Came Back Haunted (Experiment in Terror #10) - Karina Halle Page 0,11

whole body and soul and every single inch of my heart.

He keeps pushing into me, his pace getting faster and faster, the bed starting to jerk from the movement. With a deep, quick thrust he moans loudly, the sound filling the room, and then pauses to lean forward, his hand slipping over my throat. He grips me there for a moment, pulling me back off the bed until I can barely breathe.

His other hand parts my hair from behind, wrapping the long thick strands across my throat then yanking them back, both choking me and pulling my hair at the same time, holding it like reins.

I quickly bring my elbows up to alleviate the pressure on my throat so I don’t pass out from lack of oxygen. As far as the kinky shit goes, I do like being choked during sex from time to time, but he’s always been a little apprehensive about doing it. Today though, well, today he’s in it one hundred percent.

So am I, even when his pace gets faster, the rhythm faster, more relentless, more punishing. I feel like I’m being fucked from behind into oblivion, constantly dancing on the edge of losing consciousness, between that and feeling absolutely everything.

“Jesus, fuck!” Dex cries out, his deep, throaty groan bouncing off the walls. He stiffens for a moment, then slides his hand underneath my stomach, stroking my clit at the last possible moment before he loses all control.

My eyes pinch closed and I come in an instant, my body blasted into the galaxy while he pours himself inside me, his fingers bruising the skin on my waist, his hips thrusting once, twice, before he drives in as deep as he can go. We’re so tightly connected at this moment that I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I barely feel the drops of sweat that sprinkle onto my back, barely hear the shake of his exhale.

All I feel is him inside me.

In the end, he’s all I ever feel.

I’m not sure how long I lie there on my stomach. Dex lets go of my hair, and I’m able to take in deep breaths to calm my heart and put order back into my body. I’m spent in more ways than one.

He leans forward, pressing long kisses all along my spine.

“Better to get dirty before your bath, don’t you think?”

He gives my ass a hard thwack with his palm that stings to high heaven, and then pulls out, leaving me both bereft and breathless.

And completely obsessed with whatever version of ourselves we’ve recently become.

Three

The next day I meet Rebecca for lunch at Barolo, one of our favorite places to get food and catch up, an Italian restaurant that serves the best truffle pasta in the world. It’s an easy walk from the apartment, just enough time to soak in the rare day of sunshine before another week of rain ahead.

When I step inside, the crisp, all-white ambiance of the place has a calming effect and before I can ask the hostess if Rebecca is here, I see her and Lucinda at a booth in the corner.

Lucinda is Rebecca’s nearly three-year-old daughter, and as one would expect with such a cool (in more ways than one) and collected mother, she’s a little angel. Hanging out with her is bound to kick my baby fever up another notch.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” I say to Rebecca, hanging my crossbody purse on the hook and sliding into the seat across from them.

“Not at all,” she says, handing Lucinda her iPad and headphones.

“Hi, Perry,” Lucinda says to me in her sweet sing-song voice. I swear she picks up her mother’s English accent from time to time.

“Hello, Lucinda,” I say with a big smile, taking a moment to gawk at her. She’s such a darling, pretty girl. Because Rebecca is whiter than milk and Lucinda’s father, Dean, is black, she’s got this gorgeous tawny skin tone and curly dark brown hair with these amazing natural highlights. Every time I see her she seems to grow before my eyes, though her round cheeks remain completely squishable.

Like her mother, she’s impeccably dressed, wearing a fuzzy pink sweater, her hair pulled back in a matching scrunchie. She gives me a polite smile, as if excusing herself, before she slips on her rose gold headphones and picks up the iPad.

I look at Rebecca, who, much like me, would never be caught dead in pink, even though I love her daughter’s whole aesthetic. Right now