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My cock thickens beyond anything I thought possible. My asshole clenches as my balls tighten. I’m not going to last much longer, but she needs to come on my dick one more time before I can truly be free.

With a subtle shift of my hips, I grind my shaft against her clit. I twist my hands around her throat and let the demon inside me destroy her pussy. She can’t scream, but she suddenly goes rigid. Her eyes fly open. She claws at my hands. Her pussy convulses, sending rapid pulses up my cock and into my spine.

My eyes roll back. I roar as thick, hot spurts blast from my cock to fill her. A million little mouths suck along the length of my shaft, drinking every last drop, leaving me utterly devastated. I’m sure I’ve never come this hard in my entire life.

I crash against her. Breathing hard, I release her neck. She inhales a shaky breath and lets out a tiny whimper. I’m so fucking gone. The only thing that registers is that I didn’t kill her. It’s a goddamn miracle she’s not dead. But she’s not. Her pussy’s still pulsating in time with my cock. It seems to last forever, and I wonder if this is how we’ll die, entwined on my bed with my cock buried deep inside her. I’m oddly okay with the idea.

Minutes pass, but neither of us speaks. I doubt this is why she was out in the hall, but I was leaving my room to get her for this exact purpose. She just saved me a trip. I couldn’t stop thinking about her all night. Every time I skewered a marshmallow, I pictured my dick sliding into her creamy pussy. When I smashed the burnt treat between two graham crackers, I fantasized about licking up all her cream. The reality of it was so much better than the damn fantasy.

“Scar,” she whispers. “You’re kind of crushing me.”

“Oh, shit, baby.” I prop myself on my elbows, but I’m reluctant to pull my cock free. Being buried inside her is pure heaven. I already want her again, but she might need a minute. I don’t know if she’s used to taking it this rough. The thought of her with another guy enrages me. I want to know everything about her past, including who I need to kill to make sure she stays mine. I don’t know why I want her so fucking much, but I do. I want to keep her, and it’s terrifying. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before. I don’t know what it means, and I’m afraid to even think about it.

Eventually, I reluctantly ease my cock out of her. She’s still so tight I groan when she’s no longer wrapped around me. I roll onto my side and pull her into my arms. She rests her cheek against my forearm and sighs before curling against me.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“I think I might have died.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“In the best way.”

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.

“No. This is perfect.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can walk right now.” I laugh.

“Me either. That was … I just …”

“Shh.” I caress her back slowly, tracing lines through her damp skin. “Just relax.”

She does, snuggling into me and letting her muscles go lax. I keep stroking her, enjoying her closeness. It’s so odd to want her in my arms. Normally, I get women out of my room as fast as possible. But with Julia, I don’t want her to leave. Not now. Not ever. It’s disconcerting, but it’s how I feel. I don’t know what to make of it.

“Tell me about the sugar bear on your arm,” she whispers.

I tense. She’s talking about my favorite tattoo, a cartoon bear on my shoulder. I never let anyone see it. I always fuck women in the dark so they can’t see my scars or tattoos, especially this one. It’s deeply personal. I never talk about it with anyone because I don’t want to have to pound anyone into the ground for mocking me. I know it’s ridiculous to have a cartoon bear on my arm, but it reminds me of my mom, and I never want to forget her.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she says.

“I do … It’s just … usually no one asks.”

“How can anyone ask when you keep it hidden?” She tilts her head to look up at me. The gentle compassion in her eyes makes it easier for me to talk about it.

“I got it because … it reminds me of my mom.”

“Really?” A soft smile spreads across her face. She’s not mocking me at all. She seems genuinely interested.

“My mom was a drug addict.” Might as well get the worst of it out of the way.

“Oh, Scar. I’m so sorry.” She strokes my chest.

“She was a good mom. A single mom who did the best she could. I never knew my dad because he left before I was born. He never called or wrote or anything. Just … disappeared.” I shake my head slightly. Only a loser would abandon a woman carrying his child. I wonder if that’s why she was so fucked up in the end. She had too much to deal with and no one to help her. “My mom was a good person. She just couldn’t stop the drugs.”

“Some people really struggle with addiction.”

“Yeah.” I go silent as memories flood back. “She never seemed to have time to cook much. She was a waitress and had two different jobs. But she loved cereal. We used to eat Sugar Bear cereal almost every night for dinner.”