Page 24 of Time Bomb
She’s warm and tight as she sucks so fucking slowly, laving her tongue through the tiny slit before massaging the sensitive spot just under the crown. I snarl when her teeth graze along my length, her little fist pumping up and down as she works her magic.
“Philly,” I grunt in warning when her other hand gets in on the job, her nails scraping along my engorged balls with the finest hint of pain.
Her eyes flash with delight, but she ignores my warnings and sucks me to the back of her throat, swallowing around the head. Tears pierce her eyes as she gags a little, but she doesn’t stop. No, the devilish woman just keeps taking more. Inhaling me like I’m her favorite fucking treat, and I can’t get enough.
“Let go if you don’t want a mouthful of cum,” I hiss, already feeling my release racing to the surface. “Fuck,” I grunt as she sucks me deeper. Pushing past her gag reflex and tightening her delicate hand around the base, squeezing almost painfully until I’m shooting off down her throat. “Fucking swallow it,” I demand.
Fisting her hair tighter, I pump into her throat until she’s sucked every last drop from my dick. A satisfied smile highlights her face as she licks up a small drop of cum leaking its way out of my dick.
Gripping her chin, I drag her up to her feet. “You’re a bad girl, Philly.” She shrugs before sauntering off, leaving me to follow or drop from the pleasure she just inflicted.
Of course, I fucking follow her. I’m not dead.
I spend the rest of the night sucking her clit like it’s a sour candy, and I just want to get to the sweet center before fucking her until she begs for mercy. I never give it, though, needing to exist deeper inside her sweetness. I never want to fucking leave. I want to stay buried inside her weeping pussy until the day I die.
Unfortunately, a forty-eight-hour shift is calling my name, and as I leave my girl knocked out cold in my bed, my seed still leaking from her sexy slit, I take a picture, knowing I’ll need it to make it through the longest shift of my life.
CHAPTER 7
Ophelia
…MUST COME TO AN END.
“He broke your hoochie coochie!” Laken giggles after the lunch rush has ended, and I’m sitting for the first time since I came in this morning. Late, I might add. Torque worked me twice as hard as he promised, and now, I’m paying for it.
More accurately, my vagina is paying for it. In the form of being so bruised from his sucking and fucking that I can’t breathe without feeling him there. It’s delicious and equally painful in a tantalizing way.
“Seriously, I’m not surprised with the way he couldn’t keep his hands or eyes off you at dinner.” Her lovestruck sigh would normally make me want to gag. “What’s that face?” She snaps up straight, pointing at me.
“Nothing.” I shove a cupcake into her hand that Peyton brought by this morning. “Eat that.” It’s supposed to help her relax the closer she gets to her due date, and she is getting very close.
“This won’t shut me up for long.”
Don’t I know it.
Heading to the back room while the front is mostly empty, I begin unloading the boxes of baking supplies. Arriving just in time, too, because I don’t know I’d have had enough to go for more than a couple more days.
The task of putting things away and arranging the kitchen the way I like is familiar and mundane, leaving me time to think about last night. To replay the way Torque touched me, revered me as if I was the most precious gift he’d ever been given.
I know he’s got a long shift, so I won’t be able to talk to him much until he’s home again, but I already miss him like crazy. I never expected to feel this way about a man before. At all, really.
Yet here I am. Ready and willing to give everything to him because he calls to a piece of my soul that I didn’t realize was missing. It’s like I’m a jigsaw puzzle, missing just one piece right in the center, and he’s it.
It’s ridiculous to feel this way so soon, it’s only been a couple of weeks, but I do. And for once, I don’t want to analyze it to death. I want to embrace it.
The afternoon passes a little too quickly for my liking because, by the time I lock up for the night, Laken has been picked up by Hale and Jesse an hour ago, and I’m walking home. Alone. To spend the evening alone.
I grab my mail before making my way inside and kicking off my shoes. Next, I drop my purse, lock the door, and then sift through the pieces in my hand. A plain white envelope with just my name on it pauses me on the stairs as I head up to change into something more comfortable.
Pushing on, despite the ball of dread in my stomach, I place everything on my dresser as I get undressed and into a pair of shorts and the t-shirt I stole from Torque this morning. Inhaling, I can still smell him. Comfort invades my senses, and I hope that even with whatever is in that mystery envelope, I can keep him close with that intoxicating scent of his.
I go back downstairs after tucking the rest of the mail under my arm, suspecting I might need a stiff drink. Flipping lights on as I go, I’m unsure what it is, intuition, maybe, but I feel creeped out. Like my space has been invaded.
Suppressing the shiver attempting to invade my body, I grab the bottle of Jack Daniels I keep in the cupboard above the fridge and a glass. Pouring out a shot, I’m about to swig it down when I remember Torque’s reaction to me ordering a glass of wine with our dinner.
“Shit,” I grumble as I dump the contents. It’s not like he was any more cautious last night. In fact, he seemed to burrow deeper inside my body every time his release would blast through him, warming me from the inside out.
Staring at the envelope, it’s thin with no marks hinting at who it could be from. Trepidation worms its way through my belly, and I know I must open it. I just don’t want to. This is how people start dying in horror movies.