Page 74 of Beneath the Scars
The pressure of another finger is intense, but quickly turns to pleasure. I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy having anything back there, but I can officially say this is better than I could’ve ever imagined.
“Are you ready for more, Trouble?”
Words elude me, so I nod my head, moaning out my pleasure. That is, until something ginormous presses against my ass. I automatically tense, not quite ready for a foreign object to be shoved into a place where things don’t normally go.
But then Michael begins to strum my clit with his fingers, and my pleasure spikes.
“That’s it, baby. Let me make you feel good. I seem to recall you wanting to experience what it would feel like to be filled in all your holes. Seeing as I’d likely murder anyone who even thinks about touching you, this is the next best thing.”
I’m on the knife-edge of my orgasm. The plug is fully seated, lighting up nerve endings I didn’t know I had.
And then Michael presses the head of his cock to my dripping entrance.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
Michael slaps my ass, making me clench around the plug and his tip. “That’s not my name, Adalaide.”
“Sir—”
He pushes further into me.
“Shit. Oh, hell.”
A dark chuckle rumbles behind me as he continues to split me in half. I’m transcending beyond pleasure at this point. My body is vibrating with the effort of taking Michael’s thick cock into me.
And then he starts to thrust, rapidly moving in and out of me until I lose all sense of my surroundings.
My entire focus is on the pressure radiating from my core. I’m going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, only to be made anew by the love of my life. When morning comes, I will be irrevocably changed.
Michael reaches around me to stroke my slippery clit. The stimulation sends me soaring into a screaming orgasm I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from. My toes curl as waves of pleasure crash through my body until I’m a shaking mess of a woman.
“Unnngh.Fuck.” Michael grunts as his thrusts stutter, unable to keep the rhythm as my body tightens around his.
He comes in spurts, his muscles quivering the same way mine did. It eases something inside me, knowing his release was equally as powerful as mine.
His forehead is pressed to my spine, dots of sweat transferring onto my skin. Our ragged breaths are the only sound in the room, and I hope to god that Ryan had the good sense to either leave or put on noise-canceling headphones. There’s noway either of us was quiet enough to keep from broadcasting exactly what was happening in here.
Michael straightens and begins to untie my restraints. After flipping me onto my back, he massages the reddened skin around my ankles and wrists. The gentle pressure helps me come back down from the high without crashing out.
Then he begins the slow process of removing the plug from my body. With every slow glide in and out of my hole, I’m revved back up, until I’m writhing on the bed, begging for more.
Without hesitation, Michael seals his mouth around my clit, and I explode for the second time. He slowly brings me back down to Earth until I’m able to blink my eyes open. It takes a second for me to focus.
Michael looks like the cat who ate the canary. “So, shall we put plugs on the list of things we’ll do again?”
I crook my finger at him, needing to kiss this enigmatic man. Pressing his chest into mine, he kisses me with every ounce of love he feels for me. It’s a slow kiss meant to reconnect us after such an intense scene.
Michael pulls away a few minutes later to clean me up, the warm washcloth rough against my sensitive skin. He presses an apologetic kiss to my stomach before gathering me into his arms. As has become habit, I fold my hands across his chest and lay my head down.
He runs his hands in contemplative circles up and down my back. Now that he’s had a chance to get his chaotic thoughts under control, I’m hopeful he’ll tell me what happened today.
The next words out of his mouth aren’t what I expect though. “Zane is my half brother.”
I fling my head back to look Michael in the eyes. “What?”
He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his wallet. Inside is a folded Polaroid, and he hands it to me.
“Oh my god,” I whisper as I take in the two boys. One is very obviously Michael, who can’t be older than four or five, and the other must be Zane. Their names are scratched in black ink on the thick white edge.
