Page 100 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
Her mouth pops open. She complies, wrapping her legs around me, and a second later, I’m sliding into her.
“Much better,” I murmur, kissing her neck.
“My blowing skills aren’t up to your standards?”
“They were too good,” I reply. “But I’d rather fill your cunt with cum than your mouth.”
She tips her head to the side, giving me more room to mark her. My teeth graze her skin, and I suck on the area. Making sure to leave a hickey that’ll stand out like a claiming beacon to anyone and everyone.
“Enjoy this, baby,” I say in her ear. “And remember it later tonight.”
She inhales. Confused, maybe. It’ll make sense when she realizes my true motivation for coming here. And bringing her with me.
But right now, I can’t get enough of her. I ram into her hard enough for her body to hit the wall. If there wasn’t a party going on, it would be clear from the sound what we’re up to. As it is, she’s barely containing her moans. She meets my thrusts, our bodies slapping together.
“Touch yourself,” I manage. “Come with me.”
She wordlessly slips her hand between us. I palm her breast, rolling her nipple in my fingers and pinching it while she brings herself to the edge.
“I’m going to—”
“Good,” I growl. My balls are tight, and it only takes her shuddering orgasm contracting around me to trigger mine.
I close my eyes and bury my face in her neck, my movements only slowing as I fill her. And we stay like that for a long moment, her draped around me, until my mind returns.
We just had sex in my childhood bedroom.
The room I lived in up until I left for college.
I set her feet back on the floor and go for the adjoining bathroom. She’s still standing there when I approach her with a damp washcloth. I clean up her thighs, but I don’t touch her pussy.
“Do me a favor, Sticks?”
She eyes me.
I wipe my dick clean and tuck it away, righting my pants and shirt. It’s a lot easier to pull myself together. I barely got undressed.
“Leave me between your legs.”
Her mouth opens and closes. Her eyes heat, but she otherwise doesn’t say anything.
I turn in a slow circle. “My room used to be a lot more.”
Not sure why I’m telling her this.
“What do you mean?”
I clear my throat. “Well, I don’t know. It was just…”
After Mom left, I begged Dad to move. There were two options: keep the house like a shrine and remind ourselves every day that she left both of us, or start over again.
Instead, he scrubbed our home free from any trace of her. Leaving it distinctly…antiseptic.
Until the step-monster came along anyway.
But removing Mom from the house meant getting rid of the mural she painted on my wall. And donating the quilt she crocheted for me as a kid. All the pictures, save the one on my dresser, were put in a bin and hidden away in the attic.
All the memories of her are collecting dust.