Page 114 of Lovesick
“No,” I whisper, gripping the sheets of the bed as if the friction will somehow offset the pressure. Anticipation is cold, running through my bloodstream like ice floes, taking on a life form of its own.
I can’t see Crew’s face—all I can hear is the concern clinging to the roof of his mouth. “Do you want to try?”
With the globes of my ass in the air like the dutiful girlfriend I am—and Crew’s twitching cock primed with arousal—I realize that this man is about to take another one of my firsts. Surprisingly, I’m not scared.
Hell, I was content with keeping my ass virginity until I died, but this is something that I didn’t realize I wanted. My need has grown claws and fangs, and it clamps down on themost tender parts of me. Angry. Neglected. Starving for an intimacy that can fill its empty belly.
My heart roars in my chest, almost loud enough to pillow my ellipsis-shaped thoughts. “Yes.”
Crew works my rim experimentally, the heat from his figure rinsing down the curve of my spine. His hands brand my hips, and there’s a gentleness in his touch that’s simply waiting to eclose from its chrysalis and turn into something…bestial.
“Put the vibrator on your clit, baby. Let me watch you fuck yourself while I fill your ass up with my dick. Want you oozing from both holes.” Crew’s growl percolates through my brain like a saline drip, his fingernails carving half-moons into my flushed skin.
I’ve never had this much stimulation before. I don’t know if I can take it.
Slowly, with a shaky hand, I turn my purple, discreet bullet on, feeling it buzz between my fingers. I almost lose hold of it with how sweaty my palm is. It’s not like Crew didn’t just spend a full hour eating me out already.
My arm slithers between my parted legs, and the minute the toy prods at my swollen lips, I’m nearly tossed into the fray with no guide rope to lead me back out.
“Oh, God,” I moan, bucking downwards, circling the vibrator around my bundle of nerves to maximize the outreach. I’m so wet that I wouldn’t even need to stick it in all the way to come.
The only way I can look at both me and Crew given the position we’re in is to glance at the mirror, and I never understood the appeal until now.
Crew’s hefty, fat balls tap against the backs of my thighs, his abdomen posed with each square inch of muscle hardening on display. He’s an unimaginable work of art—biceps popping, trapezoids wrenched tight, quads straining from the upright position he’s in. I’m on my hands and knees, arching my back asmy tits sway against the silky duvet. We look like a still frame that’s graced every teenager’s shoddy computer screen at least once.
Crew dangles my release in front of me. “Tell me what it does to you. I want to hear you say it. Every filthy word.”
It feels like I’ve inhaled sawdust, every sensation bulleting through my body—heat, tingles of the non-garden-variety, a build-up of tension that’ll either ruin me completely or render me irreversibly sensitive.
“I can’t—I’m so wet.”
“You can. I know your pussy like the back of my hand, Princess. She’s a greedy little thing. Look at her dripping for me.”
I shake some of the sweaty hair from out of my face, plunging the bullet into my pussy because, unfortunately, Crew is right. All those amateur feelings are nowhere near the same weight class as the rapture that sinks into my stomach like a fifty-pound dumbbell.
“Fuck!” I scream, inadvertently pushing my butt back into his crotch, a plumage of tears lofting over the waterlines of my eyes.
“There she is. There’s my girl. I want the neighbors to hear the way you’re touching yourself, got it?” Crew demands, spanking one of my ass cheeks as another uncontrollable moan buckles my lips.
Through compromised vision, I watch as he twists his hand over the slightly cambered root of his cock for some added stimulation. “Don’t get it twisted, Merit. I’m a man who gets what he wants, and I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting at the bar.”
The toy bumps against the ridges of my walls—a fluttery feeling that only Crew’s master-of-trade fingers have been able to replicate. Methodical, dogmatic, voracious in a hunger that I myself don’t know if I possess.
Before I know it, there’s a stretching burn in my asshole, and Crew is slotting his cock into no-man’s-land, feeding it to me in increments. I gnash my teeth together as he pilfers more tears from my eyes. It’s a macabre orchestra of squelches, slurps, and buzzing. I don’t know how anal is even humanly possible, because there’s no anatomical way a Pringles can should fit into a small hole.
A groan singes Crew’s throat as he encloses himself in my heat, sitting heavy like he’s always belonged inside me. Once there’s nothing separating us, I feel his dick kick complacently, my hole cinching around the foreign intrusion.
With a sinuous roll of my hips, I grind against the bullet hilted in my cunt, my core incinerating into flakes of ash. Crew doles out brutish strokes—indulging in the responsive squeezes from my asshole—and I’m lucky that there’s enough lube between me and his cock to make for an adequate suction.
“Right there, Princess. That little pulse you do. Drives me batshit crazy.”
A liquid moan disgorges from his mouth, his hips adhering to a faster rhythm, and the tip of his dick skirts my internal nerve endings.
Shit. Judging by how drowsy my muscles are and Crew’s apparent sweet tooth for torturing me, it’s not going to take long for me to come. Pain teeters to pleasure as my pulse plays a sick game of pattycake with the side of my neck.
If I’m going down, I’m taking him with me.
“This?” I purr, contracting around his girth.
