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I snuggle closer to him—if that’s even possible—and wrap his arm more tightly around my chest. The movement makes me squeeze around his length, pushing some of his cum out of me.

“No shower. I want to smell my cum on you.” He nips at my ear.

Hearing Uri be so possessive turns me on more than it should. But I really need a shower.

“I do like the smell of you on my body, but I feel sticky,” I admit.

He grunts, squeezing me in his arms a bit too tightly before he lets me go. His dick slips out of me. Ouch, I feel sore. I stand up—with some effort since I ache all over—and head for the bathroom when Uri’s voice stops me mid-step.

“Don’t move.”

I glance back over my shoulder as I hear his order. “What is it?”

He doesn’t reply, and I wait, trying not to wiggle as cum slides out of my ass and runs down my legs.

“Fucking beautiful.” His gaze is trained on my lower back. The twisted, proud smirk that crosses his face makes me blush and shiver at the same time.

“What is?” I’m breathless all of a sudden.

“My cum leaving your hole.” His hand is on his half-hard cock, stroking it while his gaze is fixed on my dripping butt. He’s so handsome and sexy. All those powerful muscles, cool tattoos and dreads, those piercings, and that big shaft. And he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me all over.

Feeling audacious, spurred on by his hungry eyes, I reach down and run my fingers through the wet mess, then glide them up into my ass crack.

He growls, jumps from the bed, and prowls toward me. “You’re too fucking hot.” He pulls me back against his chest and slides his dick between my slick ass cheeks, rubbing against my loosened hole. He feels divine.

“Shower with me?” I ask him.

“Try and stop me.”

After a long, very thorough shower with two more orgasms, he dries up and takes me back to bed. We are lying face to face now. I’m brushing his earrings one after the other, the piercing on his eyebrow, his lip. I think about the barbell on his tongue and further down.

“How many piercings do you have?”

“Fifteen,” he replies with a husky voice.

“No nipples?” I ask, puckering my lips, a metal hoop would have looked hot on his dark bud. I lightly stroke it with my fingers, smiling at how fast it turns rigid.

“It takes too long to recover.” He covers my hand and guides my palm over his chest. “And I want you to touch me all over.”

I lean in so my face is in his neck, feeling like the intimacy of this moment is going to swallow me whole.

I take a big inhale of his scent. It makes me hum in pleasure.

It’s like a drug that slowly dissolves into my bloodstream, triggering all of the dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, and endorphins, the happy hormones in my body.

I move my nose down to his neck and collarbone; his sigh resounds in the bedroom, and I can feel the hardness of his dick against my leg.

Is this really happening?

“Maybe I should pierce my nipples then,” I hazard. I think Uri’d like that.

“No!” He pulls my head up, his nose against mine. “You will not. Nobody touches your chest but me.” He slaps my nipple and then slides me up the sheets to pull it into his mouth to bite and suck it hard.

Shit! I moan as I let my head drop back. But Uri isn’t having it. He grabs my hair and forces my eyes back to his gorgeous face still torturing my nipple. I can’t come anymore, it’s physically impossible after all the orgasms I’ve had.

“A beautiful shade of red, my new favorite.” He’s staring at my abused chest, and when his hands close on the sensitive skin of my butt, I wince slightly.

“Hurts?” he asks, brushing the flesh lightly. I nod. The burn feels good, but it’s also a bit uncomfortable.

He lets me go to take something from the nightstand.

When he faces me again, he’s holding a jar of ointment.

He starts to rub it on my chest, it feels refreshing with a minty smell.

His hands move to my cheek, neck, collarbone, sides, then he rolls me to apply the cream on my buttocks and inner thighs.

He marked me all over, and although it’s mad, I hope he’ll do it every time we have sex.

“The swelling will be gone tomorrow,” he lets me know.

“Did you care for them too after…your sessions?” I ask, feeling suddenly grim.

“Fuck no,” he exclaims straight away, lifting some of the dark mood off my shoulders. “Your pale skin bruises so beautifully easily, I like to see my marks on you, Baby Blue.”

He moves me to my side and spoons me. I feel the head of his cock push against my sore entrance again.

“Relax, it just wants in,” he says before pushing inside me with a swift pump.

I sigh contentedly, enjoying the fullness again.

The truth is that every kind of feeling from Uri is welcome.

And him inside me half-hard, licking the back of my neck, as he thrusts slowly against my ass feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.

“I love you.” The confession flies out of my mouth with ease.

He presses me closer to him, his dick reaches a deeper part of me when his legs lace with mine.

“I don’t love you, Sari. Love is such a tricky, fleeting emotion, I don’t understand why people long for that shit.

” His fingers curl around my neck as his mouth moves closer to my ear.

“I see you as mine,” he whispers, almost sinfully, “I always have. My body and mind both agree on where you belong: by my side. Permanently. Even if I have to go to the farthest depths of hell to keep you.”

I always dreamed of this day. The guy I love telling me he loves me back.

My heart would burst through my mouth, and I’d cry with happiness.

Instead a blanket of utter tranquility falls on me as I hear his words.

What he said goes further than any fantasy I’ve ever had.

He can’t love me since sociopaths are incapable of that, but I know that what he feels for me is the strongest emotion he’ll ever have toward another person.

“That’s all I need,” I say, covering his hand over my neck and intertwining our fingers around my throat.

“What you need right now is to be fucked.”

And he does just that, stopping only when the light starts peeking between the bedroom curtains.

Does the fact that I love to be fucked while sleeping make me a pervert?

Three days later, I leave the bathroom and walk to the bedroom with that thought twirling in my head. Uri and I have being going at it like rabbits. My body aches spectacularly everywhere and my heart feels so full. I’ve never been this happy in my life.

I let the towel fall down on the floor. I’m wearing only a pink silk thong after deciding against a bra.

Uri likes to play with my nipples, and they’ve gotten very sensitive.

The feel of lingerie rubbing against them is quite arousing, and I don’t want to pop a boner while talking in front of a crowd of students.

My lecture is scheduled for this morning at the University of Illinois main campus in Urbana, a town a little outside Chicago and I need to hurry up and get ready.

When I’m done, I walk downstairs and into the kitchen—after quickly checking on Albert E. The sight of Uri sitting at the table makes me lose my breath for a moment. My heart keeps fluttering and settling again and again. Anxiety and comfort tangle inside me.

He’s wearing a pair of black pants and a dark gray, V-neck sweater that looks tight on his fit upper body. No shirt underneath, revealing part of his tattooed collarbone.

He looks me up and down, narrowing his eyes at my pants. They are tight, but the boyfriend cardigan reaches mid-thigh.

“What?”

“Do the buttons,” he demands absurdly.

“They are done.” I look down at the two fastened in the middle. I’m wearing a turtleneck underneath, for hell’s sake.

“All of them.”

I hold his death stare, not afraid in the least. “I’m hungry,” I say when too much time passes in this ridiculous staring contest.

“Sit. I bought your favorite.” He points at the chair near his.

“Croissant with pear and chocolate?” I ask, hopeful.

“From that bakery on Green Bay Road.” He nods, and I smile brightly, forgetting everything else as I move to the table.

When did he buy it? Did he go this morning? The bakery is here in Winnetka, but it must have taken him twenty minutes to go there and come back. His ridiculously high level of dominance is tempered by how thoughtful and attentive he can be.

I sit next to him, but he doesn’t move. He keeps drinking his coffee; his other hand is wrapped around a steaming mug which contains what looks like tea.

My tea. I move my hand toward the mug, but he slides it away.

I turn my frown to him, confused by his strange behavior.

His eyes glance down at my chest—and my half-buttoned cardigan—before moving back to my face.

Is he serious? My mouth turns slack as he keeps sipping his damn drink like his insane actions are perfectly justified.

I want to defy him so badly, but a glance at the kitchen clock tells me I don’t have much time before I have to leave. And I really want my croissant.

I let out an angry growl, to which he snorts. Snorts! The sociopath! I give him the most furious glower I can produce as I start to button up my cardigan. He waits until I finish before placing the tea in front of me and getting the croissant from the kitchen.

He sets the plate on the table and gives my head a kiss.

When I huff, he pulls on my braid, tilting my head all the way up to crush his mouth to mine and gorge on my taste.

The ardent kiss tastes like coffee. It demolishes my annoyance, consuming all the fighting spirit inside me.

My toes curl and my heart climbs into my throat as I let him devour me.

Before going back to his seat, he lands another hard kiss on my puffy lips. He has a smug close-mouthed smile on his perfect face. It makes me realize that I need to up my game against him. I can’t keep yielding so easily.

“Stop looking so smug!” I scold him.