Page 31 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)

“Fu-f- fuuuuck .”

He whimpers when I flick the knife’s blunt edge over a pursed nipple, then lick and suck to lessen the sting.

The repeated treatment on the other side elicits yet another whimper, strings of more pre-cum making a beautiful mess on his stomach.

Sinews in his wrists and forearms strain against his bind as I continue, alternating a squiggling path of blade and nibbles through the muscles of his abdomen with the tip, careful not to nick or break the skin.

I take the blade between my clenched teeth, relishing the cold metal against my tongue before posting my hands into his chest. My body slides down, then straightens to see the result: gorgeous freckles dotting peachy skin, mottled in red lines and bite marks.

“Look at how shtunning you are,” I gush. “Worked yourself up into a filthy mess.”

“Please, Bea.” His plea is barely a whisper, and I grip his cock, positioning myself with a snake-like slither over the length without allowing entrance. He lets out a strangled simper. “Fuck me.”

I grind into it again and again, teasing myself until our moans blend.

“You like that?” His hips thrust, slipping the engorged crown of his cock over my clit with an unbelievable pressure. “You like soaking my cock with all that sweetness?”

My agreeing hum vibrates through the steel of the blade. I rock over him again.

“You like tormenting me?”

I confirm with another pleasured noise.

“‘Cause I fucking love it, Bea.” Fletcher gasps, the muscles on his hips flexing and showing off their perfect v . “I’m gonna come.”

I spit the knife and catch the black handle in my palm.

“Not yet,” I say over the knife, lowering to remove myself and flanking the thick flesh of his thighs with my knees.

Catching a glimpse of his tightened balls distracts me momentarily, and I bend to circle one with my tongue, then the other, the velvety skin starting to glisten with my spit.

I mouth them and release when I gag, remembering my task and the object in hand.

The weighted handle warms in my grasp. I flip it a few times.

Finally, the blunt spine meets his hardened cock, and I draw a line on the underside from the root, over the ridges and throbbing veins, and past the apex of his leaking slit.

His hands turn to white fists, another tortured, guttural sound bellowing from him before I discard the knife onto the nightstand and clamber over him, the anticipation weakening my resolve by the minute.

“Bea,” he says through a needy whimper. “ Goddamn it , fuck me already.”

I brace my hands against his chest once more. The smallest insertion of just the tip stretches me, and we both quickly suck in a gulp of air at the sensation.

“M-more,” he begs, hips tilting up, “need…to feel more…of you.”

My arms shake, my thighs shake, hell , my pussy shakes while taking his girth.

It’s not possible for him to somehow be bigger than the last time, right?

This is what you get for falling in love with a kinky, monster-dicked hockey player, Behraz.

You’ve made this your cock, and now you have to sit on it.

I switch the angle to slide down further, take him deeper.

When I adjust and throw my hips back, Fletcher snaps like a whip, unintentionally driving his cock deep into me.

It’s a harsh and sudden motion, and my mouth locks open with a shuddering moan.

“I know, gorgeous,” he grits through his teeth, “I know . It hurts. But you’re gonna make that tight cunt of yours take it all, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” It’s the only word I can remember right now.

“Yes,” I repeat, getting into a rhythm. The slapping of my ass onto his hips is enough to drive anyone insane, but watching our bodies fuse is ethereal.

And seeing how it cuts every flimsy thread of Fletcher Donovan’s restraint one by one is nothing short of a drug-addled ecstasy.

I relish it, my eyes stretching as if trying to take in more of the moment, drunk with power and aching for an end to this torture.

The tandem orgasm reaches a precipice, each of our mixed moans and mewls and groans and screaming, flying by the point of no return. My vision goes white, starry in a flash of pleasured bliss.

There’s a stutter of his hips, the last rung of control cracking beneath me. The manic, uneven thrusts end as my walls clench, and I shiver through the high. He stills with a jolt, bowing off the bed as he releases warm cum into the deepest part of me, so full of his cock, nothing escapes.

Our sweaty bodies collide as I collapse into a heap onto his chest, softening cock still pulsing inside me. We share a crazed, satisfied giggle, heaving under the combined weight of our slowing breaths.

I raise my head to his blinded form and admire his persistent blush through the fog of the aftermath. Pretty freckles start reappearing from the strong pink hue. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch across his heated skin. “What do you feel?”

“You.” Fletcher returns a nearly inaudible rasp.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

His obsession is intoxicating, and I can’t help enabling it. “One last taste, then?” Questioning eyebrows wrinkle his forehead above the blindfold. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Maybe that’s the only word left in his brain, too.

I muster up the last of my energy and straighten, lifting myself from his lifeless cock.

We both sigh, but his breath ends in a choked gargle when my knees settle on either side of his face, hands curling over the top of the headboard.

I relax the muscles of my core, spilling out a string of his cum.

It lands on the perfect, pink seam of his lips and drips onto his inviting tongue.

Fletcher trembles, an aftershock of tension bursting across his body, and I lower, suffocating him with my cunt.

He gorges on me, mouthing and licking and sucking until he’s left whimpering, simpering from desperation.

The relentless devouring overwhelms me, and a secondary orgasm rockets through at lightspeed.

One set of my fingers comb through his damp hair, pulling the silk from his eyes so he can see the mess he’s made. They roll as he swallows with a satisfied rumble, and stay shut as I reposition, shifting to lick our mixed release from his ruddy cheeks and facial hair.

“Us,” he mumbles through a sigh, answering an unasked question. “We taste so fucking good.”

I chuckle, going lax post-orgasm. “You win.” My head lolls to my shoulder, allowing a hazy peek at Fletcher’s limp cock, flopped over and stuck to his thigh with a sheen of our cum.

It’s dead. I’ve managed to kill it. Poor guy can’t even leak anymore.

I can’t free Fletcher fast enough, undoing the ankle straps and using the knife to clip to the tape circling his wrists. He tears from the bind and in the next blink, I’m on my back, savoring the delicious weight of his leaden, muscled body.

“Two…minutes,” he pants between breathy kisses. His hands wander, roughly squeezing my breasts, my waist, my hips, my thighs. “Gimme two minutes. Then you’re gonna turn around and get back on this cock so I can look at your perfect ass while I fuck you into next week.”

The following morning is lazy.

I float in and out of consciousness, the only constants Fletcher Donovan’s thrumming heartbeat and his gentle touch.

When I finally wake, I’m sprawled out on my front, tits pressed into his abs and my lower half outlined by his legs.

The drape of a soft cotton sheet covers me, cooling me as I stretch my feet and frou-frou between the wrinkles.

His fingers lace hypnotic swirls through the tangled mess of my hair.

My head angles up from the valley of his chest, the view so spectacular, it’s almost unreal. But it isn’t.

It’s real. He’s real, exposed, and naked as I am, propped up on the headboard, his free hand holding an open book toward the light from the window.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he greets through an innocent, lopsided smile.

As if we didn’t rail each other up the stairway to heaven and back into the early hours of the day.

Warm lips paint a kiss onto my forehead.

The dark line of his lashes flutters, batting at me with an adoring look.

Like all he wants to look at is me. The warmth of our cocoon spreads, filling my chest.

And because I’m not normal, I can’t even say good morning back. “Fletcher? Why do you love me?”

“Hmm?” A dazed reply. His fingers relent from their luscious pressure on my scalp and dote on my cheeks and chin with feathery light sweeps. “Yes, I do love you.”

“Why?”

Fletcher narrows his eyes, still smiling. “Because you’re my joy, Bea. You’re my sunshine on cloudy days.”

Bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum…My mind scats along to the Temptations classic, “My Girl,” and I have to really rein it in so I don’t get carried away and belt out the lyrics.

Fletcher’s thumb grazes over my lips. “When you smile, every worry, every chest-tightening pressure of my anxiety melts away.” My closed mouth stretches at his praise. “Yeah, just like that.” I beam, crinkling my nose. “And you’re warm.”

“Oh! Sorry.” An attempt is made to detach from where our skin connects. “I know I’m sweaty from tossing and turning?—”

Fletcher doesn’t let me go. “Not like that. You’re accepting, welcoming. Patient.”

“Me?” I toss my head back to cackle. “Patient? I don’t have a patient cell in my body.”

He shakes out a denial. “You’re patient with me.”

My finger boops the adorable tip of his nose. “I could say the same thing about you.” A feeling of shame has my eyes averting downward. “I know I’m not easy to deal with…”

“Deal with? Bea…” he intones, placing his book on the bedside table before hoisting me up to a seated straddle.

“Come here.” Both hands hold my face, forcing my gaze to his.

“You’re perfect for me.” One kiss dots my cheek.

“Nothing about you is a burden.” Another kiss dots the opposite cheek.

“I chose you—I’m choosing you. All of you.

” His lips find a sweet spot on my neck.

“Chaos, chattiness, unhinged thoughts, everything. I’ll choose you over anyone else, every time.

” A final kiss to the space over my heart has it fluttering in its cage. “Okay?”

I nod, too overcome with his devotion to say anything, and return my head to his chest. Fletcher sighs and picks up his book again, but my mind is restless, spinning all the worst-case scenarios, all the ways this could fall apart, as any good thing in my life inevitably does.

“Fletcher?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you want kids?”

“I don’t know.” He barely glances from the page he’s on.

“Would you…still love me if I didn’t want them?” My eyes clench, bracing for an unfavorable answer.

“Of course,” he says, mindless and unfazed. “Love isn’t conditional, Bea.”

“‘Cause I think I’d be a terrible mother.”

Fletcher drops his book and exhales through his nose. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“And anyway,” I continue the argument, though there’s clearly none to be had, “I don’t want things to change, like, ever. I like our little life. I don’t want to share you. Is that selfish?”

“It’s not selfish,” he practically coos. “Do you know how many children are born for selfish reasons? I’m happy with you. You’re more than enough for me.”

My smile widens maniacally at the assurance.

“And if we wanna be around some tiny humans, I’m sure our friends or my siblings will be glad to let us spend time with theirs.”

“Okay.” I toy nervously with the short hairs between his pecs. “You don’t think you’d get bored?”

“Of what?”

This man really doesn’t find me boring or annoying at all? I am horribly annoyed by the idea.

“Me!” My arms shoot up, exasperated. “A whole life of only ever kissing me , sleeping with me , only being with me . Wouldn’t you find it absolutely, completely, unbearably boring?”

Fletcher laughs from his belly, the rare sound deep and glorious and jiggling all my lumpy bits.

“A whole life with just you, boring? No, not a chance.” His hands gather the loose hairs cascading over my shoulders and upper back, drawing our faces together.

“That’s my dream.” The husky whisper across my lips is better than any vow.

“Tell me I’m lucky enough for the rest of my dreams to come true, Bea. I only wanna be with you.”