He stared up at me with his desire bright eyes, a flush streaked high across his brutal cheekbones. “Take out my cock and ride me. Wanna see you fuck yourself on my cock.”
Immediately, my hands were at his belt and I was straddling his lap, hissing when I slammed myself down on his cock. I couldn’t take him all the way, a fact that made me writhe and moan helplessly on top of him.
“So fucking tight,” he gritted out, his hands going to my hips to help pull me up and down over him. “Need to loosen that tight little pussy. Want you to take me to the root.”
I threw my head back and moaned at his words. Eager to help, I wrapped my fingers in his thick hair as leverage to throw myself down on his thrust.
He reached up to play with my nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
“Harder,” I begged, riding him faster now.
His cock stretched me so full that my legs were already shaking with the need to come.
“God, harder,” I begged again then hissed when he reared up to bite hard on one nipple while we twisted the other in a tight pinch.
“Come in the next thirty seconds, I’ll give you that extra credit,” he ground out between biting my diamond hard peaks.
I made it there in ten.
I shrieked as I came hard all over his big cock, my legs shaking, pussy clenching against him like a vice.
“That’s it, come all over me, show me how much you love it,” he goaded me as I slammed my hips down over and over.
He slapped his hands over my ass, one at a time on each cheek. The pain made me cum harder, longer. I was sobbing, begging him to stop.
“No,” he laughed then pinched my clit tight between his fingers so that I shouted and another, smaller orgasm raced through me.
“Cress,” he shouted, slamming into me one last time as he found his own climax.
“Fuck,” I gasped after a few minutes, collapsing on top of him.
King ran his fingers soothingly over my tingly bottom and pressed kisses to my shoulders.
“Never would have thought, lookin’ as pretty as a royalty like you do with all that golden hair and those big, innocent eyes, in those sweet little teacher outfits that you’d fuck as hard as you do. Gotta say, babe, I fuckin’ love it.”
I smiled into his hair, my exhaustion making me honest. “Are you sure it’ll be enough to satisfy you? You’re a young stud. I’m keeping you from sowing your wild oats and all that.”
His laughed vibrated through me. “Don’t wanna make you mad when I got you all sweet in my lap but, babe, trust me, I sowed a ton of fuckin’ oats before I met you.”
I harrumphed, but his laugh eased the edge of my grumpiness. “Might get tired of me, is all I’m saying,” I mumbled, both embarrassed and sleepy.
His hands stroked up my back and wound me in a full body hug. “Might get tired but never of you.”
“Meant to tell you,” I said as my eyes drifted closed, secure enough in his arms to fall asleep like a baby. “William keeps calling me. He’s even leaving me messages at the front desk at EBA. Today there was a present on the front steps.”
“Did you open it?” he asked, now tense as a board beneath me.
I was too tired to do anything but move my hands lazily through his masses of soft, curly hair and hum. “So sleepy.”
“Where did you put it, Cress?” he demanded.
“’S in the kitchen,” I said but I was already mostly asleep.
I woke up again when he settled into bed, much later, beside me. The alarm clock read 3:43 in bold, green numbers.
“Where’d you go?” I whispered with my eyes closed as he dragged me across the sheets and settled me over his body like a second blanket.
His skin was cold and he smelled of the cold night outside.
“Just takin’ care of somethin’ that needed fixin’,” he told me in a voice that was hoarse, as if he’d been yelling.
“Did you leave the house?” I asked, frowning and wanting to talk about it but my eyes wouldn’t open and sleep was pulling me back into its deep embrace.
“No one sends my woman presents but me,” he murmured softly some minutes later, squeezing me tight and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
But I was too far gone, so I didn’t respond.
It was late, sometime in the hours pressed like a book between the pages of night and morning, a pause of time each day where nothing is supposed to happen but quiet contemplation and sleep.
In The Fallen Clubhouse, neither of those things were happening.
Old school rock music throbbed through the clubhouse like a heartbeat, keeping the ebb and flow of movement through the brick, windowless house and its surrounding areas in cadence. It was easy to get caught up in that beat, to lose sight of your inhibitions to the hedonistic currents riding like a subliminal message on the coattails of the Rolling Stones, AC/DC and Guns ‘N Roses.