Bad Boy Blues(83)

How does he know all my buttons?

Slowly, agonizingly carefully, Zach slides his dick inside. I moan with his invasion. Moan and almost go crazy.

His jeans make contact with my bare ass and I go up on my tiptoes, clawing at the door. He probably just shoved them down enough to free his erection and get to my pussy. Like a desperate animal.

The thought makes me unsteady on my feet, drunk and high on him and his slow but thorough strokes.

Zach wraps my braid around his wrist, pulling my body into him. “Does it hurt?”

Somehow, I gather my senses and open my eyes, looking back at him. He’s watching the slow glide of his cock inside of me.

It lights me up like fire, the thought that he can see my pussy opening up and closing around his cock like that. I wish I could see that.

“No,” I whisper. “It makes me feel full. Fuller than last night. You’re so deep.”

His eyes go to me first and then travel to my hanging breasts. The uniform feels scratchy, but I don’t have enough energy to unbutton it.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You like that?”

“Yes. I love it.”

We’re whispering as if we’re in a church, and somehow that makes me even more desperate for him.

“Does it make you feel horny?” he murmurs softly, his eyes glued to my tits.

I look down at them and find that I’m kneading the right one. I can’t believe I didn’t feel that. My fingers pull on the nipple and I bite my lip, blinking up at him and whimpering. Showing him how much I need him.

“And slutty, too,” I whisper.

His jaw clamps and his stomach tightens up. I feel it when my ass hits it as he bottoms out. Still, he pumps in and out slowly, lazily, like we have all the time in the world and our lust isn’t driving us to the edge of insanity.

“God, Zach, go faster,” I beg him, trying to push back my hips.

But he has such a hold on my body that I can’t move if he doesn’t want me to. And he doesn’t. “No, not when it can hurt you.”

“It won’t.”

“Shut up, Blue.”

He keeps torturing me with his slow, long pumps when I want him ramming into me. I want him jamming his big dick in my tiny, swollen hole so I can feel it forever.

So I can feel him fucking me when he’s gone and I’m lying in my bed, crying for him.

Because I know I’ll cry. I’ll pine.

I’ll dream about him for the rest of my days.

Frustrated, I clench my internal muscles, try to grip him harder, tell him that I don’t care about the little hurt.

All I care about is him and his cock.

Zach stares at me accusingly as his perfect rhythm stutters.

“Blue,” he warns, slapping my ass.

Like I’m a bad girl.

Maybe I am. I am a bad seed. Possessive and crazy and desperate for him.

So I do it again. In fact, I do him one better.

With the last of my strength, I pull myself up and away from the door. I arch my spine and plaster my shoulders over his chest before winding my arms around his neck.

His dick seems even deeper this way, with me standing up and him lodged inside from behind. My ass presses into his pelvis and I grind my hips, and despite himself he grinds back with a grunting breath.

I turn my face and tell him, “You can’t torture me like this, you know. You promised.”

“Promised what?”

“That you’ll fuck me like I’m your slut.”

Zach grabs my tits in both hands and squeezes them so hard that the moan that comes out of me is the loudest yet. “Yeah? You want everyone else to think you’re my slut too? Because if I fuck you like that, Blue, you’ll be screaming the roofs down. Your Mrs. S won’t be the only person to know what you do for me. How you serve me.”

Why does that arouse me so much?

Why do I want him to make me scream when I know the consequences?

My brain is melting and so is my body. And right now, I don’t care enough about it to analyze.

All I want is to get fucked.

“I don’t care.” I roll my head from side to side as I breathe out, “I know you’ll cover my mouth when I scream. I know you’ll keep me safe.”

I hear him breathe out a sharp breath, his chest swelling at my back.

A second later, I feel the wrath of his hands.

They tear at the buttons of my uniform, stretching it over my chest. With furious fingers, he pulls down my bra, making the straps stretch over my shoulders and snatching my tits, spilling them over my half-open dress.

He pinches the nipple, angrily, erotically. “You asked for it.”

And after that, there’s no talking.

He doesn’t say a word and neither do I. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

His thrusts are rapid and punishing, making me bounce against him. His thighs and stomach smack against my ass and if he weren’t holding me captive with his arm around my waist and his other plumping my breast, I would be on the floor right now.

And I revel in it.

I revel in his passion, his desperation. I love the sting of our bodies slapping together. I love the slight burn in my puffy channel. I’m ecstatic when he twists my nipples, worrying them between his fingers.

Through all of this, he hasn’t stopped fucking me. In fact, he’s bent his knees and made a lap out of his taut, muscular thighs so he can drill me deeper.