Page 63 of Beware of Dog

“Fuck yeah, I do. Come on. Relax for me, baby.Attagirl. Jesus.”

He worked his hips in slow, short little thrusts, pausing now and then to rub at her sides, her belly, the insides of her thighs. He teased at her clit until a sharp spike of pleasure made her moan, and then slid in another fraction.

She could tell he’d bottomed out when he tipped his head back a moment, eyes shut, his throat and sweat-sheened collarbones and chest a work of art. “Goddamn,” he murmured. “Good girl.” Then he tipped his head forward, and with a slack mouth and blown pupils, breath hitching his chest on each inhale, asked, “How’s it feel?”

She squirmed a little, gratified by the way he hissed. His arms were drawn up tight, each muscle distinct. His hair, damp with sweat at the roots, curled above his ears, and on his forehead.

“It feels like I sat on a fencepost,” she said, “but in a good way.”

His eyes widened, and then he laughed. One bright, sharp burst that dissolved into chuckles that rattled her like an earthquake.

“Oh, God,” she said, groaning and laughing herself. “Don’t laugh.”

“Stop saying hilarious shit when I’m balls-deep!”

“No!” she shouted back.

And then they were both falling apart.

Shep leaned down low so he could cage her in with his arms, sweaty face pressed to her equally-sweaty throat, half-crushing her with his weight. The change of angle shifted hiscock inside her, which was still hard, and stillso much, and the absurdity of the whole situation bowled her over into a fit of giggles, both their laughing chests pushing at one another.

Cass wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.

Slowly, as their laughter died down, her body adjusted to the feel of him fully-seated inside her. Her muscles relaxed, and instead of an intrusion, the stretch became a welcome, warm fullness. She tightened up on purpose, and—andoh, that was something, wasn’t it? That was kind of thrilling.

“Shit,” he murmured, and turned his head to kiss her throat, her ear, her jaw. He pushed up a little on his arms, so his face hovered over hers, and Cass had never seen anyone gaze at her with such fondness. “You don’t ever cut me an inch of slack, do you?”

“No.” She squeezed on him again. “I—oh, oh, God—no, I don’t.”

He ground his hips in a circular motion.

“Ah! God, do that again—Jesus. I want to…want to…God,Frank…win the award for—for—most…absurdsex you’ve ever had. Christ.” He was executing some sort ofMagic Mikeroll with his hips and her brain was starting to melt again.

He grunted, and swore, said, between panted breaths, “Congrats, babydoll, no contest.”

He leaned down and kissed her, filthy and slow to match his building thrusts. His smile, when he pulled back, was nothing short of adoring.

Then he sat up, and palmed at her hips, and dragged her in somehow closer.

She let out an undignified, “Gah,” sound, and clutched at his ropey forearms.

“You wanna get fucked good?”

“Isn’t that—oh—what I’ve been saying?”

“Yeah. Say it again.”

She did, and she was.

Seventeen

They had a fast and simple pasta for lunch.

Cass wore nothing but his hoodie, and Shep had pulled his little black boxer-briefs back on. They stood at the stove, her arm looped around his waist, her head on his shoulder, while he poked at the tomatoes and onions in the pan one-handed, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Cass hated the thought of letting go of him. There was a rather nasty bite mark on his collarbone, and she kept touching it, again and again, tracing its puffy red edges.

“I feel insane,” she murmured dreamily.

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