer. “I want your cum.”
My balls tighten, jaw clenching. “You gonna come with me?”
She’s nodding before the words even leave my mouth. “So close, Dimitri… please…” Her ankles lock around my waist, and beyond the sloppy, wet sounds of bathwater splashing between us, her voice trails off into sharp, indistinct fricatives.
I take them into my mouth with a deep kiss, feeding her my grunts as we move together. The tub is hard and unforgiving against my knees, but I soldier on, driving my hips faster and deeper into her hot cunt.
She comes first, heels digging into the small of my back to grind me closer. She rips her mouth away from mine, pulling in these deep, strained gulps of breath as it shudders viciously through her body. I have a split second to think that Tristian would kick my ass if he saw how thoroughly I was fucking her before my brain whites out.
After, when we’re both a breathless mess of wet skin and shivering muscles, I pull her back up into my lap, crushing her to my chest in a borderline animalistic embrace.
“You don’t need to wait for me,” I say, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I’m here. Forever.”
One downside to having a house the size of a fucking cruise ship is that it takes like a week to actually find someone in it. I shoot off another text.
D: its 3, where r u?
Usually, the use of text speech would at least grant me a disapproving emoji, but today, nothing. Sighing, I keep searching, looking in the entertainment room downstairs, checking the garage to make sure her car’s still here, even popping my head into the bathrooms. Her bladder has been a demanding bitch lately.
I find Tristian and Killer before I catch sight of her, both of them out back bickering.
“It should be three feet,” Tristian says, spreading his arms between the pool and the grass. “That way we’re not losing real estate.”