Bouncer by Kim Jones Page 0,32
you with my fingers. Hard and fast. And when you’re right on the edge of coming, I’m going bury this finger,” he wiggles his finger inside of me, “in your ass and make you come so hard that by the time I’m finished, you’ll tell me your middle name and any-fucking-thing else I want to know.”
As exciting as that sounds, I’m not so sure I like it. “I don’t want your finger in my ass.”
“I don’t remember asking your permission.”
If he says anything else, it’s drowned out by the sound of my moans as he fucks me hard with first one, then two fingers—slamming into me over and over until I’m sure I’ll bruise from the pounding of his knuckles.
He moves to his knees and positions himself between my legs. With his other hand, he strokes my clit. Soft. Slow. Opposite of the savage way he fingers me.
It’s not long before I’m panting. I’m so wet I’m dripping. Lubricating my virgin ass. Soaking the sheets beneath me. My climax builds. I rise higher. And higher. I’m terrified of the unknown. It feels so good. But I…can’t.
“Stop fighting it, baby. Just let go.”
I do and my world tilts on its axis. I come so hard my entire body convulses. Then, he does as he promised he would and another wave of euphoria rocks through me.
I’m still pulsing with light tremors when he eases out of me. He crawls up my body and kisses me hard. Until I have to turn away to catch my breath. The bed dips. I hear water running. I feel his weight next to me. Then he’s cleaning me up.
When he’s finished, I straighten my legs and groan as the blood circulates back through my limbs. “For fucks sake,” I whisper my body spent and my mind cloudy. “It’s Seven.”
“What’s seven?” he asks, tugging me until I’m back in my usual spot, curled into his side.
“My name. Apple Seven VanHolland.”
Eighteen
APPLE
I wake up to someone calling my name.
My eyes spring open and it takes me a moment to gather my surroundings.
I’m sitting up. In bed. Bouncer sits next to me. His hand rubbing firm strokes up and down my back.
The nightmare.
The monsters.
“Shit,” I breathe, scrubbing my hand over my face. Wiping away the tears on my cheeks.
“Here. Drink this.” Bouncer places a bottle of water to my lips and I take a couple sips before grabbing the bottle and draining the entire thing.
I don’t feel like I usually do after a nightmare. I’m not as afraid. Or as upset. I’m not sure if it’s because I went to bed sober, or because I woke up with Bouncer next to me.
“Who is Isabelle?”
I stiffen at the question. “Why?”
“You kept saying her name.”
“She’s…no one.”
He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “I know about keeping secrets, baby. I know how that shit can eat you alive from the inside. Tell me.”
“That’s the thing. Right now, those secrets only hurt me. If you know them, then they’ll hurt you too. I can’t burden you with that, Bouncer.”
He swipes his thumb beneath my eye, catching a stray tear. “You won’t. I can handle it. Let me carry some of that weight. I want to.”
The thing is, I know he does. And it scares the shit out of me. “I need a minute,” I mutter, scrambling from the bed and shutting myself in the bathroom.
It’s been years since I’ve thought about Isabelle. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t too chicken shit to remember her. I’m scared of the pain that comes with her memory. But as I wash my face and brush my teeth, I find that for once, I want to think about her. To remember her. To talk about her.
Or maybe it’s not necessarily that I want to talk about her, it’s that I want to talk to Bouncer. I want to tell him things I’ve never told anyone. I want to share my secrets. I want to know his. I want to give it all to him.
I want to trust someone.
I want that someone to be him.
Because you love him.
Yes.
Because I love him.
He might leave.
He might break my heart when he goes.
But that doesn’t change how I feel about him. And whether he ever admits it or not, he feels something for me too. Is it love? Hell, I don’t know. But it sure as shit feels like it.
I climb back in bed and snuggle against him. His arms wrap around me and his lips