The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,22
me to the brim.
There was intense silence, which I used to familiarize myself with the feeling of being full of him from behind. I felt him shuddering against my back with pleasure.
“Your pussy might be used, but this asshole has never been fucked. I can tell.”
I didn’t say anything because it was true, and the truth hurt more than him inside of me because it was a painful reminder of how pathetically in love I was with him. He leaned forward, still inside me, and brushed my hair away from my shoulder, his lips finding my ear.
“You had to leave me a first to take, didn’t you, Aisling Fitzpatrick? You poor, romantic soul.”
With that, he pulled out then thrust into me again in one go. I cried in pain, holding the pool table tighter, but after the first few rolls of his hips, the pain morphed into pleasure. Especially when he repositioned me slightly higher on the table so my clit was again teased by the fuzzy pool table. My fingers were still playing with him, rubbing against the sensitive spot between his balls and ass cheeks.
My whole body was on fire, and I clenched my ass cheeks, all my muscles quivering as my release began to wash over me again in forceful waves.
“I’m coming,” I cried out.
Sam groaned, giving a few jerky thrusts. We came together.
My vision was spotty, and everything shifted out of focus. I could feel myself milking the orgasm out of him, how hard he was inside me.
I let my upper body go limp against the pool table, closing my eyes, aware that my skirt was still pushed up around my waist as he carefully slid out of me from behind. Every inch of him coming out was excruciating, and I suspected there were a lot of inches of him.
With my cheek still plastered to the green fur of the pool table, I heard Sam shifting around the room, moving around. Slowly, I shimmied my skirt down my thighs so that at least my bare, bruised butt wasn’t on full display.
“Get the fuck up, ice princess. My grand vintage billiard table is not meant for sleep.”
I turned around, deliberately climbing on the table and lounging there, my forearms digging to its surface, making myself comfortable. If I was good enough to be screwed against said billiard table, I was also good enough to sit on it.
“Ask nicely,” I said, in my cold, upper-crust tone—the one I knew he hated so much. “And I might.”
“I never do anything nicely. You should know by now. Where’d you learn all your little bed tricks?” Sam sat behind his desk, buckling his belt, his reptilian air concealing any sign we’d just screwed each other’s brains out.
He lit a cigarette, puffing a swirl of smoke in my direction.
“You mean, fuck?” I hopped off the pool table, smiling as I picked up my wig and sunglasses. “Don’t forget I spent seven years among people whose sole purpose in life was studying the human body. I had some pretty good time exploring all the ways to make a person scream in pleasure … and pain. You haven’t seen the half of it.” I rearranged my skirt and wig, forcing myself to head to the door. Not because I wanted to but because I had to pretend I at least had a shred of dignity still left inside me.
It was a well-known fact that Aisling Fitzpatrick had been head over heels in love with Samuel Brennan since the day we’d met. There was no need to shower Sam with undivided attention and desperate love declarations. We had a great hookup. Now the ball was in his court.
I wanted anything he was willing to give me.
A fling, a relationship, and everything in between, just as long as he’d have me.
Pathetic? Maybe. But I wasn’t hurting anyone. No one but myself.
And Sam? As scary as he was, I knew he would never lay a hand on me in ways I didn’t want him to. He was dangerous, yes, but not to my life. Only my sanity.
“That’s more than I wanted to know about you, kid,” Sam said around his lit cigarette, frowning at the monitor on his desk as he watched what was going on at the club.
“What are you doing these days, anyway? Pediatrician, right?” He huffed.
“OB-GYN. Brigham and Women’s Hospital,” I answered, smoothing my skirt over my thighs, taking another step toward the door.