Page 83 of Hard to Judge

I breathe deeply, feeling the orgasm knock on my door with two fists.

“Sir, may I please have permission to come?”

He licks my shoulder. “Now she’s learning.”

Tears sting my eyes worse than when I was terrified of him cutting me. My chest heaves on a silent sob. Because he didn’t say yes.

I’m half a second away from exploding, but I grit my teeth and push it back.

His hips retreat, and I bite my lips to silence my scream.

He pulls my hips back into the air. His lips graze each cheek, and then he slams home into my cunt. “Perfect little sunshine, come for me.”

Hota rams himself into me. His hips piston like a souped-up machine. He grips my shoulders to keep me still as he pounds the air out of my lungs.

My body twists so tight I think I might snap, and then I’m screaming. My release takes me by the throat, thrashes me about, and then sends me into space.

“Strangle my dick, sunshine. Good fucking girl.” His roar is violent, filling the room. He spills his warmth into me so full it spills down my leg. It squelches and sucks as he continues to fuck me hard, as though he thinks it may never happen again.

My legs quake and burn.

“Hailey.” He shouts my name as though it has such meaning, and then the fight drains from him.

We collapse onto the floor and stay in that in-between state for a long time, neither here nor there. Just blissed on a deep level.

When he pulls out, his cum runs hot down my leg. He scoops it up and shoves it back inside me. He presses his lips to mine, then grins while looking down at the dam he created. “I have a new kink.”

I’m not nervous by nature. The fact that I picked a cuticle until it bled during the drive makes me slam the car door. My Mustang 390 GT shimmies her sleek black chassis. The muscle car can take it. Thank goodness. It’s not her fault I’m freaking the fuck out.

No, that’s on Hailey’s head.

She ripped herself open last night and gave me a piece of her heart. I don’t know if she realizes it, and I don’t know if I’ll have to give it back.

“Helllloooo, gorgeous.” Dobson strolls to a stop near the rear of my car. He’s talking to her, not me. And that’s just fine. She’s a whole new car compared to when I found her three years ago. “You finally broke down and tinted the windows.” He smacks her ass. “Sexy.”

I’d wanted to keep her as close to classic as possible, but I fucking hated people being able to see in all the time.

“Why didn’t you ride with Arlo?” His thick brow narrows on me. “You always ride to after-work drinks with him.” He scrubs a hand down his beard, and his brow waggles. His Scottish accentis thicker today. Like he’s already loosened his tie and hit the after-hours’ sauce.

“Oh, his lady love is coming with him. Probably didn’t want to interrupt their back-seat tango.”

That’s not the reason, yet the words sting.

They probably wouldn’t mind me watching or even participating, but I don’t know when they’ll pull the plug on this little escapade. And sure as shit, it terrifies me.

Everything we’ve done makes me crave more.

Arlo had nothing but praise for me at the office this morning. The praise had nothing to do with my mathematical abilities and everything to do with my deviant side. But that’s not all that was exchanged last night.

“I had a meeting at the Naval Militia Base in Flushing,” I grouse.

“Oh.” Dobson claps a hand on my back, rattling my ribs. The guy makes me look slight. “Right then. Drink?” He ambles toward the entrance to one of our favorite after-hours spots.

He limps a little. More than a little really and my head cocks. “Are you trashed or injured?”

His eyes roll, and he waves me off.

“Dobs?” I demand.

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