Is this the post-sex glow everyone talks about? Bella looks exhausted, flushed and freshly fucked. I bet I look like a god right now.
I’m surprised that I lasted as long as I did, actually. The second I was in her, I was ready to finish. I had to start thinking about things other than Bella.
Luckily, she came when she did; if not, I wasn’t sure if I could have held it any longer.
I don’t think she realizes how stressful being a virgin in a men’s prison is.
Twenty-fucking-two years old, and my girl and I lost our virginities in the middle of the woods. This will go down in the history books.
Frankly, I could go again. Round two: see if I can make her scream louder… and if I can last longer. It’s unlikely, but I’m up for the challenge.
I was ready to go the second I saw my come leaking from that sweet pussy of hers. Fuck, that was everything I wanted and more.
Best game of tag we’ve ever played. I almost fucking lost it when she became sneaky and tried to throw me off her scent with the boulders. God, she’s perfect. I can’t get enough of her, can’t even pull my sights away from her, half asleep, nuzzled up into my chest.
Her thick lashes dust her cheeks, and her pouty lips are parted ever so slightly. Dirt is smeared across her face, and an assortment of leaves and twigs have made a home in her hair—it’s going to be a bitch to clean. Her hand rests between my ribcage on the spot where her name is permanently marked on my skin.
I wanted to pick her brain apart and figure out what she thought when she saw it. There can’t be any more doubt in her mind that everything I’ve told her is the truth. She’s the only one there is for me, and there’s nothing else to it.
Hands down, these have been the best three days in my life, even though she’s ignored me for the majority.
The floorboards squeal beneath our weight, stirring the princess from her nap.
“Shh, keep sleeping. I’ve got you.”
A soft crease forms between her eyebrows, and she keeps her eyes wide open but makes no move to get away.
Which, obviously, goes straight to my ego. There are only two reasons I’m willing to accept why she’s happy to stay in my arms. Firstly, she loves me and never wants to leave me. Secondly, I fucked her so well that she, again, never wants to leave me. I’m not even going to entertain the possibility that it’s just because she’s tired.
I’m a pessimist by trade but an optimist when it comes to her. She called me a name for it once: “delusional.” I called it being a “realist.” We agree to disagree and all that. I don’t like labels, whether from her, Margaret, or Arthur, the prison shrink.
“I can walk,” Bella argues.
The bubble bursts.
I hold back a sigh and the retort on the tip of my tongue and settle with, “Shut up.”
She’s still a bit sensitive about the whole murder and kidnapping thing, which makes sense, I guess. So I have to go easy on her and shower her with pretty words so she doesn’t see blood in the foreseeable future.
Unlikely.
But as I said, I’m an optimist when it comes to her.
How long would it take for someone to get over that? Like, two days? Three? She never used the safe word; at least she isn’t mad at me anymore. Which makes her constant need to fight irritating—
Oh.
I chuckle to myself as I open the door. So this is how she feels whenever I get us into trouble using that beautiful word starting with ‘V.’ Not vagina, violence.
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” she mumbles, lacking the usual anger she carries around with her nowadays.
“Hmm? I seem to recall you being pretty compliant just minutes ago.”
Her cheeks redden. “I wasn’t.”
Again, with the combativeness.
I head for the bathroom and will my cock to settle because the big guy knows that we’re about to see our princess naked again. What a sight that is.
“Would you like me to refresh your memory on what a good girl you were for me?” Shit. This is just a recipe to make me harder. “You ran when I told you, moaned my name, begged me to fuck you, came on my—”
“Okay, okay. I get your point,” she interrupts my list. I finish saying the rest in my head.
Slowly, I lower her onto the bathroom floor, her clothes ripped and muddy. The newly installed faucet—thanks, Google—hisses and sputters for a few seconds before water fills the tub.
I turn back to Bella and the weary stare she’s sporting. “Strip,” I order.
Her big doe eyes turn to saucers. “What? No, I can bathe myself.”