Page 49 of Blindside Love

“Trevor, fuck. I think I’m going to come again.”

“Touch yourself, kitten. I want you coming around my cock at least once more before I fill this perfect little cunt with my cum,” I growl, her body trembling at my words as she moves on hand from the headboard and starts to circle her clit.

“Good girl. You listen so fucking well,” I groan, reaching back with my hand and striking it across her ass with a firm slap.

I wait nervously for a negative reaction, but the way her cunt tightens immediately and the scream she lets out leads me to believe she fucking loved it.

“Don’t stop, Trevor. Show me what a naughty girl I’ve been,” she whimpers, and I snap.

“Is that what you want, Ellie? For me to tell you that you’re being my perfect little whore? That you’re taking my cock like a champ, and that your cunt is so needy to be filled? Or that I want to spank your ass until I can trace my handprint, one slap for every day that you’ve tortured me.”

“Tortured you?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Yes, kitten. One smack for every day you teased me with your smiles, your body, your laugh, knowing all I wanted was to feel you, taste you, yet you held strong. It’s been torture.”

“Do it,” she says as she moans when I pull her neck back further, my grip on her hair tightening as I bite down on her neck, knowing damn well I’m leaving a mark.

Releasing her neck, I push back up on my knees, gripping her hips in my hand as I pull her ass back up in the air. Rubbing gently across her ass, I slide my cock in and out at a slow, torturous pace, slamming in roughly at the same time my hand comes down on her ass. Three times in fast succession.

Between my grip on her hair, her fingers circling her clit, and my cock buried deep inside her, the spanking sends her over the edge. Ellie’s body starts to tremble, her hands moving frantically as she tries to grip onto anything she can, the moans falling from her lips are practically screams.

Her pussy clenches around me, sending me over the edge as my entire body shatters around my orgasm. I pump deep inside her, knowing I’m bare, knowing I’m filling her with my cum, but for some reason, I can’t find it in me to care.

It turns me on knowing I’ve marked her.

And I want to do it again.

And again and again.

Chapter 18

Ellie

When I finally manage to pull myself out of bed the next morning, I sneak off to the bathroom before grabbing both of us a water bottle from the kitchen. It feels like I didn’t sleep at all, which is probably accurate, seeing as we were still up when the sun was coming up. My whole body feels like mush, but like the good kind where you’re all tingly and happy from an abundance of orgasms.

“What was that room we were in last night? The one with all the books,” Trevor asks, leaning his back against my headboard, his water bottle in hand and his chest still shining, his muscles more prominent than before as the shadows bounce off his body.

“That’s my studio. It’s still a mess because it’s the only room I haven’t fully set up,” I tell him, unsure how detailed of an answer he actually wants. Sometimes, questions are just to fill time, and I’m not always the best at deciphering which one someone is looking for.

“For your paintings? Have you been painting again?” Trevor asks sincerely.

“How do you know I haven’t been painting?”

“That night at the bar, Natalie mentioned your art and how you hadn’t been doing it as much. I believe her exact words were, “a narcissistic douchebag stole your joy.”

“Sounds like her.” I shrug. “She’s also not wrong. When I was with Tom, he always tore down my art, and made it seem like it was taking me away from my responsibilities. I stopped wanting to paint because everything in my mind was black, and anytime I would go to paint, I just felt sad and hopeless.”

“And now?” he asks calmly, his eyes staring intently at me, hanging onto every word.

How we are sitting in my bed, him in a pair of briefs and me in just a t-shirt and nothing else, is blowing my mind.

“I’ve been wanting to paint more. I feel like in these last couple of weeks, I’ve been finding that happiness, that joy that was gone, so it’s been fun to paint more. Do you… do you want to see it?”

“I would love to, but only if you feel comfortable showing it,” he says, and I feel my heart swell three times its size.

I’m not used to having a choice. I’m not used to people caring about what I want. I’m used to people taking. The fact that he’s asking me and honestly cares about my answer makes me feel powerful. Like my words and my feelings matter to him.

Which is why I know that last night was the only time this can ever happen between us. There’s too much at stake. I can’t afford to lose a friend like him, a friend who understands me, understands my daughter, and seems to value us both. If we were to lose Trevor, it’d probably hurt worse than losing Tom, and we were married.

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