Page 235 of Bitter Poetry

“You like the sound of that, baby? Like the sound of carrying my child?”

I do. God, I do. I’ve thought about it so many times.

“Maybe I will,” he says, tone implacable. “Maybe I’ll fill you all up, shoot my cum right where it needs to be.”

He hooks his arms around my legs and bends me nearly in two and then he fucks me. Hard, brutal thrusts. And all I can think about is him breeding me.

Breed?The very word is animalistic. What man would say a thing like that? It’s not like he can, when I’m still on birth control.

Except it’s not fail-safe, is it?

And he doesn’t know I’m taking it. Maybe he thinks Icanget pregnant.

The thought is like a detonation going off inside my womb.

“Oh God!” I come. This time, it sideswipes me. His fingers apply pressure to my throat, and I’m floating, nothing but a vessel that has lost all connection to the world, beyond my desire for him.

His neck arches, and he growls. His cock feels like it grows thicker and longer, sinking more deeply into me. He’s so hard that it hurts, and then he stills, and a hot flood fills me.

We’re both panting. Looking up through bleary eyes, I find him staring down at me.

His lips tug up in a lazy smirk. I guess he got off on the thought of breeding me as much as I did.

He winks, slides out abruptly, and with what seems to be ungentlemanly haste, rolls off me. I’m barely beginning to process what feels like a dismissal, when another man steps into view.

Christian.He’s naked and his cock is hard and bobbing.

“My turn.” He bites his lower lip as he closes in. “My turn to breed the good girl.”

“Have at it,” Dante says, dropping down next to me.

Christian climbs onto the bed and slides on top of me. His lips cover mine; the kiss is hungry and full of a fire that reminds me of our hate fucks.

Do I miss them? Is that possible?

Maybe I do. This bitter anger I taste on his lips may be the medicine I need.

He pushes straight into me. I feel hot and swollen down there, and feel every glorious inch of him.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he says. “You get hotter and tighter after he’s just come inside you. It feels so fucking good. I can’t get enough of it.”

I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t wantthem. Dante anchored me to him a moment ago. Now Christian takes that same thread, wraps it around his fist, and tugs. And I’m immediately connected to him with the same desperate need. It’s inevitable, inescapable, the feel of him inside me, moving, reigniting the pleasure that has barely tempered.

He nips at my throat and then sucks sharply against it. “Did you forget you were mine, too?”

How could I ever forget that? He bound me first. I couldn’t shake that now if I wanted to.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

No hesitation. “I’m yours.”

“Forever.”

“Yes, forever.”

He’s moving inside me—in out, in out. I’m so wet. Drenched down there. My cum, Dante’s cum. Christian just slides in and out so easily. Everything is swollen and fluttering and throbbing and pulsing. My skin feels impossibly sensitive.

My fingers sink into his hair. His lips seek and find mine. Our kiss is full of anger and oblivion, bitterness and regret.