Page 101 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Her eyes sparkle mischievously. “So, youdidslip inside me that night?”

I groan, already hard at the memory, palming myself under the comforter. “You know damn well if I had, you would’ve felt it. There’s no mistaking that.”

She wets her lips, and I watch her tongue glide along her lip line, my body reacting immediately. No matter how many times I’ve had her, it’s never enough. I’d happily spend a lifetime inside her pussy, her warmth wrapping around me.

“You’d been drinking that night, hadn’t you? I could tell,” she says, voice soft but teasing.

I nod, shifting her body to settle between my legs. “I had been. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d have done what I did if I wasn’t a little out of my head. I’d always been too careful. Probably should’ve worried more about the headlines—‘Future Governor of North Carolina caught propositioning a woman in a steam room.’”

She laughs, arching her hips down, pressing into my growing hardness.

“Alright, give me a lap dance, girl. I don’t think the last one was enough.”

She grins, twisting effortlessly until her ass is in my face, her hips straddling mine as she grinds. The room is bathed in low, flickering light, shadows dancing over every curve of her body. I lay back, arms sprawled at my sides, my eyes locked on her—completely transfixed by her beauty.

Slowly, she moves. Hips rolling, body undulating, rising and falling like a perfect wave. Every grind, every bounce, is a slow burn of pleasure and agony. She leans forward, hands gripping my thighs, teasing, taunting—until my fingers find her, sinking into the thick curves in front of me, spreading her ass gently, my control slipping with every slow, deliberate move she makes.

“Gonna play with your ass. You play with your pussy.”

She nods as I dip a finger inside her slit, coating it with her wetness before moving back to her puckered hole, easing it inside. She grinds down harder, rubbing her clit against my shaft as she rocks against me. She’s always been in control of me, but right now, she could tell me to do anything, and I’d obey her without question or hesitation.

Her hands trail up to her breasts, squeezing those firm nipples I intend on coming all over again. She rocks back on her heels, lifting her hips slightly before lowering them again, the friction driving both of us wild.

“I want to put my cock in this tight hole,” I groan, one finger pumping deep, the other teasing her slit.

“So do it,” she gasps, her breath ragged, body trembling with anticipation.

“Not tonight. You’re not ready.”

She whimpers as I push in a little more. “All I could think about when I saw you that night in the steam room was dropping to my knees, sucking you off and having you finish all over my chest.”

I groan, gripping her hips tighter. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?” she asks, her tone way too innocent. Exactly as she’d appeared that night.

“Because now I need to fuck those perfect tits and cover them with me.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hands slide up to press her breasts together as she turns to face me, offering me the perfect view. I flip her onto her back, planting myself between her legs and move upward until I’m lined up over her chest, the head of my cock grazing her lips before I push in to her mouth then between the soft skin of her full breasts.

The feel of her pressed tight around me sends a shockwave through my body, and soon, I’m thrusting erratically, losing myself in her, unable to hold back.

Her moans fuel me, and it doesn’t take long before I’m spilling across her chest and lips, painting her smile as she licks up every last bit of my seed.

“Now for your pussy, because tonight, I’m getting you pregnant.”

Chapter – 40 – Epilogue – Troy

Four months later… March?

“Inmate number 615, Charlotte County Prison—Colt Marshall.”

The heavy iron doors of the prison gate slide open with a metallic clang, echoing through the still morning air. And there he is.

My little brother.

Our eyes lock, and for a split second, something flickers—something familiar. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying to fight back a smile, but it doesn’t quite make it. He’s bigger now. Harder. All muscle, shaved head, tattoos, and grit. At twenty-eight, Colt’s packed on serious mass—his neck as thick as a tree trunk. We used to tease him that he looked like a young Tom Hardy inBand of Brothers. But now? Now, he’s looking a lot more like the version of Hardy who tore throughVenomorMad Max.

All grit. No mercy.

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