Page 108 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
“I want to come,” I whine. “Please. Please let me come. I can’t?—”
Through my body’s convulsions and my water-obscured vision, it’s surprising I feel Gage’s lips play on the wing of my shoulder blade at all. He peppers tender kisses there, trilling out praise under his breath, and his hand falls away from my tit to offer me respite.
“I know. You’re doing so well, though. Taking me without any trouble, using me just like you should. Love everything about you and this God-gifted pussy.”
I bow my spine like a cat stretching on a sunlit windowsill, throwing my saffron hair back to waterfall down the small of my back, and I inadvertently pluck a lengthy moan from Gage’s vocal cords.
“Christ, Cali. You can’t be moving like that,” he saysthrough clenched teeth, his hands reclaiming their brutal grip on my hips, the smallest, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blip in his unforgiving pace. “Gonna come in three seconds if you do that.”
I milk his hard erection in angry pulses, soaking him to the hilt with my slick, and failing to regulate my breathing. My whole body is on fire with sweat and tears sullying my face, that tingly sensation in my stomach radiating outwards. “Then stop fucking me like that,” I hiss.
I can practicallyhearhim grinning.
“Fucking”—thrust—“you”—thrust—“like”—thrust—“this?”
I’m going to kill him. Right after I come. Or maybe I’ll kill him with my pussy in a two-birds-one-stone situation. A scream nearly wrenches itself from my throat, and pressure is building in everything south, causing my legs to shake and my grip on the bed to slip. It’s almost too much. I almost need a breather, but I’m so close.
“I’m going to—oh, God. I don’t know how much longer—” I’m not sure if what I said even made any sense. My underdeveloped thoughts are a bunch of fine-point needles in my pin cushion head, and my impending orgasm—the one he’s been drawing out for a good thirty minutes—begins to bubble up from behind my navel. With the position he has me in, it would be a miracle for me to get my cum solely on his sheets.
That bullying motion of his cock ratchets in severity, and now we’re shaking the bed’s headboard against the wall every time he sends me forward. Dear God, I’m pretty sure all his teammates are still downstairs. Actually, it doesn’t matter where they are in the house. These walls are as thin as wafers.
“Since I’m feelingsogenerous today, I’ll let you come now,” he drawls with all the arrogance in the world, and I’m so glad I can’t see his smug smirk.
He’s luring me to the edge, sweet-talking me into blindlyfalling off it, and I’m following him like a pea-brained lemming. “Fuck…”
That insult is supposed to end with “you,” but I never get it out.
“Come, Calista. Don’t hold back. Squirt all over my dick until we’re both fucking drenched.”
A protest crosses my tongue, albeit a weak one. My eyes momentarily dip down toward the floor, where I curse the carpet that’s ironically made this whole session very comfortable for my feet. “Your…carpet…”
“It’s a carpet,” Gage bites back. “Make a mess everywhere.”
I’d prefer to have a relatively easy cleanup, so when I go to debate with him, all he does is growl at me like some barbaric caveman and slip his hand underneath my torso, hovering his fingers right over my lower abdomen.
“Ga—”
“Make. A. Mess. Everywhere.”
And then, upon the command of his fingers, he presses down on my stomach, persuading everything to rocket out of me in a geyser—one that still manages to splash onto the carpet even with the obstruction of his cock. I cry out through my orgasm, feeling all that accumulation knock down a dam and flow out of me, a jet of arousal branching off from another one and trickling down the backs of my legs.
Gage groans the loudest he has yet, rumbling the entire room, and those consistent strokes start to turn sloppy. “Fuck. Can I soak that gorgeous back, Spitfire?” His words are wrestled into one long string that barely sounds human, and I give him a matching muffle that poorly imitates a yes.
I feel him slip out of me, feel him swoop my hair to the side, hear the smack of his palm on the root of his dick, then feel him shower my back in an abundance of cum. The splattering of his arousal marries with the syncing of our labored pants, and Iwait to move until he gets everything out of him, my appetite slowly becoming more satiated as I step out of my post-orgasm haze.
I never forgot how incredible our sex was the first time, but now it’s just dawned on me that I have access to his dick for the—I’m assuming—rest of my life. And Gage Arlington, you may be giant pain in my ass, but that monster cock of yours is heaven-sent.
“Are you okay?” he breathes, one hand stabilized on my hip and the other holding my hair out of the splash zone. His tone is shades softer, so soft in fact that his concern is as clear as day.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?”
Gage swipes his fingers over the small of my back, right over my tattoo, sponging up the thin glaze on his pads. “Fucking fantastic,” he replies.
My heart pretty much explodes every time Gage gives me praise, and this time’s no different. If I could move without getting cum everywhere, then I’d maul him in kisses.
He gently rests my sex-tousled locks over my shoulder before planting one of his post-sex kisses on me. “Let me clean you up,” he says.
He comes back with a towel right away and begins to clean my back, all while dishing out that praise I chase like a fiend, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a dopey, lovestruck smile smacked right on his face.
