Page 34

“I’m starting to think you really do have brain damage,” I huffed as Alex headbanged to a song I didn’t recognize. He’d had way too much caffeine. It was late. He shouldn’t have had any at all, but here he was, an energy drink in his cup holder, with the streets of Columbus, Ohio blurring by.

“Rude,” Alex snorted, shaking his hair back and forth, a breeze caressing the curl on his forehead, sending it drifting. “You’re just jealous because this is your first time listening to modern girly-pop.”

“I don’t think ‘jealous’ is an accurate description of what I’m currently feeling,” I replied. “ABBA is far superior.”

“ABBA?” Alex echoed, eyebrows shooting up. “I feel like I’m seeing you for the first time.”

“Oh, shut up.” A giggle burst free, and I had to slap my hand over my mouth to get it to stop. I blamed the show tunes we’d been listening to all the way from Hocking Hills and into the city. Discovering that Alex and I had both been theater kids in high school was surprising—especially because I knew he’d also been a jock. In my school, those things had not mixed.

I’d skirted by—as a cheerleader, but only barely.

I supposed private school might be different? But that wasn’t something I’d ever know firsthand. Alex was an eclectic combination of perplexing contradictions. And I adored it. Just like I adored the pickles I’d been munching on for half the drive—having retrieved them from the fridge at the main lodge for our journey to the suit shop.

So, yes.

Show tunes had made me giddy.

I’d never driven with the windows down through fields of corn while belting to Annie Get Your Gun before. We’d sang a rather horrible rendition of “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better”, both of us so out of tune it was horrendous.

I’d said we were both in theater.

Not that we were gifted.

It was also possible that my current lingering joy could’ve been caused by the brand new Armani suit hanging from the suit hook in the back of the car so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Armani, to match the one Alex was going to wear.

Alex—because he was a unicorn—had a friend who owned a suit store, apparently. A friend who just-so-happened to owe him a favor, and had been willing to keep the shop open past closing so that we could go suit shopping despite the late hour.

Which subsequently meant that at one in the morning, we’d only just finished purchasing what had to be the prettiest, and most expensive suit I’d ever owned.

I’d let Alex buy it.

I hadn’t even attempted to push his credit card away. Maybe it was my way of showing him that things had changed between us. That I accepted him. Or maybe it was his puppy dog eyes? Either way, Brendon no longer felt like a shadow that hung over me. Nor was he a wall between us. And refusing Alex’s genuine offer felt like something “old George” would’ve done. Not new Georgie.

No. New Georgie listened to show tunes with his not-boyfriend. New Georgie snarked and giggled, and rolled down the windows to feel the summer breeze. New Georgie was free in a way old George never had been.

As illogical as it was—after only a few short days?—

There was only Alex in my heart now.

There was only Alex’s smile haunting me.

Only the whisper of his laughter.

Only the nonsensical way he somehow managed to fill every space he entered with light—even now, when it was dark out, and the only thing keeping us company were the blurred city lights on either side of the vehicle, and the half-eaten jar of pickles that was abandoned at my feet. We pulled to a stop at a train crossing, and the lights outside stilled.

I couldn’t even feel embarrassed that his friend had teased him about the hickeys and bite marks on my neck. Couldn’t be miffed that Alex was currently bouncing off the walls—being loud enough to shake my tired brain apart—because it was far preferable than the sad, endearing ball of misery that he’d been earlier today.

I’d wanted to hold him, but even I could tell that would be too much.

He was too raw at the time.

Unlike now…now when his guard was down again, and his eyes were manic.

“Where are we going?” I asked, interrupting more of Alex’s headbanging. He looked so stupid . Stupidly adorable . The way he was dancing was out of sync with the beat of the music—and he was lucky that we’d stopped in front of one of the many train tracks that crossed Columbus or his voracious moves would’ve been a health hazard. He was probably doing it on purpose because he found bouncing off-beat to be fun like the chaos demon he was.

Train cars covered in graffiti zoomed in front of us, the creak-rattle of wheels on the track loud in the nighttime quiet—but not as loud as the beat of my heart, or Alex’s presence in my head.

“We’re going home,” Alex answered my question.

“Home?” I blinked.

“ My home,” Alex reiterated. “In Columbus.”

“I know what city we’re in, thank you,” I sighed, though I was…still confused. “I thought you wanted to go to a hotel? What about my diamonds , Alex?” I deadpanned, surprised by how natural it felt—and how easy it was to focus on him and push aside my warring thoughts. “You said that you were going to spoil me.”

“I literally just bought you a suit?! Greedy, much?” Alex teased, wild and unrepentant. He wasn’t offended by my joke, which was a relief—and only further proved how close we’d gotten over the last few days.

It felt like we’d known each other years, not less than a week.

And the fact that I could joke about money-related issues, given what he’d admitted last night, spoke volumes about that bond.

Alex’s still-broken watch was back in its rightful spot on his wrist.

Sitting next to the friendship bracelet I’d made him, it caught the light from the street lamps to our left and right. His forearms flexed, tan hands cupping the steering wheel like it was an old friend. When I glanced back up at his face, Alex’s pale eyes were bright.

“You’re right, though. I did say that. And I meant it. But—plans have changed,” he said. “I realized I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” I frowned.

“I miscalculated—I’ve never actually had a real partner to spoil.”Alex admitted when the rattle of the train had finally stopped, and the caboose passed by in front of us. The red and white railroad crossing gates slowly began to rise back into position. “You’re different. You’re not one of my nameless exes. Not a Poundr hookup. You’re George . And if I’m going to show how you deserve to be treated, I’m gonna do that in my own goddamn house—in my own fucking bed. ”

I understood what he meant.

The hotel had been before we’d…reached this . A new level of not-boyfriends. At some point, we’d crossed a line into unknown territory. Things were different. Better, more, and stronger. The tension between us flickered liquid-hot and airy at the same time. Like it was simultaneously a scorching iron and a fluffy summer cloud.

I could honestly say I’d never felt this way about anyone else.

A beat passed, companionable silence filling the car as Alex waited for the gates to rise all the way so we could cross the tracks safely.

“Relax.” He reached out, fingers looping around my wrist. There was no one behind us, so I didn’t worry about stopping traffic. Okay, maybe I worried a bit—but it was only because it was the law.

The muscle at the corner of Alex’s jaw jumped, his expression nothing but honest earnestness as he brought my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

“Quid pro quo, George,” he said softly. “You took care of me earlier. Now let me take care of you.”

It wasn’t a look I saw on him often, walls down, open sincerity written all over his face. I’d been seeing a lot more of it lately. Like now that I’d broken through the last of Alex’s fortifications, he didn’t know how to get them back up again. I didn’t know what to do with it. Especially given the direction our conversation had veered.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

I was going back to New York soon. There wasn’t—there wasn’t room for declarations like that. And yet…Alex made room anyway. Like he was carving space for us in the universe.

Alex lived in a house that was so picture perfect I was half-tempted to take a snapshot to add it to my vision board. Red brick. White trim. A space large enough for a family to grow into. It looked homey and inviting, set inside a neighborhood of other similar fancy houses. Ivy danced up the walls, the yard was spacious and flawlessly manicured, and the cement walkway that led from the covered front porch to the street was lined with perfectly spaced rose bushes.

This was not the bachelor pad I’d anticipated.

And…it spoke volumes of the life Alex wanted—but had never let himself have.

Alex pulled into the driveway and the garage door rose with nary a creak. Perfectly oiled, probably. The kind of perfection only money could buy. An automatic light illuminated the space as Alex parked the car. We exited in tandem, both of us eager to head inside, though that didn’t stop me from taking in the space around me with awe.

I clutched my pickle jar close, for moral support.

To my left, a parked motorcycle—presumably based on the shape—was covered in a drop cloth for protection. The wall at its back housed a set of shelving units painted a glorious firetruck red. Tools hung in perfect precision along a matching pegboard inlaid into the unit. There were a few empty spots made glaringly obvious by its organization.

A honeyed wooden workbench connected the first set of shelves to a second even larger set that spanned the connected wall all the way to the door that led inside the house. These were clearly used for storage of a different sort. Hockey skates, gear, and other miscellaneous sporty knickknacks populated the shelves along with what had to be the remainder of Alex’s camping gear. There were quite a few empty spots here as well, though it didn’t take a genius to realize that was because half his camping gear was in use at the wedding.

“You done stalking me yet?” Alex teased. I jolted, twisting to look at him across the hood of the car.

“You brought me here, it’s not stalking.” My tone was certainly defensive, which did not help my argument .

“Gathering intel, then?” He looked far too pleased with himself, eyes dancing. “Spying?” I flushed, and Alex’s gaze flickered to my cheeks. A Cheshire-like grin curled across his lips as he cocked his head.

He didn’t tease me again. He simply led the way through the garage and up the steps. The kitchen door swung open silently, and Alex waited at the top, eyes watching me hungrily. He usually looked at me like that, so it wasn’t particularly alarming.

Things felt different though…stronger.

Alex wasn’t hiding.

And his desire was blatant.

Apparently by paying attention to the contents of his garage, I’d pleased him.

“You can ask me questions, you know,” Alex said as I climbed the steps. He didn’t move out of the way, studying me from the doorway he was blocking. My heart skipped a beat. “Anything you want. I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

“Why a motorcycle?” I inquired immediately. Alex laughed, shifting to the side barely enough to let me through. Our chests brushed when I squeezed by. I couldn’t help but shudder—a motion Alex caught, as he licked his lips, pale eyes dancing.

“I like the way it feels,” he answered. “Makes me hard when I ride it and it buzzes between my legs.” I choked, stumbling into the dark open kitchen with a shocked noise. I must’ve looked annoyed because Alex shut the door with a click and immediately crowded me into the kitchen island. “I’m not lying,” he promised. “Or teasing. That’s really my main motivation.”

“Why am I not surprised you bought a death-trap simply because it makes you hard?” I said, breathier than I meant to.

“Because you pay attention to me,” Alex husked, watching me with those all-knowing pale blue eyes. Like he saw right through me. “Because you see me.” He dropped in close, nuzzling our noses together in a tantalizing back and forth that sent a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched. Alex’s eyes were swimming with emotion .

They asked, am I right?

They begged, please tell me I’m not making this up.

They begged, don’t let me down.

“I do see you,” I whispered, lashes fluttering. “I…”

“You’re so precious, Georgie Porgie,” Alex murmured before stealing a needy kiss. It felt different here, surrounded by his things. Private and special—and personal. I whined, my free hand twisting in the back of his sweat-damp t-shirt. His skin was molten where I brushed it, muscles in his lower back clenching as he pressed into me with greed. The pickle jar dug into our bellies, trapped between us, but neither of us cared.

Big, scratchy palms skimmed up my forearms, tickling the hair on them. Leisurely, they climbed, tracing my biceps, my shoulders, till Alex was cupping my face in both his hands and holding me steady.

Obedient.

Sipping from my mouth like he was parched and I was the only thing that could quench his thirst.

We kissed and kissed and kissed.

Soft, hard, sweet.

Insatiable, ravenous, delicate.

Alex’s tongue was as desperate and domineering as always, taking what he wanted from me. He didn’t hesitate to force my mouth open wider with his thumbs when he wanted to lick deeper. He didn’t pause or second-guess tilting my head to change the angle, the wet sounds our mouths made impossibly loud in the quiet space.

At one point, he pressed so close I nearly dropped my pickles.

When he pulled back I was panting.

Alex’s eyes were pools of black desire, his mouth as kiss-swollen and glossy as my own. He licked his lips, like he was chasing my taste, his fingers sliding deeper into my hair, palms scraping my ears.

“Do you want a tour?” he inquired, like he hadn’t just fucked my mouth for ten minutes.

“W-what?” It took me a second to figure out what was going on. I squirmed, half hard already. “Oh. Yes.”

Right. A tour. A tour was good. A tour was…yes.

I could learn more about him if we went on a tour.

And as desperate as I was to yank his pants down and take his hard cock into whatever hole was closest—I was equally eager to discover new things about him. Maybe he wasn’t the only person that was starved.

“Alright.” Alex gave my scalp one last parting scratch, making my lashes flutter. Then his hands were sliding back down my body as slow and deliberate as they’d climbed up. He tangled our fingers together, pulling me through the moonlit kitchen, before flipping a light switch on.

Once illuminated, the space looked even more inviting.

“For a man who claims not to cook, you certainly have a well-equipped kitchen,” I said, honestly shocked. This was a chef’s wet dream. Everything was massive. Granite counters, a farm-style sink, and appliances that looked so new I wouldn’t have been surprised if they still had the stickers from the store.

Alex was delighted. “Well,” he said, tugging on my hands to catch my attention. “I’m nothing if not well-equipped.”

Only Alex could twist what I’d said into a dick joke.

I snorted, and his eyes lit up.

“That was a pretty good one,” I admitted, trying not to smile and failing.

“Damn. Did I win the lottery today, or what? Keep laughing at my dick jokes and I’ll start to get cocky.” Alex waggled his eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes. He took my bottle of pickles from me and put them in the fridge. Then he flipped the light switch off, plunging us into darkness, before he continued the tour.

The living room was a lot more lived-in than the kitchen and definitely more on par with what I’d expect from Alex. Just as massive, just as sparkling—with an inviting-looking sofa and a TV that was large enough it belonged in a Megaplex. A few rolled balls of socks decorated the foot of the couch, betraying Alex’s bad habit of kicking them off and lying down.

He surreptitiously tried to kick them beneath it before I saw, but failed.

I didn’t react to the socks.

A laptop sat on the coffee table beside an empty takeout container and a half finished bottle of Diet Coke. I didn’t react to those either.

Alex made a sound, embarrassed.

“I—clearly—was not expecting visitors,” he said. “Sorry for the mess.”

“I like it,” I admitted—which, of course—went against everything I’d ever thought I’d say. My own apartment was far smaller than this place. In fact, I could probably fit the entirety of it inside Alex’s living room alone. But it was neat always. Every item had a place, and the only clutter that populated it were Mr. Pickle’s toys he often left lying around and the occasional manga I was half-finished reading.

I didn’t like putting them back until I was done. Having unfinished business made me antsy.

“You do?” Alex looked appropriately shocked. “I figured the dirty socks would be a deal-breaker for you.”

“I don’t mind,” I blurted. My cheeks burned, but I ignored the growing flush. “I like that you’re human.”

“Of course I’m human. What did you think I was?” He was teasing. I could tell it was because he didn’t know what to say. He was as flustered as I was, having me in his space like this, seeing his flaws.

I could relate.

I, too, had an issue with appearing less than perfect.

“I just mean…” Instead of joking, I simply spoke the truth. “Since we’ve met you’ve been so put-together. You always know what to say to get what you want. You’re prepared in a way even I wasn’t—and I make a habit of always prepping for the worst-case scenario.” Alex’s eyes were swimming with emotions I couldn’t name. “You’re attentive. So fucking attentive. You’re sm art. Capable. Hard-working. When you enter a room, it brightens, every single time.” My cheeks flushed. “During sex, you always seem to know what you’re doing—even when you don’t.” At that, he laughed. “And while all of those things are true…you also…” I didn’t know how to say this the right way—but I tried.

“You have masks—so many of them I’ve lost count. You use them to protect yourself. A fact I admire, truly, as no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to do the same. But to see beneath the masks…to see you… vulnerable …and…imperfect…” I trailed off. Alex was watching me, the weight of his gaze like a warm blanket.

“To see Alex James as a whole …picture? Not just the put-together-bits you want everyone to see is an honor.” I continued, bolstered by his attention. God, how to phrase this. “And I find…I like you more this way, without the masks. Dirty socks and all.”

Maybe he’d needed reassurance after earlier.

After being laid so bare before me.

Because Alex’s eyes were wet when I met his gaze again.

Wet.

Glistening, as he stared at me for a beat, processing my words.

And then he cleared his throat.

It seemed I’d made him speechless.

Whether or not that was a good thing, I had no idea. At least, not until he tugged me into his side. And suddenly, I was smashed into a wall of heat and Alex was pressing a kiss to my temple. He held me there, recharging, all that manic energy from earlier missing.

“I’m glad you don’t mind my dirty socks, Georgie,” Alex finally said, voice hoarse.

Embarrassed by the emotion I’d exhibited, I was tempted to pull free. But that would mean losing Alex’s embrace, and I wasn’t willing to do that.

At least…not yet.

The rest of the tour was enlightening. Alex wasn’t a slob, by any means, but he wasn’t a clean freak either. It was entertaining to see what spaces he kept the most organized. As we went through his study, a few empty bedrooms with a couple sad bookshelves—because he said he preferred audiobooks—and his well-stocked back porch with its high-end grill and patio furniture, I made a mental list of all the objects that had been given a home in spots that were not their designated areas.

Alex’s bedroom was the most interesting of all, for obvious reasons.

Sleepy and vulnerable, this was where he retired after every long day.

While his house, as a whole, was his private domain, his bedroom was arguably the most personal space inside it. It smelled of expensive cologne and a hint of clean sweat. The walls were painted navy blue with a rich wooden trim, and beams across the ceiling. A sturdy four poster bed was stationed in between two floor-to-ceiling windows sporting rumpled sheets the same color as the walls.

One half of the room remained pristine, while the other housed a hockey stick, a pile of dirty laundry—and a basket that was full of clean clothes. The whole area was an eclectic mix of homey and refined. Like the two sides of Alex’s personality were mashed together in the space.

Alex entered before me, dropping my hand as he side-stepped toward the bed and surreptitiously attempted to kick his discarded socks beneath it before I could see them.

“What did I just say?” I laughed, amused.

“Sorry, old habits die hard!” Alex apologized. That was when I spotted the takeout container on his night stand. I frowned, and Alex snorted. “What, you’re fine with laundry but you draw the line at take-out?”

“It’s unsanitary. ”

“You’re so fucking cute.” Alex pinched his face together with a nose scrunch. “It’s unsanitary,” he echoed, in a lower tone of voice, like he was trying to mimic me.

His easy grin made it obvious he was not upset. In fact, he looked amused , if not a little embarrassed.

“I’m not judging,” I promised. “I told you most of what I eat is take-out too. Only, I have the common sense to not eat in bed.”

Alex snorted.

“Glad to see you’re fine with dirty socks but you draw the line at crumbs on the mattress.”

“I have to draw the line somewhere .” I had so few lines with him. So few I wasn’t even sure I could count them. Nothing he did truly annoyed me, which was as fascinating as it was overwhelming.

“Is this a dealbreaker?” Alex’s eyes were still oddly vulnerable, despite his teasing tone.

“No.”

“Good.” He melted, flopping onto the bed with a sigh. He leaned back on his arms, legs spread wide to accommodate the girth of his cock, his chest flexing. When he arched a brow my way, my stomach filled with butterflies.

“Where have you been all my life?” Alex said.

It was an accusation as much as it was flirting.

Like he was irritated I’d waited until we were both in our thirties to stumble upon Roderick’s wedding. Like we should have met earlier. Which was…a sentiment I shared, despite how fanciful and illogical it was.

I ignored the question, twisting around to catalog the rest of the details of his most personal space. Like the sporty posters on the back wall. As well as the walk-in closet stocked with designer suits in a neat row on one side, and a half-open dresser on the other. Ticket stubs to hockey games littered the window sill, draped curtains framing the moonlit panes. Beside the takeout container on the nightstand, a few wayward coins sat in a clunky-looking ceramic bowl I was almost certain one of Alex’s cousins had made for him.

Alex didn’t interrupt me. His eyes carried a weight to them as he watched me wander. He snorted in amusement when I bent to pick up the socks he’d tried to kick beneath the bed, before tossing them into the dirty pile where they belonged.

“I knew they bothered you, you adorable little liar.” Alex’s eyes were dancing as he stayed reclined.

“They don’t.” I glared at him, reaching for the takeout container next. I stacked it along with the empty Diet Coke bottles I’d found littered about. Alex chuckled the whole time as I walked into the en suite bathroom—oh nice, a glass shower!—to deposit them in the trash bin beside the sink.

“If they don’t bother you, why are you cleaning them up?” Alex called after me. He sounded way too amused. But still…I liked that. Even if he was laughing at me.

When I returned, I paused a few feet in front of him, scrubbing my hands off on my pants. I huffed and crossed my arms. It was hard to look at him, my cheeks burning, eyes downcast.

Why was I cleaning?

It was rude, wasn’t it?

But Alex didn’t seem to think so.

“I…don’t know,” I admitted, because I didn’t . It was almost as though I felt…the need to care for his space like it was my own. “I…”

“Are you nesting?” Alex teased. “Marking your territory with your neat lil fingers.” I scowled and his voice went honey sweet. “I don’t mind, baby. Fuss over me all you want.”

“You read too much omegaverse.”

“What can I say? I like my books knot-ty.”

“Ha, ha.” I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks still felt hot.

“I’m serious,” Alex’s cockiness was back. “I like that you care. I like that you’re nosy. I like that you can’t help but fix things. I like that you feel welcome enough here to touch my stuff. I want you to.” He spread his legs invitingly. “Now, come here—unless there’s more cleaning you’re dying to do before it’s finally my turn to take care of you.”

I followed his command immediately, pulled by the magnetic force of his warmth. Pausing between his spread legs, my heart pounding, I took a moment to get my bearings.

It was late. Far too late, considering the lack of sleep I’d gotten the night before. I was running on fumes and nothing else—and yet, somehow—I’d never felt more awake.

“Sit on my lap, Duchess.” Alex’s voice went low and buttery. I shuddered, nipples perking up, as I straddled his hips. The mattress dipped beneath our combined weight, and Alex lifted up, shifting back a few inches so we were more steady as though my weight didn’t matter at all. “That’s better.”

I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so they simply hovered, useless at my sides.

Alex was different now. His earlier teasing energy was gone. Instead…replaced by the almost predatory intensity I’d grown to associate with him, maybe even more than his smile. Like he was looking at me— really looking at me. Seeing beneath my surface to the gooey center hidden deep inside.

And I let him.

I let him see me as clearly as I saw him.

I was happy…to let him see me.

As vulnerable as that was.

“Arms around my neck,” Alex said, voice rumbling. Relieved to be told what to do, I slung my arms around him, eager to hear what he’d say next. “How’s your pussy feel?” Gravelly and soft, Alex’s voice was full of concern. “Is it still sore?”

I squirmed as the use of that word sent a fizzle of pleasure zinging up my spine. I shook my head.

“Should we make it sore again?” Alex straightened enough his arms were no longer supporting him. Strong hands cupped my ass, digging in and spreading my cheeks. A frankly ungodly sound escaped me. “That wasn’t a yes , Georgie,” Alex taunted. His fingers slid into my crease, rubbing at my twitchy hole through the fabric. “I’m gonna need a yes.”

“Y-yes.”

Thirty minutes later, I was face-first in his pillows with Alex’s cock in my ass. In and out, the thick, sticky glide made me feel like I was losing the last dregs of sanity I had left. The back of my neck tingled and stung from all the hickeys Alex was leaving. His heavy body blanketed mine, my legs spread so wide I was practically lying on the mattress like a useless, needy starfish.

Every thrust sent stars exploding behind my lids.

Alex knew exactly how to angle his hips to strike my prostate. Which resulted in a brutal bounce-slap that forced sobs from my lips, and air out of my lungs. His movements were syrupy slow. So slow that they’d been maddening at first.

I clawed at his thighs, fingers slipping along the prickly hair atop them as I attempted to urge him faster. No matter how I scratched or pulled, Alex never relented. It was easy for him to deny me. And every denial only further reminded me who exactly was in charge here.

At least—on the surface.

Alex had made it clear that I was the one that called the shots. And it was that reassurance that allowed me to hand over control in its entirety.

One of Alex’s hands tangled into my hair, sending another fizzle down my spine. Periodically he’d tug my head to the side so he could see my face—but for the most part, it was simply a reminder. A reminder that I was his , and he was mine , and I was entirely at his mercy.

A reminder that he wanted to see the mess he made of me.

That he liked it.

That he liked me, drooling, sobbing, and tear-streaked.

“ Squeeze ,” Alex commanded silkily against my ear, teeth nipping playfully at the lobe. “C’mon baby, I know you can. Squeeze my cock.” I whimpered, hole clenching around him obediently. “Fuck yeah. Again.” Again, I pinched. My entire focus was on my hole—on the way he split it open. On the squelch-smack of our hips as Alex ground into me, his sac bumping my ass with every glide.

“A-Alex—” I keened.

“Arch your back.”

It was an impossible request. How was I supposed to do that when my legs were spread like this? Still, I tried. Alex purred, pulling all the way out, my empty hole twitching, before he plunged back in with a brutal thrust that had me seeing stars.

“Such a good boy,” Alex’s voice was barely more than a growl. “Squeeze me again, Duchess. That’s it. Such a pretty, pretty pussy.” He released my hair, straightening up as his hands fanned over my ass cheeks and he spread me wide open. “You have no idea how slutty you look right now, do you?”

The noise I made was barely human. The puddle of drool beneath my face was steadily growing, and it was a testament to how undone he made me that I hardly cared. When Alex called me slutty it was a compliment, and the shame the word should have inspired was absent.

“God.” Alex pulled out until only his crown remained, his thumbs digging into my cheeks to keep them spread. “So fucking slick and pink. You have to stretch so much to fit me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

I whined.

“Yeah, you do. But you don’t mind.” My hole fluttered, and Alex groaned. “Because we both know you like it. Size queen.” His hips snapped forward, and I howled, trembling beneath him as his hands slid up my lower back, across my shoulders, down my forearms, to wrap around my wrists.

Every grind of his pelvis forced mine into the mattress, the pleasure of the comforter scraping against my dick an addicting back and forth that made me feel like I was losing my mind. I didn’t even notice when I came, the shockwaves caused by every flex of Alex’s body unstopping. It went on forever, on and on, the wet spot beneath my dick growing as I spilled and spilled.

“Jesus,” Alex gasped out, losing the battle with his own control. His teeth sank into the back of my neck—a new spot this time—his pace stuttering. Faster, harder, quick needy jabs that made my head swim.

The hot spurt of his cum filling me was nirvana.

Sighing, my body lost all tension as Alex pumped his load into my well-fucked hole. “Christ, you pretty fucking princess,” Alex groaned, his tongue lapping stripes up and down my neck. “Such a good boy, for me. Such a good, good boy.”

He settled down, smashing me into the mattress, his fingers skimming over my wrists as his cock began to soften inside me. It was the oddest sensation, but not unpleasant. In fact, my hole clung tighter, trying to urge him to stay.

“You’re so perfect,” Alex murmured into my ear, laving its curve with his tongue and a few flickering kisses. “You take my cock so well. My perfect, perfect baby. Fuck.” He wiggled to get more comfortable, and I whimpered, his dick jostling deep. “Don’t worry. Gonna keep you full, sweetheart,” Alex promised. “Gonna take care of you—just like I promised.”

His hands were on the move, running over my body, tracing its contours with reverence. He rubbed my shoulders, skimmed my ribs, scraped his nails in the groove between my leg and hip. “So lovely,” he praised with a flurry of new kisses. “Thank you. That was—fuck. Thank you.”

He cupped my spent dick, simply to hold it. I was so exhausted, the most I could do to respond was gasp. His hand was so fucking delicious, the calluses just the right scratch to feel heavenly on the overstimulated skin. It hurt a bit, in the best possible way.

“Such a good cock,” Alex continued, fingers slipping lower to cup my balls. “Sweet little balls too. God, you’re a gift, you know that? Not a single inch of you that’s not perfect. My pretty, cute lil Georgie. My precious little sweetheart, aren’t you? So obedient for me. Such a tight, pink hole you have.” His hips flexed, and I sighed, full and happy and content .

No worries or thoughts of the future plaguing me.

Dazed, relaxed, and sated, there was no denying the fact my feelings had grown far more than was natural in such a short period of time. It wasn’t until I was half-asleep, my eyes catching on a wayward pair of socks I’d missed, that I realized why Alex’s flaws didn’t bother me.

Because I loved them.

Just like I loved his strengths.

Just like I loved him.

Dirty socks and all.