Mad Boys (Blue Ivy Prep, #2)(109)

I didn’t give her time to come down from it, I wanted to feel that happy little pussy flexing around me. Shifting her legs wider, I pushed her knees up and then rubbed my dick against her folds.

Pleasure suffused her face, and she gasped as she watched me, tremors shaking her. When I pushed in, there was a resistance and her expression went absolutely pained, and I froze.

“Keep going,” she pleaded. “It’s supposed to be better after…”

Fuck.

My.

Life.

I wanted to shout and shake her. As it was, I eased back and began to rock into her as carefully as possible. The muscles would stretch, but she wasn’t—how the fuck was she a mom? The question floated through the haze of pleasure as I sank into her deeper.

Her soft panting cries grew in intensity, but once I was finally seated, I lifted my head to gaze down at her. “You with me, Siren?”

“It hurts…” But her clenched teeth were at odds with the flushed smile she shot me. “You’re pretty big there, teach…”

I growled. “Siren?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

Then I fucked into her again, and it wasn’t long before she was digging her nails into my back and our tongues were back to battling. The pain had pushed back on the flutters of her earlier orgasm, but I fought to get her there again.

The rhythm of her cries as I increased my speed and adjusted the angle was going to drive me mad. I waited until she finally began to shake again, her legs flexed around my hips, and then I bit her neck, a stroke of teeth before hitting the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

Just that spark of pain, and she came on a scream. The convulsion of her inner muscles catapulted me past holding my own orgasm off, and I came in hot jets.

She was still shaking when I rolled us over. Cradling her to my chest as cum slid out to soak us both. I didn’t care as another splash of a tear hit my chest and I looked down.

“Siren?”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “Pen is so sick, and I don’t know if she’s going to make it…”

Pen.

The baby in the hospital. The baby that couldn’t be hers.

Fuck, I had so many questions.

But now wasn’t the time.

“You don’t have to help it,” I told her, pulling her closer. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

If she wanted to bury her grief in orgasms, then we could do that, too.

“Just promise me you’ll be here in the morning,” I told her. Holding onto her seemed more like trying to cup a raging river and keep it still. The torrent of her life ebbed and flowed even more strongly than I’d realized. “Stay. We’ll figure all of this out. Do you promise?”

“We’ll figure everything out?” The need for hope in those words clawed me wide open.

“Yes,” I whispered, and I meant it. We’d figure it out, but she needed to be here for that. This moment was already growing more and more intangible. “Whatever you need. Will you be here in the morning?”

“I promise,” she said before she turned her face into my shoulder and cried. I held her, stroking her hair, and when her tears eased off, I went for a washcloth. Then I settled back in to hold her. She finally dropped off sometime around ten, and I fought to stay awake.

Just in case she needed something. A little after two, I woke up when she reached for me. At four, I tugged her back from where she’d migrated across the bed.

At six, she was gone.