Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,16

suck on my clit so hard I was seeing those stars once more.

I ground my pussy into his face, riding him hard, knowing that I was making his jaw wet—actually fucking wet—and I just, dear God, I enjoyed it.

I fucking loved it.

It felt so… Jesus, good wasn’t the word.

Phenomenal.

The flames weren’t just in my core, they were flickering higher, moving into my vision, into my heart, into my chest, taking over my hands, sinking into my feet. Where they touched, tingles of sensation burst into being, and suddenly…

Blankness.

Dark.

Only, it was filled with light too.

And it felt like pinpricks against my skin, and that moment of joy when the first spoon of ice cream connected with your tongue.

Then there was how it felt like a wave was drawing me into the ocean, sinking me into the tide.

Until I was drowning, and choking, and dying, and death had never felt so good.

Distantly, I heard my scream, but even that wasn’t enough to jolt me from whatever this was.

And his tongue didn’t stop.

He carried on, until I was dying again, and only then, did his hands touch my ass, and he maneuvered my limp body onto the sheets. Somehow, he lifted them so my legs were covered in them, and I let him because when he left, I could always move them off me, then I heard the rattle of his buckle and fly, and disappointment began to drift into that dazed sense of wellness that had overtaken me.

He’d want sex now.

It was only fair after he gave me that.

An orgasm.

I’d just…

Jesus, fuck.

I’d come.

I’d actually fucking come.

I fell asleep, my body splayed and broken and warm and loaded with fading delight, and I didn’t realize until the next morning, when I woke up, and the sheets were by my feet because I’d pushed them off, that he’d spent the night with me.

That he’d spent the night with me while I slept.

And I hadn’t woken up once.

Why had I managed to fall asleep with him?

Butterflies didn’t just flitter around my belly, they gnawed at my insides. Sleep was a precious commodity for me, and somehow he’d given me that.

He’d given me so much more than any other man had.

Maybe I should be joyful, but instead, it made me pensive.

Men couldn’t be trusted. Cruz was no different.

Cruz

A week later

As she ground her pussy into my face, I grinned. I loved when she did that. I fucking loved it. I wanted to cup her ass, tilt her into me, but I’d noticed that first night that my touching her did something.

Maybe another guy would have carried on regardless, but fucking a corpse wasn’t my thing. Sure, they called me the Grim Reaper around the MC, but that wasn’t because I was into necro-goddamn-philia.

She’d been still, and lifeless, that heat of before, her arousal of earlier gone like I’d doused her in ice water.

It was surreal. Weird. I’d pulled out, uncomfortable with how things had turned out, but she hadn’t wanted me to go. Then, she’d kissed me, and somehow, she’d been turned on again.

I wasn’t ashamed to admit that if it wasn’t her, I’d probably think it was too much hassle. That she was too much work, but even though my dick was aching like a bastard, it wasn’t a problem.

She’d had her first orgasm with me, I knew that like I knew my face in the mirror, and I knew, even more, that she was orgasm-drunk, high on the experience and, as a result, me.

She loved what I gave her.

And I loved giving it to her.

Her moan reminded me of what I was doing, and I went to work, giving her what she needed, giving her what she didn’t know she craved, until she screamed, loud enough to make my cock pound harder. When she came, usually I got her off again, but this time, it was different.

She was different.

After a week of going down on her, I expected her to roll off and sleep like she usually did, but she didn’t. She moved off me, then crawled down the bed. At first, I thought she was going to suck me off—she’d tried to do that before, and the first time, it’d felt like a token BJ so I’d told her not to do it again—then, she straddled my hips even as she grabbed my cock.

I always wore my jeans when this went down, only unfastening my fly when I felt sure the imprint of the zipper was going to be permanently etched into my