Page 13 of Don't Hate Me
I had no intention of telling her there had been no one. That the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. It was easy to blame on my insane schedule; the reality was no one had held my attention in that way.
“But we’ve started something now. Yes, we’ll need to hide it from my father, but we can do that. You said I was yours. In bed, that’s what you said. You’re mine, too, and I won’t have it any other way.”
I tried to look aggravated with her, even as I shoved my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t reach for her. “So what? I’m supposed to call you my secret girlfriend? That sounds ludicrous.”
“Sorry, but that’s what I am. Or you can’t have my pussy anymore.”
Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her level of outrage was fucking adorable. “You think I couldn’t seduce you into giving up more of your pussy?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m your secret girlfriend. You’re my secret boyfriend. Or nothing.”
I must have signaled my intent, because before I could make my move she started running. Her lungs were still recovering, so I didn’t let her run for long before I swept her off her feet and landed her gently on her back on the sandy beach.
She was breathing easy, even though she was panting. “You’ll give it up to me whenever I crook my finger,” I told her confidently.
She shook her head. “Nope, only to my secret boyfriend.”
“I’ll prove you wrong right here on this beach.” The hotel wasn’t empty in December, but it wasn’t crowded, either. We had the beach mostly to ourselves. I kissed her, and waited for her to soften. Because that’s how it felt with her. Like I touched her, and her body melted into mine.
I broke away and lifted her to her feet. Then I picked her up and dropped her on my shoulder.
“Marc!”
“I need privacy for this next part,” I said, shifting her weight comfortably so that I could smack her ass a few times.
“Marc!”
“That’s for running away,” I said. Then I smacked her again. “And that’s for telling me I can’t have your pussy.”
“I didn’t say that. I said you canonlyhave my pussy.”
“Yeah, well, let me check it out again and then we’ll see.”
* * *
Later
Marc
I was looking down into her eyes, taking her body hard, even as her legs gripped my waist like a vice. I forced myself to hold back my own orgasm because I didn’t want it to end. I never wanted it to end with her. She was panting beneath me, her tits bouncing on her chest. I started to snap my hips even harder, so they bounced more.
“Only my pussy,” she whispered. I wasn’t even sure if she knew she’d said it. “Only me. Only us.”
“Only you,” I grunted. Because why would I ever want anything more than perfection? I felt her reach for it, felt her squeeze her body around me, which triggered her orgasm, and I felt her tight pussy grip and hold me until I nearly whimpered it felt so good.
Then I lost myself inside her, seeking my own oblivion, and finding it.
* * *
The next morning
Marc
I woke to the smell of coffee. I reached for my phone on the table next to the bed to check the time. It was after nine in the morning. I fell back on a crush of pillows and groaned. I was exhausted and tired, but, at the same time, I felt so fucking good.
I’d had sex with different girls, women. Once or twice. Maybe saw them for a week or two.
But I’d never done anything like this. Where it was just us. Fucking all day long. All night long. Like we didn’t need food or oxygen, but just to be connected to each other. She had to be sore. I knew she had to be, but I hadn’t been able to stop, and she must not have hurt enough to tell me no.
