Page 50 of Indie

And then for a moment he dropped his weight on top of me, squashing me almost into the mattress, breathing against my neck. I could feel his heart bounding in his chest, my own joining in and now there was a chaotic vibrating.

Chapter Twenty Four

I’d lost total and utter control, narrowly keeping from coming long enough to make sure she got hers first. And then when she did, as her body shuddered under everything I did to it, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth dropping open, and she made those sounds. I could have listened to the noises she made forever, the most beautiful sounds as her pussy tensed around my cock, her eyes fixing on mine. And those cries. Like a siren call of a mermaid.

“Indie,” her voice was faint, half a pant.

And she smelt so good. The heat of her body, the smell of exertion, and that earthy, salty smell of arousal. Sated arousal.

“Indie,” she whispered.

I kissed her neck, gently plucking at the skin, the faintest taste of metal at the tip of my tongue.

“Indie.”

She wriggled a moment, my dick slipping out.

“Indie, you’re squashing me.”

“Shit. Sorry, Spuggy.” Fucking schoolboy error. And she was the cause.

I pushed up onto my elbows, taking my weight off her small frame, listening to the little whoosh of air as she exhaled. Her neck was marked, a purplish tinge forming where I’d sucked on it too hard. Fuck. She’d reduced me to a bumbling fucking teenager, not the forty-eight-year-old army vet, and to top of off, I’d nearly shot my load early as well.

“What’s wrong?” she asked nervously, staring up at me while I chastised myself for my shit fucking performance.

“Nothing, Emmie. Other than me wishing we could stay right here all day.” It wasn’t really a lie. I needed at least another round to redeem myself. “Suppose we’d better go get this car sorted.”

*****

“Where the fuck have you been?” Fury grumbled as he slid from under the car.

“We’re here now, man. Stop ya bitchin. You figured out what’s wrong with it yet?”

“What’s fucking wrong with it? Be quicker to figure out what’s right with it. When was the last time you had this thing serviced?” He turned to Emmie, who was standing awkwardly by my side, her green-blue eyes wide as saucers as the big man stood up in front of us.

“I d…dunno. Couple of years ago.”

“You know you’re supposed to service these cages at least once a year, don’t you?”

“I….”

“Fury, enough.” He looked at me, frustration clear on his face, one side of it streaked in oil, but recognising the tone of my voice and the command in it. “It’s ok, babe. He’s just in a one because your car’s leaked oil all over his pretty face.”

“I dunno how the fucking thing was still running. Spark plugs are the problem, but the timing belt is on its last fucking legs and the engine intake needs looking at.”

“We got parts in?” I asked.

Fury shook his head. “Not to fit this model. Ordered them, though.”

Emmie tugged on the sleeve of my top, turning away from the angry man with the dark hair piled up on the top of his head in his man-bun.

“Indie. I…I don’t have the money to do this,” she whispered. “We can just leave it. I can use the bus.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it.”

“No…Indie…I,”

“Not another word from that pretty mouth of yours, Spuggy. Fury. ETA on those parts?”