Page 124 of A Wreck, You Make Me

“You are,” he says with clenched teeth, squeezing his length, and another drop oozes out.

I glance up again, my heart racing in my chest. “But?—”

“Just as your pretty pink pussy is made for my big, fat dick.”

God, I love him. I do.

My love may be one-sided, and it may hurt more than anything else ever has or will. This love may have the most terrible lows, but I also know that it brings me the kind of joy and freedom and exhilaration and safety that nothing ever has or will. This love has such epic highs that I can’t help but be addicted to it.

Oh and also, this love comes with a man with a dick so huge and horny that he should be pouncing on me; it’s written in every sweaty and muscled line on his body. And yet he’s taking the time to assuage my fears about what’s to come.

“Are you sure?” I ask, still doubtful.

“Before this night is out, I’m going to prove it to you,” he vows, still stroking his dick, his hands becoming all wet and slippery.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“In fact”—he gives himself a harsh tug—“before this night is out, we’re going to be friends.”

“You said you didn’t want to be my friend,” I remind him.

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes narrowed now with lust. “But then again, I am an asshole.”

I nod. “You are.”

“And so you don’t want a friend like me. But this guy here,” he says, giving it another tug, and I swear this time his precum actually drips off his knuckles and falls to the floor, “he may look scary, but he’s a useful friend to have.”

I bite my lip. “Why?”

“Because he knows how to make you feel good,” he replies, taking a step toward the bed, and instinctively I move back. Seeing that, his eyes narrow further and he keeps coming at me as he continues, “And that’s his only job tonight. To make you feel good.” I keep moving back, sliding up the bed, not because I want to get away but because I want him to chase me. And he keeps coming, watching my retreat with flashing eyes. “To make you feel so fucking good that you beg for it. You beg for it even when you’re sore. Even when your pussy is all red and puffy and hurting, and every time you move, you feel it. You feel how fucked she is, how well-used and trashed. How wrecked and how fuckinglovedshe is. You beg for it even when you can’t sit down, baby, and I tell you we should stop. We should probably give it a rest, ice you down there, yeah? But you’re so goddamn horny for it, for my monster, hurt-y dick that you don’t want to. That you hunt me down andmakeme fuck you. That you sneak intomyroom and climbmyfucking body so you can take a ride.”

I’m up to the headboard now, my chest heaving and my channel throbbing and throbbing with his filthy words, with the graphic images he paints for me. And he’s up on the bed now too, on his bloody knees, his dick in his hands, tugging it, sometimeslazily, sometimes harshly, when he continues, “But you know what’s wrong with that picture?”

I press my spine into the headboard. “What?”

He runs his eyes over my trembling and flushed form. My nightie is a modest one, more like an oversized t-shirt than anything else; he’s seen me in much,muchless. But the way he looks at me makes me think I’m wearing one of those dresses I used to, back at the club. No, actually the way he looks at me, with starving eyes and features that scream hunger, makes me think I’m already naked.

His eyes go down to my thighs, to the place between them that’s still smarting from my countless orgasms. My dress has ridden up and he can see my panties, wet and useless, as he rumbles, “You don’t have to hunt me down and make me fuck you. Because I’m already either rolling you down on your back or flipping you on your hands and knees and pushing inside you before you can finish saying my name. Because you love saying my name. Isn’t that right, baby?”

I nod, my lips parted with broken breaths.

“Yeah, I know,” he goes, staring at my panties. “And as soon as you sneak into my room, I’m already on you. I’m already tearing off your clothes and making your panties history. I’m already putting you on my dick like it’s your throne and giving my princess the ride of her life.”

“I’m your… p-princess?”

He looks up then. “Yeah, because I guess that’s what you call the girl you’re a slave for.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Shepard?—”

“Unless you call her your Little Strawberry. Either way, I don’t think even I can keep my dick away from you.” He bends down then and, grabbing my ankles with both his hands, one of them wet and somehow so much more erotic as it makes contact with my skin, he pulls me forward. I squeak as I go down onmy back and find him climbing over my body. Once he’s settled between my thighs, he continues, “Away from your strawberry pussy. One way or another, that’s where I’m ending up. So tonight, we become best friends, yeah? My dick and your pussy.”

I put my hands on his bare shoulders and hug his bare, hot waist with my thighs. “Okay.”

He buries his fingers in my hair and stares into my eyes. “We’ll do it the right way, yeah?”

I nod, squirming against him, feeling his dick on my belly, hard and hot, like every inch of him. “Will you call me your good girl?”

His lips tip up on one side as he rubs his thumbs on my cheeks. “You like that, huh?”