Page 18 of Hideaway Whirlwind
“Good, good.”Everythingisgood, including his unbelievably thick, hard cock thrusting into me so deeply that spots of light pulse in and out of my mind’s eye the closer I get to the peak of my orgasm. “Oh, you’re so good, so good, Elliott,” I moan when he ups the pace, grunting and jerking his hips off the bed.
He’s making that noise again like he needs to cum, but I need more before I can let that happen. I didn’t imagine I would actually get anywhere close to finding true pleasure when this was merely a task to be completed and promptly forgotten. But now that I am…I might as well take advantage.
“What do you need?” Elliott asks through teeth he grinds to hold back his orgasm, almost like he can read my mind.
“From behind,” I say impulsively, since that’s the only way I’ve ever been able to make it to the finish line the few times I’ve been able to orgasm, which is just out of reach. My quads and hips ache fiercely from the exertion of being on top when I roll over to the side on my knees and demand, “Do not crush me on my stomach.”
“I promise, I won’t.”
I pause, weighing his sincerity, and then I lower my upper half until my elbows are flat on the mattress. I bite my lip to cut off a yelp when he surges up to loom large and moves faster than I was expecting to kneel behind me. I’m placing even more trust in him when I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t think too hard about that when he spreads my asscheeks, then pushes all the way inside of me with one slow thrust and drops his hands flat on the bed over my shoulders.
“Fuck, that’s it,” I moan as he ruts into me, the front of his thighs clapping against the backs of mine. I bury my facein his comforter to smother my voice that only grows louder, all but screaming when my orgasm rips through me so much faster than I anticipated, ecstasy rolling through my body and out to the tips of my fingers and curling toes.
I hardly hear him ask in a strained voice, “Can I cum now?” over the sound of my own panting.
“Yes!” I whisper-yell after twisting my head to the side and tapping his strong, burly forearm.
He doesn’t even have to pump into me once or twice more—he simply cums as soon as I give him permission to do so. He drops his head above mine on the bed and growls low like an animal, his chest rumbling and vibrating against my spine with his hot release.
For a split second, I fear he’s going to collapse on top of me. “Don’t crush—!”
Elliott rolls us over onto our sides as he takes big, heaving gulps of air, resting his palm on my hip. “Birdie,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose in my hair when he plasters his body to mine like a lover instead of immediately rolling away and turning cold. “Thank you.”
I hum with satisfaction and his affection while my pussy smarts around his cock. My eyes shutter closed, finding more comfort on his soft mattress with his body heat blanketing me against the harsh nip in the air than anywhere else I’ve spent the night in the last horrendous twelve years. Peace. That’s what this is.
But, no. I can’t fall asleep here. I need to get cleaned up and back to my babies. Even with that thought, though, I can’t muster so much as a half-hearted twitch of my top leg so that he’ll take the hint and finally pull out…which he doesn’t.
His hand falls toward my stomach as his breathing deepenswhen I take too long to work up the energy to leave, and I react as I did the first time, shoving his hand away. I’m the one who goes cold, rolling to the edge of the bed, my knees buckling when I first try to stand. His cum—and there’s a lot of it—runs down my sore inner thighs as soon as I’m upright on unsteady legs.
“Birdie?” Elliott asks softly.
“Thank you,” I say before hastily leaving his room, making a limping run for the hall bathroom.
There. It’s done.
Elliott
I’m used to waking up to all manner of noise from sleeping at various truck stops and motels, but waking to the sounds of children playing and squabbling while someone scrapes a plate from the front of the cabin and another flushes the toilet in the hall is foreign to me.I wish it weren’t.
Rubbing my eyes to clear the sleep, I head into my bathroom. With the narrow transom window at my back letting in the gray, early morning light, I catch one flash of my reflection in the framed circular mirror—my age and all my flaws thrown in my face—before I look away. I don’t need another reason to feel down about myself after Birdie made a literal run for it—from me—without a word last night. That was enough, leaving it impossible to fall asleep for several hours.
Thanks to the gas water heater, we still have hot water, and I stay in the shower as long as possible, putting off seeing Birdie until I absolutely have to. Even then, I try to slip past her in thekitchen without being noticed, only for Sydney to suddenly look up at me from her seat at the table, wrapped up like a burrito in a comforter. My heart skips a beat when she smiles, happy to see me, her black hair combed neat and styled in two adorable braids that hang down just past her thin shoulders.
“Hi, Papa. Can I watch cartoons on your phone?”
I huff a laugh and gently tug on the end of one braid, not only because of her request first thing in the morning, but because she’s taken to calling mePapalike Kendall. “Sorry, sweetie. The internet is out.” When she pouts, I point to the kitchen junk drawer beside the stainless steel fridge and say, “But I think I have a deck of cards you can play with.”
“Papa, Papa!” Kendall squeals from between her mama’s legs, getting underfoot while Birdie is cooking something she somehow scrounged up from my pantry. I can’t imagine what, since I don’t keep anything stocked when I’m out on the road and mostly eat at Granny’s Diner when I’m in town. It’s depressing cooking for one person.
“Good morning, little miss. Did you sleep alright?” I ask, automatically bending to scoop Kendall into my arms when she runs to me and raises her hands, holding onto her polar bear by its tattered ear.
It’s truly one of the most painful moments of my life when she smiles so wide to show off her tiny milk teeth and hooks a chubby arm around my neck to lay her head on my shoulder, popping her thumb in her mouth. Without thinking, I kiss her forehead, rubbing circles along her back.
Birdie sighs and finishes transferring what she’d been heating on the five-burner gas stove onto several ceramic plates. “I told you, baby, he’s not your papa,” she reminds Kendall, reaching up for her, noting my reluctance to handher over.
More pain. Kendall kicks and screams when Birdie tries to take her, no longer making eye contact with me. Though I don’t want to, I finally give the little girl up and immediately move toward the back door, inset with six small panes of glass in the upper half, pulling a thick, wool beanie down to cover my burning ears.
“Where are you going? Can I come with you?” Dustin asks when he comes charging out of the hallway with toothpaste smeared on his cheek.
