Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
When his hand wrapped around my throat, I froze for a moment. When I didn’t tell him no, Crow tightened his hold. Not too much, but enough that I knew he was there. He could strangle me if he wanted and no one would know. He could fuck me to death while choking me and no one would miss me. He wouldn’t, yet knowing he could made me fly even higher.
My orgasm hit me out of the blue, pummeling into me like I went too far out to sea and was being punished by unforgiving waves. I cried out, balls drawn up as I shot, my release spurting from my cock while my head spun.
Crow let go of my dick, rubbed his rough beard against my skin, then bit into my neck in the spot where it met my shoulder. Sharp pain pierced me as his body jerked and spasmed behind me, his balls emptying in my ass.
Without a condom.
I hadn’t even thought of that.
Crow didn’t move right away, staying inside me until his dick softened. Then he took a step back, tugged his jeans up, which had never made it past his thighs, and walked out of the room, leaving me there, pants at my feet, hole dripping his cum.
I felt utterly alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Crow
Too many thoughts were going through my head to focus on just one. There was panic because I left Cyrus alone in my living room. Chosen had been very particular about his space and his things, and I’d learned to be the same. We could never touch anything that was his. He was the only one afforded privacy, locks, or anything he could use to keep others out but that no one else could have to keep him out.
Plus, being out here alone all this time, I didn’t know how to have someone else in my home, to leave them alone with my things and give them the chance to find something to use against me or take something that was mine.
Even stronger than that was the desire rushing through my body like a wild, untamed animal. I’d taken him hard and fast, and it wasn’t enough. I wanted to bury my cock in his body over and over again, wanted to fuck him until neither of us could move because I’d never in my life experienced something like that. Being with Hillary had been confusing and an obligation. Being with Bruce was a way to get off, and while yes, fucking Cyrus had been the same, it had been all-consuming too, this ache I didn’t feel would ever be soothed.
Even the thing I’d done with my tongue, I’d never done that before—licking someone, tasting someone. I didn’t even know where the urge had come from, I’d just known I wanted to taste him, that I might die if I didn’t taste him.
And then there was the guilt. I’d fucked him and come inside him. I’d used him like he was nothing more than a hole. I’d been rough with him while he had a black eye from an ex-boyfriend who’d wanted to use him the way I had. Who’d had expectations because Cyrus had invited him over, and now I…what? Treated him almost the same way, as if his ass was payment for whatever it was I was doing with him. The thought made my gut churn. Made me hate myself.
But I still needed him again.
You left him alone. You emptied your balls in his ass and left him there naked.
I found an old pair of flannel bottoms in my dresser. They would be too big on him, but they would have to do. After getting a shirt, I went into the bathroom off my room and got a towel for him.
When I headed back to the living room, Cyrus had pulled his pants up. I couldn’t help wondering if his ass was sticky from my cum, if I could smell myself on his skin, smell the pleasure his body had given me.
I nodded toward the clothes in my hands. I knew I should find words to give him, to apologize or explain or make sure he was okay, but they were locked up too tight at the moment.
This was a mistake. The little lamb deserved better than to be here with someone like me.
Cyrus took the clothes without a word and went toward the bathroom. I shouldn’t follow him. It was wrong—he deserved privacy—but my feet moved anyway.
You want to be close to him. He fascinates you. It’s not just the worry of having someone alone in your space.
He left the door open for me.
“I can turn around,” I told him.
“You can look at me. I like to be looked at,” he said, but then he gave me his back.
I didn’t take my eyes off him as he opened the glass shower door and fiddled with the knobs as if he was at home. That wasn’t something I’d ever seen anyone do here, in the house I rebuilt. He was sad, though. He wasn’t comfortable. I’d hurt him, made him feel even more empty and alone than he had before.