you. Come for me. Come,” he orders, plundering me with his girth. I know I won’t be able to sit for a week. I lift my arm over my head and drag my hand down his shoulder, feeling his scars. “I’m going to come. Keep touching me. Oh, fuck, keep touching me,” he begs, and I continue to stroke along the edges of his scars, but then I’m unable to think when my last and final orgasm completely ruins me.
From head to toe I tingle, and my muscles clench tight around his fingers and cock. My entire body spasms out of control. I can’t stop shaking.
“Jo!” He thrusts in one last time, and the warm splash of his cum bathes the inside of my ass. He moans loudly, his body jerking from how strong his orgasm is. “Jo,” he repeats my name, tired and spent as the last shock works its way through his body, pumping one last spurt inside my filled ass.
I feel like I’ve run ten miles. I want to sleep.
“You know what? I wish I had a butt-plug for you.” He grins as he peppers kisses along the slender muscle of my shoulder. “I’d make you wear it after we fucked to keep my cum inside you so when I want that ass again, which I will always want to fuck this ass—” he grunts in appreciation and spanks me again—“I can slide in, and you’ll already be wet.”
The dirty words have me getting turned on all over again. I had no idea how much he liked my ass until this moment. The praise is an aphrodisiac.
Eric moves my hair off my shoulder, kissing up my neck until he lays his chin in the crook. He holds me close to his chest, our skin sticking together, and after a few minutes of calming down and catching our breaths, he slides out of me. A gush of his cum leaves me, dripping down the crease of my ass. The bed dips as he rolls away from me, and a small pinch of panic forms. Is he leaving? Is he done with me?
“I’ll be back,” he says in the next instance and kisses the back of my neck. I turn to my back and watch him get up and walk toward the bathroom. I get a good look at his scars for the first time. All of them. Every long, jagged, puckered line. I sit up, and tears spring to my eyes when I see they travel from the base of his neck all the way down to the back of his thighs. They remind me of an animal attack, like claws sinking into his skin and ripping it.
I know he thinks he’s a monster, but all I see is beauty.
His body is a work of art, hard lines and perky firm cheeks of his ass flex as he walks. He pauses when he feels my eyes on him, like he might have forgotten about his scars for a moment. He grips the frame of the door, and his shoulder muscles move and dip. His scars come to life and slither across his skin. The light catches the edge of his jaw as he peers over the muscular bulge of his shoulder. His Adam’s apple moves up and down.
“This is me,” he despises. “Frankenstein’s monster. I’m carved up and only put back together for more torture. What do you think of me now?” Eric takes a step into the bathroom and comes out with a towel. He kneels on the bed and crawls forward. He spreads my legs and cleans me up.
I try to close my thighs, to stop him from doing something so personal, but he warns me with a growl and forces my legs apart. “I want to take care of you,” he says, wiping the combination of our love away.
He tosses the towel on the ground and goes to spoon around me, but I lay a hand on his chest and sit up. I slide my hands around his back, and he tenses as I inch around him until I’m face to face with his back. My heart breaks as I take in the massacre in front of me. How could a father do this to their child? I gasp, emotion brimming my eyes.
I cry for him.
I cry for the little boy who had to endure such hate.
I cry for the man who feels like he has to hide himself.
“You are not Frankenstein’s monster. I never