Page 86 of The Worst Kind of Promise
I stick my thigh between her legs and spread them, meeting zero resistance. “You ready to have my dick now, Princess?”
Faye nods. “Give it to me, Kit. Give me every inch of you.Please.”
I position my cock at her sopping entrance, gliding the head through her folds without applying pressure, and she trills in her throat as her body convulses with a shudder. “Gonna look so good full of my cock.”
I piston my cock into her cunt, testing the give of her walls before sliding in even farther, all the way until the blunt pressure of my crown presses up against her cervix. Her pussy stretches around my girth, sucking me in deep, so deep that her warmth makes me never want to leave. She grabs my back for support as I begin to steadily thrust inside her, making her body rock as we move in a synchronized motion. Tits bouncing, ass clenched, mouth permanently agape to accommodate for a string of moans. My penis batters against her walls, slow and rough, all while the momentum has Faye’s back slamming against the box.
I feel her palpitate around my length, milking me with her liquid desire, and it electrifies my veins with high voltage shockwaves—ones that make my brain go dark and my muscles slacken for a brief moment.
I’m rooted inside her to the hilt, my ball sack smacking against the edge of the bench. With my injured hand suspended above us, pressed to the glass for stabilization—and yes, it hurts like a bitch—I use my other to massage her tit. I can nearly cup her entire boob in my palm, and I torque her nipple, causing her to unwittingly let out a tone of pleasured cries. I roll my hips, probing against Faye’s G-spot, and her cunt throbs like a second heartbeat in response.
“So good, Kit. It feels so good,” she moans airily.
I slide partway out of her magnificent cunt, watching as my lubed-up cock sinks into her tight ring of muscle, squelching and slopping. And then I shunt the deepest I can, watching in the limited lighting the way Faye’s flat stomach bulges with my dick. A slight groan—probably to defuse some of the initial pain—levitates out of her.
“Fuck…” I growl, placing my hand over her belly, feeling the outline of my cock through her skin, feeling where I am inside of her. “You have no idea how hot this is, Princess. Seeing you all full of me.”
I give my girl a barrage of slow strokes that have her spine lifting into an arch, her toes curling, and her nails digging so deeply into my back that I’m sure they’ve drawn blood by now. An incendiary ache blazes in my lower abdomen as my balls hang heavy, needing to spill my release. I’m close, and judging by the heaving of Faye’s body, the pause in talking, and the way her cunt is strangling me, she is too.
She whimpers. “Kit, I’m going to—”
“Let go, Faye. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
With one final plow, Faye explodes through her climax, and I’m right behind her. It’s like a lit cigarette’s been thrown onto a pool of flammable gasoline, sparking a fire so fatal that it could swallow an entire three-story apartment.
I jerk inside her, spurting stream after stream of cum, so much so that some of it leaks around the plug of my cock, trickling onto the bench. My body wants to collapse onto her, but I hold myself up, heart ticking like a metronome in my chest and legs screaming with a burn that’s going to seep into tomorrow.
I study Faye’s face long enough to see the sex haze clear from her eyes, her body spent and splayed beneath me, looking the rawest I’ve ever seen her. No facsimile of a smile, no hollow words for my easement, unburdened of the secrets she’s been keeping. She’s as organic as the stars in the sky, skin sparkling with opaline brilliance from sweat and particles of moonlight, and she’s sacrificed a life of excellence to be slumming it down here with someone like me. My very own star. Forever the shining light leading me through the darkness, reminding me where home is.
As soon as my dick softens, I gingerly pull out of her, the combination of our arousals slathering my length. I have no idea how I’m gonna clean this up before practice tomorrow. Our breaths have fogged up the glass, the smell of sex lingering in the air, and now I realize that I’ll never sit in this box without thinking about…well. Which could be a good or bad thing. Good for obvious reasons. Bad for concentration reasons.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Better,” she says.
I lean down to kiss her—the calm after the storm—and she invites me in with no frantic tangle of tongues or rake of teeth, just simply letting me feel the bend of her mouth. The sweetness, the softness, the simplicity.
“Better is good,” I whisper against her lips, feeling the first telltale signs of a smile.
32
SYNONYMOUSLY YOURS
FAYE
Pressure. But not the kind that makes diamonds. The kind that crushes the strongest, most resilient objects—that reduces them to irreparable debris.
It’s everywhere. I can feel it sitting on my chest like a gargoyle, crushing my diaphragm. I can feel it in between my legs, but it’s less pressure and more a biting pain. It’s too dark for me to see anything. It’s too dark for me to identify the warmth pooling beneath me, whether it’s blood or piss or something entirely different.
It hurts. It hurts so much. But I can’t stop it, no matter how hard I try. I don’t know why I can’t stop it. I just…can’t. All I can do is scream. The thing about screams, though, is that they’re only heard when they want to be.
“Does that feel good?”
“This is what you want, remember? You’ve wanted this the whole time.”
“Don’t try to move. It’ll only hurt worse. I don’t want to hurt you, Faye.”
A slew of tears dance down my face, cries and sobs mutilating my vocal cords. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. It’s like the words are fully formed in my brain, but they glitch as they transfer to my tongue.
