warned and now that his anger was abating, I could see that the momentarily forgotten pain was surging forward to take its place.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it before.” I moved around him and motioned for him to follow me back to the bathroom. We didn’t have much in the way of first aid supplies, but there was an old bottle of peroxide under the sink and maybe a few Band-Aids.
He staggered behind me but I didn’t offer him any assistance. I didn’t know if he’d accept it and truthfully, I kinda wanted to punish him. Punish him on behalf of my spasming vag.
In the bathroom I shoved him down on the closed toilet seat, smirking a little when he lurched to one side before catching himself. I dug under the vanity, wrinkling my nose at the wet spots where the pipes had leaked again. In the back, buried behind a bunch of random hair products that Rosie had no doubt left when she moved out, I found a dusty bottle of peroxide and a long-forgotten tube of antibacterial cream. A few Band-Aids were mixed in with the odd Q-Tip in the toothpaste drawer and I gathered them all up, sitting them on the back of the toilet.
Nudging Luke’s legs apart, I stepped between them and tipped his head back, brushing the damp hair out of his eyes, the smell of shampoo wafting up toward me as I did. I looked closely at the cut above his brow, frowning slightly.
“Don’t you have a cut man or something that patches you up?” I asked.
He looked up at me with a wicked gleam before his gaze traveled down and he stared fixedly at my chest. My nipples tightened, pushing against the sheer fabric of my tank.
“Focus, Turner. Cut man. You got one?”
He nodded briskly, his eyes never wavering. I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, praying to a God that didn’t believe in me for patience.
“And why didn’t he do anything for you?”
He shrugged, and with the movement his hands somehow found themselves just below my knees, slowly working their way up. I shivered, then forced myself to focus because clearly one of us had to.
“Did you even see your cut man? What about your trainer? God, I don’t know, even your manager?” I asked and at this, he shook his head. “So, you could be bleeding internally right now and—” I was cut off by him gripping my ass, dragging me forward.
“It’s fine,” he rumbled. The pressure on my ass disappeared for a second and my panties were jerked down, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of them quickly. “So shut up.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and stood, yanking his own pants down one-handed. Then he sat down again and pulled me to straddle his lap.
“Do you want this?” he growled.
I always hated talkers, but with Luke it was different somehow. It was words I’d heard before, from others, but they felt different coming from his mouth, almost as if they meant more.
I nodded quickly because while he was a talker, I wasn’t. My goal was to be fucked so thoroughly, I would be incapable of speech. And when he lifted me up and brought me back down on his hardness, I knew he was going to do just that.
“God!” I half moaned, half screamed and he grinned in a lazy, wolfish way.
“Move,” he ordered and I was nodding again, frantically, because, yes, moving was good. Moving was really good. His hands clamped on to my hips, fingers digging in, and he started rocking me back and forth rapidly. I didn’t think I imagined the stars exploding behind my lids.
“Damn it, Bri. Move.”
I gripped his shoulders and took over, that pathetic mewling sound escaping my lips every few seconds. His hands were everywhere, ghosting over my ass, running underneath my shirt to skate across my back, slipping around front to palm my breasts, twisting and pulling and squeezing. They slipped between us, touching me just above where we were connected, and I wanted to scream that it was too much but it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
One minute my shirt was there, and the next a ripping
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it before.” I moved around him and motioned for him to follow me back to the bathroom. We didn’t have much in the way of first aid supplies, but there was an old bottle of peroxide under the sink and maybe a few Band-Aids.
He staggered behind me but I didn’t offer him any assistance. I didn’t know if he’d accept it and truthfully, I kinda wanted to punish him. Punish him on behalf of my spasming vag.
In the bathroom I shoved him down on the closed toilet seat, smirking a little when he lurched to one side before catching himself. I dug under the vanity, wrinkling my nose at the wet spots where the pipes had leaked again. In the back, buried behind a bunch of random hair products that Rosie had no doubt left when she moved out, I found a dusty bottle of peroxide and a long-forgotten tube of antibacterial cream. A few Band-Aids were mixed in with the odd Q-Tip in the toothpaste drawer and I gathered them all up, sitting them on the back of the toilet.
Nudging Luke’s legs apart, I stepped between them and tipped his head back, brushing the damp hair out of his eyes, the smell of shampoo wafting up toward me as I did. I looked closely at the cut above his brow, frowning slightly.
“Don’t you have a cut man or something that patches you up?” I asked.
He looked up at me with a wicked gleam before his gaze traveled down and he stared fixedly at my chest. My nipples tightened, pushing against the sheer fabric of my tank.
“Focus, Turner. Cut man. You got one?”
He nodded briskly, his eyes never wavering. I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, praying to a God that didn’t believe in me for patience.
“And why didn’t he do anything for you?”
He shrugged, and with the movement his hands somehow found themselves just below my knees, slowly working their way up. I shivered, then forced myself to focus because clearly one of us had to.
“Did you even see your cut man? What about your trainer? God, I don’t know, even your manager?” I asked and at this, he shook his head. “So, you could be bleeding internally right now and—” I was cut off by him gripping my ass, dragging me forward.
“It’s fine,” he rumbled. The pressure on my ass disappeared for a second and my panties were jerked down, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of them quickly. “So shut up.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and stood, yanking his own pants down one-handed. Then he sat down again and pulled me to straddle his lap.
“Do you want this?” he growled.
I always hated talkers, but with Luke it was different somehow. It was words I’d heard before, from others, but they felt different coming from his mouth, almost as if they meant more.
I nodded quickly because while he was a talker, I wasn’t. My goal was to be fucked so thoroughly, I would be incapable of speech. And when he lifted me up and brought me back down on his hardness, I knew he was going to do just that.
“God!” I half moaned, half screamed and he grinned in a lazy, wolfish way.
“Move,” he ordered and I was nodding again, frantically, because, yes, moving was good. Moving was really good. His hands clamped on to my hips, fingers digging in, and he started rocking me back and forth rapidly. I didn’t think I imagined the stars exploding behind my lids.
“Damn it, Bri. Move.”
I gripped his shoulders and took over, that pathetic mewling sound escaping my lips every few seconds. His hands were everywhere, ghosting over my ass, running underneath my shirt to skate across my back, slipping around front to palm my breasts, twisting and pulling and squeezing. They slipped between us, touching me just above where we were connected, and I wanted to scream that it was too much but it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
One minute my shirt was there, and the next a ripping
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