Page 35 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“Princess, I don’t—”
“I want you to have your way with me, Kit. I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow. I want you to fuck me senseless, punish me for all the times I’ve had a smart mouth, indulge in every fantasy you’ve ever had.”
I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.
“Jesus Christ. You’re sure?” A pornographic groan, forged from unspoken yearning.
“I need you right now. The real you. I need tofeelyou.”
Something inside Kit snaps. His grip is tighter than ever, squeezing, suffocating, but I somehow want him closer, embedded under my skin until no amount of shaking can dislodge him.
“Turn around. Bite the headboard,” he growls.
He slides out of me as his cock unsuctions from my heat, our mixed arousal glossing his length and wetting the sheets beneath us. I don’t ask questions. I don’t contemplate. When I go to move, he spanks my ass, the loud noise ricocheting in the small space. I let out a shaky exhale as the stinging refuses to subside, but the thought of his handprint on my butt makes me giddy.
I turn my head back as far as it’ll go before subjecting my teeth to a new dental plan. “Why do I—”
“It’ll muffle the screams. We can’t afford any more noise complaints.”
I scoff. “I don’t scream.”
He sweeps my hair away from my face, pressing his mouth against the shell of my ear, his breath making the hairs on my neck rise. “You will when I’m inside of you.”
Heat coils in my stomach, my anxiety escalating to a crescendo that drowns out the sharp intakes of air and the buzz in my brain. I tentatively bend over and attach my teeth to the wood of the headboard. My teeth feel brittle already. If Kit’s going to be penetrating me with his massive dong, they’ll crack. But I do as he says in hopes of reaping the benefits.
Kit gives me a silent warning as he squeezes the flesh on my lower back before lining himself up with my wet entrance. This time, there is no careful intrusion, no compassion—he slams his dick inside me. Upon the first head-spinning entry, white-hot flames of passion waltz around the charcoal underbelly of a slow-burning pyre. It takes me a few seconds to adjust to his size, thankful that my sexcapade from earlier has provided me with enough natural lube to lessen the pain. His hand snakes up to massage my tit, his lithe fingers tweaking my nipple before he begins to pump hard and fast inside me.
A string of moan-gasps assails the wood, and I sync up with his timed strokes, my pussy bearing back down on him, milking his ever-growing erection. Wet noises bubble up from our sweaty, interconnected bodies. He weighs my breast in one palm, and he rumbles his delight at my submission, the way I bathe his distended cock in gushes of cum.
“I fucking love how you squeeze my dick,” he praises, his hand migrating to my ass to give it another spank. “You’re so responsive. Every little touch, lick, kiss. God, you’re intoxicating.”
When he relentlessly plows into me again, he hits a spot that makes my vision gray and my head fill with cotton. Shock after shock unravels in my gut, and even with the barricade in my mouth, I still let out an embarrassingly loud cry. My teeth dig in deep enough to leave shallow bite marks, a lance of discomfort shooting through my gums.
I unlatch myself from the headboard. “Kit, I’m going to come!”
“Let go, Princess.” He’s panting, breathless, so utterly euphoric that it makes his voice sound far away. “Come all over my cock. Wrap me in your scent. I want to watch your cum leak out of you, want to lick every last drop of you off my sheets.”
My walls squeeze his length as his thrusts become sloppier, more urgent. He shunts his dick harder, deeper, until I can feel his bulge in my cervix. I’ve grown used to the pressure now, and I chase it like a cocaine fiend. For some semblance of control, he feeds his hands through my hair, wraps it around his knuckles, and pulls so harshly that my neck suffers from minor whiplash. A typhoon of unadulterated pleasure waits for the moment to wreak havoc, to spur my desire into action.
We’re a conglomeration of love bites, longing, and lost souls, a mixture of components that shouldn’t work but do. Kit Langley has a roadmap to my heart, has marked the pitstops and calculated the time it’ll take to get to my very center, to burst through every DO NOT ENTER sign warning wandering vagrants.
“You’re mine, Faye. Do you hear that? This pretty, pink pussy, this fuckable ass, that perfect, swinging pair of tits, those flawless legs of yours. Everything about you—mine.”
His words jolt me awake faster than the strongest smelling salts. “I’m yours,” I breathe.
He reaches his hand around my torso and slaps the hood of my clit. “I’m so obsessed with you, do you know that? This is what you do to me.”
To emphasize his point, he flexes his dick inside me, servicing that twenty-four-seven craving I have for him. The ridges of his shaft catch on my velvet walls, the tight clutch of my cunt palpitating around his girth. Jesus. He feels so good. I want this for the rest of my life. My orgasm lingers on the horizon in a bright haze, powerful enough to bring me to my knees if I were standing, so catastrophic that it’ll probably wipe out my speech and conscious thinking.
Fast and aggressive, Kit fucks me like we’re never going to see each other again. I claw at the headboard, my orgasm building, scaling me, until a kaleidoscope of extravagant hues torches my eyelids. My whole body goes slack as my vagina throbs in a rhythm, and I come all over Kit’s dick with a keening wail.
His pace falters for a split second, but it’s so short-lived that it’s barely noticeable. “Such a good fucking girl.”
He’s close. I know he is. And as much as I love the feeling of him inside me, I want him to mark me outside of the condom. Since I don’t have an IUD, I think of the next best thing, because no way in hell am I putting my future in the hands of a tiny little pill.
“Come on my face,” I say.
Kit stills inside me mid-pump, which has to take some kind of superman levels of self-control. “What?”
