Page 58 of Stoker's Serenity

I gripped her hips and smoothed my thumbs over her lower back. She was so beautiful, so pure despite the taint she felt she carried because of her past. I don’t think she got that all of us, every damn one of us, had one. Almost all of us had something unsavory in those pasts, too.

I know I wasn’t a saint.

I came from a home as broken as the next guy. Mom hooking up behind my dad’s back. My dad drunk as fuck, until she finally died.

I’d been an angry kid. Angry as fuck. My dad didn’t know what to fuckin’ do with me, until, when I hit my teens, he’d given up on me too. My mom’s parents, the grandparents I’d gotten this house from, they were the only ones who seemed to wantme. It was a refuge from my dad’s insults and fuckery, coming out here during the summer. I was all too glad to get the fuck out of Louisiana and move here permanently.

I tried dropping out of high school to do it, but my granddad wouldn’t hear of it.

I moved my ass here, and he put my ass right back into school. It was his only condition on my sticking around. School, and then trade school, like him, like my dad.

I had my own dark secrets to share, but I was a chicken-shit. I knew I’d feel a lot better opening up when I was sure my little orchid could open up to me, that she would understand, that she wouldn’t judge.

“Turn around,” I told her.

I wanted to gaze into those eyes of hers. I wanted to watch those perfect natural tits bounce. I wanted to fill my hands with her soft flesh and listen to her moan my name, watch the look of ecstasy cross her face, feel the ends of her long, lightly curled hair sweep across my chest.

I didn’t want to let her out of my sight, out of my bed. I wanted to keep her here all weekend and have both of us head into the workweek seven different kinds of sore from our exertions.

I wanted us to need a weekend to recover from our weekend.

She managed to turn around completely without my dick slipping free of her body, which was kind of amazing, a feat unto itself.

She gathered up her hair, holding it off of her neck, and rose up on her knees just slightly, and rolled her hips like a dancer.

Shit, that was hot. I smoothed my hands up her body and pinched her perfect peach nipples between my thumbs and the side of my hand, putting just a little tension on them. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, giving herself over to feeling and she looked like a goddess above me. Her chest heaved in slow, even, gasping breaths that ended in a soft, sultry little moan that curled my toes.

“That’s it, baby. Take your pleasure,” I encouraged, and it was a beautiful thing when she felt like she had permission to be herself. She let go and it was the only time I saw her be free, saw her smile without any lines of tension, saw that beautiful sparkle in her big brown eyes.

I wanted to capture that feeling in a jar for her, let her sip from it any time she started to backslide into being a nervous wreck over something some dipshit had to say, when it didn’t matter what any of those motherfuckers thought.

I let her perfect tits go and slid my hands down her body to her hips, my fingers digging lightly as I thrust up to meet her downward stroke.

“Ah!” Her mouth opened in a tiny ‘O’ of erotic surprise and I smiled up at her and did it again, ramping the energy between us back up, turning up the heat, taking the simmer we were at back to a rolling boil.

“Stoker!” she cried, and it held an edge of uncertainty as she collapsed over me, bringing her mouth to mine. I gripped her ass, held her up off of me just enough, and took over from beneath her.

She held onto me as I fucked her from below, our bodies slapping together, making my bedroom sound like we were in the midst of a porn studio – which could be hot in its own right– but I digress. My gaze was fixed on her beautiful face, pinched with that look she got when she was totally in the moment, drowning in the feels, and getting super close to her climax. Her eyes were unfocused, hooded with pleasure, as if she were both here and not-here at the same time. As if she listened to music only she could hear.

I murmured to her, whispered her pet name, whispered her name, told her she was beautiful, told her just how good she made me feel, and I think she desperately needed to hear those things, not just from me, but from any human being, because her eyes misted and when she closed them, there were tears gathered on her dark lashes like crystalline stars in the deep night sky.

I held her to me, whispered soothingly, and let the emotion crash over her, swirl through her, and drag just a little bit of the negative bullshit she carried out into the ether. She didn’t crash, she didn’t sob, she didn’t break down on me or weep to a point the sex was ruined – in fact – she gasped into my shoulder, “Please don’t slow down. Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” I whispered and kissed the side of her head, renewing my cadence, picking up the rhythm of our bodies coming together.

When she came this time, it was a lighter, gentler orgasm. Her breath fell from her lips in a satisfied sigh, washing over my shoulder and chest as she pushed herself up to kiss me. I kissed her back, and I wasn’t even close to mad or upset I didn’t get my own. I was so wrung out from my first orgasm that I may have been hard, but I wasn’t ready to come again. Not anytime soon, anyway.

I held her tight to my body, her breath washing over the side of my neck as she tried to catch it.

“You okay?” I asked after a bit.

“Oh, my God, yeah,” she got out between her pants.

“Good,” I said. “Kiss me.”

She pushed up once more on shaky arms trembling with exertion and kissed me sweetly. I smiled against her mouth and murmured against her lips, “You are too perfect.”

She laughed nervously and I smoothed some hair out of her face and locked eyes with her.

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