Page 56 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

TAKING THE PLUNGE (LITERALLY)

MERIT

F OUR YEARS LATER

“Have you ever been touched like this?” Crew asks, taking the head of his cock and teasing it over the opening of my puckered hole.

His size is encumbering—a silent promise to venture to the safe haven that even Violet the Vibrator doesn’t have the clearance to visit.

“No,” I whisper, gripping the sheets of the bed as if the friction will somehow offset the pressure. Anticipation is cold, running through my bloodstream like ice floes, taking on a life form of its own.

I can’t see Crew’s face—all I can hear is the concern clinging to the roof of his mouth. “Do you want to try?”

With the globes of my ass in the air like the dutiful girlfriend I am—and Crew’s twitching cock primed with arousal—I realize that this man is about to take another one of my firsts. Surprisingly, I’m not scared.

Hell, I was content with keeping my ass virginity until I died, but this is something that I didn’t realize I wanted. My need has grown claws and fangs, and it clamps down on the most tender parts of me. Angry. Neglected. Starving for an intimacy that can fill its empty belly.

My heart roars in my chest, almost loud enough to pillow my ellipsis-shaped thoughts. “Yes.”

Crew works my rim experimentally, the heat from his figure rinsing down the curve of my spine. His hands brand my hips, and there’s a gentleness in his touch that’s simply waiting to eclose from its chrysalis and turn into something… bestial .

“Put the vibrator on your clit, baby. Let me watch you fuck yourself while I fill your ass up with my dick. Want you oozing from both holes.” Crew’s growl percolates through my brain like a saline drip, his fingernails carving half-moons into my flushed skin.

I’ve never had this much stimulation before. I don’t know if I can take it.

Slowly, with a shaky hand, I turn my purple, discreet bullet on, feeling it buzz between my fingers. I almost lose hold of it with how sweaty my palm is. It’s not like Crew didn’t just spend a full hour eating me out already.

My arm slithers between my parted legs, and the minute the toy prods at my swollen lips, I’m nearly tossed into the fray with no guide rope to lead me back out.

“Oh, God,” I moan, bucking downwards, circling the vibrator around my bundle of nerves to maximize the outreach. I’m so wet that I wouldn’t even need to stick it in all the way to come.

The only way I can look at both me and Crew given the position we’re in is to glance at the mirror, and I never understood the appeal until now.

Crew’s hefty, fat balls tap against the backs of my thighs, his abdomen posed with each square inch of muscle hardening on display.

He’s an unimaginable work of art—biceps popping, trapezoids wrenched tight, quads straining from the upright position he’s in.

I’m on my hands and knees, arching my back as my tits sway against the silky duvet.

We look like a still frame that’s graced every teenager’s shoddy computer screen at least once.

Crew dangles my release in front of me. “Tell me what it does to you. I want to hear you say it. Every filthy word.”

It feels like I’ve inhaled sawdust, every sensation bulleting through my body—heat, tingles of the non-garden-variety, a build-up of tension that’ll either ruin me completely or render me irreversibly sensitive.

“I can’t—I’m so wet.”

“You can. I know your pussy like the back of my hand, Princess. She’s a greedy little thing. Look at her dripping for me.”

I shake some of the sweaty hair from out of my face, plunging the bullet into my pussy because, unfortunately, Crew is right. All those amateur feelings are nowhere near the same weight class as the rapture that sinks into my stomach like a fifty-pound dumbbell.

“Fuck!” I scream, inadvertently pushing my butt back into his crotch, a plumage of tears lofting over the waterlines of my eyes.

“There she is. There’s my girl. I want the neighbors to hear the way you’re touching yourself, got it?” Crew demands, spanking one of my ass cheeks as another uncontrollable moan buckles my lips.

Through compromised vision, I watch as he twists his hand over the slightly cambered root of his cock for some added stimulation. “Don’t get it twisted, Merit. I’m a man who gets what he wants, and I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting at the bar.”

The toy bumps against the ridges of my walls—a fluttery feeling that only Crew’s master-of-trade fingers have been able to replicate. Methodical, dogmatic, voracious in a hunger that I myself don’t know if I possess .

Before I know it, there’s a stretching burn in my asshole, and Crew is slotting his cock into no-man’s-land, feeding it to me in increments.

I gnash my teeth together as he pilfers more tears from my eyes.

It’s a macabre orchestra of squelches, slurps, and buzzing.

I don’t know how anal is even humanly possible, because there’s no anatomical way a Pringles can should fit into a small hole.

A groan singes Crew’s throat as he encloses himself in my heat, sitting heavy like he’s always belonged inside me. Once there’s nothing separating us, I feel his dick kick complacently, my hole cinching around the foreign intrusion.

With a sinuous roll of my hips, I grind against the bullet hilted in my cunt, my core incinerating into flakes of ash. Crew doles out brutish strokes—indulging in the responsive squeezes from my asshole—and I’m lucky that there’s enough lube between me and his cock to make for an adequate suction.

“Right there, Princess. That little pulse you do. Drives me batshit crazy.”

A liquid moan disgorges from his mouth, his hips adhering to a faster rhythm, and the tip of his dick skirts my internal nerve endings.

Shit. Judging by how drowsy my muscles are and Crew’s apparent sweet tooth for torturing me, it’s not going to take long for me to come. Pain teeters to pleasure as my pulse plays a sick game of pattycake with the side of my neck.

If I’m going down, I’m taking him with me.

“This?” I purr, contracting around his girth.

Even though he’s on his knees, my flirty little tease is enough to unbalance him.

“Fuuuck,” he grits out, the fucked-out expression on his face gleaming in the mirror. “Look in the mirror. Look at how good we look together with my cock in your ass. Don’t even get me started on these perfect cheeks jiggling while I fuck you. They were made for these hands, baby. ”

He slaps me on the butt, then squishes the fat between his fingers.

I cage my lower lip between my teeth. “I think winning playoffs gave you a God complex.”

“Nope, always had that.”

Another rake of his length.

The vibrator can barely keep up with his rough pumps. Every time he rams into me, my sweat-clad body lurches forward, my tits bouncing from the drive of the force. It’s a stimulatory overload—one that coerces a sleet of tears to smatter the area below my eyes.

“You feel so good,” I mewl, notching the buzzer against my G-spot.

Like a dog resource guarding its favorite toy, Crew’s growl is so unnervingly deep that it vibrates in my bones.

“You feel like mine .”

He’s so hot when he’s possessive.

Unashamedly, I gush around the plug in my pussy, feeling some of my cum dribble down the insides of my thighs.

Out of nowhere, he stills. “Give me the toy, Merit.”

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t riding one hell of a dopamine high. Hair in my eyes, sweat dripping down my chest, I utter a stupefied, “What?”

“The toy. I’m not going to ask again. I’m going to feel my girlfriend come on my fingers.”

I turn my head back, brows drawbridging upwards. “Don’t tell me that the Crew Calloway is jealous of a little vibrator,” I taunt.

“If you think this is jealousy, you haven’t seen the half of it.”

“Feeling a little greedy today, are we?”

“Keep testing me, Princess. This is my favorite kind of foreplay.”

Rolling my eyes, I dislodge the toy from my leaking cunt, quickly having the absence filled by Crew’s thick-knuckled fingers. He scissors them amongst the accumulated slick, scraping against my tender walls, responsible for the pressure that now brews into an amalgamation of unbridled ecstasy.

“Oh, God. Oh, Crew!” I cry out, braving one last glance in the reflective surface across from us.

“That’s it. Good girl. Scream for me; soak my hand.

I want you to ruin these sheets. I want to smell like you for the rest of the day so that everyone knows just how good my girl’s pussy is.

And I want your tight hole to ache with my load so that you remember every second of me taking this ass virginity. ”

My cunt is starved and squeezing, unsatisfied with the three fingers crooking against its erogenous zone, yet close to bursting all the same. Leave it to the hockey player with the world’s biggest ego to make me come in record time—with multiple appendages.

I don’t know how Crew is able to multitask, but his fingers and cock work in tandem with one another, hitting me with the power of an atomic bomb. An overpowered light blasts my vision and spurs tremors through my half-liquified body.

My climax is unquestionable—I squirt all over his hand, coating him in a thin, semi-translucent glove, and then I feel his dick bloat inside me.

Ribbons of cum rocket out of him vigorously, one after the other, racing for the exit that’s been blocked by his shaft.

The abundance seeps out with every intention of matting my skin and staining the duvet, and I shudder at the coolness that now rivals heated flesh.

I fall onto my back in a shroud of tacky sweat and cum as Crew mirrors my position, our pants bleeding into the newly birthed silence.