Page 141 of Beautifully Shattered
Would half a finger be bad? How about two fingers just inside so I can get to her G-spot and give her the relief she needs?
Fuck, she grinds on my hand over and over, panting with need, my fingers slick with her juices. I know they would slide inside her so easily.
“Please. I’ll do anything,” she begs, her restraint gone as she grinds my hand into the fucking earth.
There’s a big chance she’s gonna break my fingers soon. Not that I’d care. I’d happily tell people how I broke them, but…
Fuuuuck.
Reaching back, her hand digs into my hip, pulling me to her like she can’t get enough, and fuck, I guess she can’t.
This was always going to be a quickie. A wham-bam-there’s-your-orgasm kind of thing, but I want to give her at leastsomethingshe needs.
“Two fingers. Okay? And if it hurts, you fucking shout red, you hear me?”
“Yes. Yes. Please. Yes.” Her desperation grows as she shifts her legs wide, giving me better access.
The moment I slowly ease them inside her is the moment she cries out, spasming around my fingers as she comes hard. I don’t even get a chance to press against her G-spot before I feel her climax rip through her, but I milk it longer by massaging it, feeling it for the first time in fucking weeks. And as a second orgasm piggybacks her first, I join her, my nuts going tight before I cum in my fucking pants right there in the grass beside the fucking barn.
28
There’s a swarm of butterflies beating against my chest today, and they’re definitely not the good kind. I was nervous throughout the whole ride here. Not just because I was clinging to Ringo on the back of his motorcycle again, and worried the whole time that we’d get ambushed again by some Satan’s Rebels. But also because we were coming back onto the compound and knowing I’ll be seeing Smitty again leaves a sour taste coating my tongue.
Every new encounter with that man makes me like him less and less. And today, I can’t even summon the energy to pretend to be nice.
The Marx convoy is waiting out on the road for us, staying in their cars as the June winter weather turns bleak.
There’s an icy chill in the air, probably rolling off the snow-capped mountains, leaving the compound looking deserted as everyone hides indoors.
“No plotting,” Ringo reminds me, ushering me up the steps of Smitty’s house. “Leave it to JD. He’ll get this shit sorted out.”
I roll my eyes, because I don’t know how he’s gonna talk a man like Nate Smith around. But whatever. We’ll try it their way first, I guess.
When the door to Smitty’s cabin swings open, Jols’ eyes dance between us before shifting over Ringo’s shoulder to where JD stands in the yard, rubbing his hands together as steam drifts from his parted lips.
“Hey, Babydoll,” he calls, but doesn’t come closer.
“Hey… you.” Jols shifts anxiously from foot to foot, so I step up to her and slip my hand in hers.
“Show me what you’ve been up to,” I say with a smile, and she nods, her eyes still glued to JD, who shoots her a wink as Ringo gives my arse a playful tap.
“Behave.”
I flutter my lashes at him, earning me a smirk before he stalks off, leaving me with Jols, and the guys hurry over to the barn.
“Has he been okay?” Jols asks, tracking him as they get further away, and I nod.
“Show me what you’ve been doing to turn this tin box into a home for Smitty.”
She smirks. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve left little surprises hidden around the place that he’ll find over time, and remember me.”
I giggle, following her inside, relieved it’s cosy and warm enough to take off my thick coat and gloves.
Something I didn’t know about Jols is that she’s quite the handywoman.
She knows how to use tools like tradies use to build houses. I have no idea about any of that, but she does, and it shows in every corner of this place.
There are pictures hanging on the walls, and she lifts each one to show me a message scribbled in black marker directly on the plaster.
