Page 41 of Strike & Score
He uses his hold on my arms to pull me back against him over and over, slowly at first then starts to speed up as my moans get louder. I feel used in the absolute best way, like I’m just a toy for his pleasure as he fucks me into him, my ass slapping against his thighs with each powerful thrust.
“You don’t think you’re a good girl, but you look like one right now.Fuck,you should see how good your cunt looks stretched around my cock like this.”
I hate that I want to see it. I hate that I want to see his masked face while he fucks me into oblivion. I hate that I feel the orgasm so close I can practically taste it. I hate that despite everything, I want him and he knows it.
“You’re going to come for me like this, and then we’re going back home and I’m going to fuck you for the rest of the night. I want you so full of my cum it’s dripping out of you during your game tomorrow,” he says like a threat.
“Colin,” I moan, not sure if I’m complaining, or wanting more.
“I know.” His fingers dig into my skin so hard I’ll probably end up with bruises on my arms.
My knees are going to be bruised for sure, and I hardly notice the tears streaming down my face as my release gets closer and closer. I’m gasping, moving back against him, unable to fight any of this. It’s pointless anyway.
“You’ve got this,” he encourages, and for some reason the subtle praise and encouragement is what tips me over.
I’m crying out. The only thing holding me up is Colin’s grip on my arms as he continues to fuck me, harder and faster until he finds his own release. I feel him swell inside me followed by the feeling of being filled once again.
“So fucking good,” he groans, the sound muffled byhis mask.
He lifts me up as he stands, and I don’t even fight his hold as he carries me back toward the house. I can’t even think about how I must look, and what people will think when they see us like this. But at the same time I really don’t care.
He fucked all the fucks out of me, I guess.
I’m sure my teammates are going to have questions, and they’ll be ones I don’t have answers to, but I don’t care.
Part of my brain also worries about someone taking a picture of whatever state I’m in and posting it, but then I remember who the man carrying me is. And he would never let that shit get out. He might be crazy and evil in a lot of ways, but he would kill anyone that tried that.
For some reason, that thought has me nuzzling my face against his chest, burying my nose in his hoodie. He always smells so good, but right now that woodsy cologne is mixed with the real woods and sex and it leaves me wanting him once again.
I hardly notice when we’re back inside with how quickly we go up to his room. The sounds from the party are muffled as soon as the door closes behind us, and I don’t know what I expect to happen from here, but I can’t deny that whatever it is, I want it to. We’ve moved past denial and while I’ll never stop fighting him, I can also enjoy how he makes me feel. Which is too damn good.
Chapter 23
Colin
Ituck Mayson against me as I walk us back to the house. The party is still going, but if anyone tries to say anything to me, I’ll punch them square in the mouth. All I care about right now is getting my girl up to my room and taking care of her over and over for the entire night.
And maybe into the morning.
And all day.
In fact, maybe I won’t leave her body for the rest of our lives.
My mask is still on, even though I want to rip it off so I can take her mouth with mine. I want to bury my face in her sweet little pussy before pumping her full of my cum once again. I want to take her in every position known to man so I can make her come from every angle and see how many different ways I can get her to fall apart for me.
No one pays us much attention as I walk through the people in our living room and up the stairs. I kick and lock the door behind me. Everyone can get the fuck out at somepoint. They know better than to try and stay here longer than they should.
Mayson lifts her head, realizing where we are and seeming to become somewhat aware instead of her blissed out post orgasmic state she’s been in. She starts to wiggle out of my hold, and I let her so she can come face to face with my mask.
The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder as she looks up to me, covered in fake blood and dirt. The stick in her hair and mud smeared on her perfect skin makes the blood look even more real.
“What’re you even supposed to be?” I finally ask.
She looks down at herself, like she needs to see it to remember, then looks back up and shrugs. “A murder victim.”
“Why?”
“What’re you?” she diverts.
