he growls out, and pulls his dick out of my mouth. I mewl at him, darting forward to pull him back in as I hurriedly stroke my clit.
He forces the dildo into me hard and fast, his breath speeding up alongside mine.
“I’m getting close,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my mouth.
And as soon as he says that, so am I.
I moan around his dick, and he yanks himself out of me with a hiss. “Christ,” he mutters, his knuckles going white how he throttles his dick. “You almost made me come.”
I smile at him, and then spread my legs, inviting him to replace the toy. He shifts over between my legs and, after giving me one hard thrust with the dildo, tugs it out.
He slides in immediately, groaning. Wetness oozes from me, but he pushes it back in with his cock.
I fall back with a choked gasp, my hips bucking up to allow every inch of him inside.
He fucks me to within an inch of my life, ignoring my desperate pleas for him to touch my clit. When I try and do it myself, he pins my wrists to my stomach.
I clench around him like a fist when I come, and he grits his teeth in frustration when I lock him down. As punishment, he burrows himself in me balls deep and stays there. As soon as I’m down from my climax, he starts strumming my clit again.
“Jo, stop. I’m done.”
“I want another one from you. This time, you’ll do it right.”
I quiver, my body relenting to his touch. My fingertips sink into his thighs, leaving half-moons behind. But he’s heavier than me, and if he doesn’t want to thrust, then I’ll have to lie here and wait until he does.
With him filling me, tearing me open, the incessant pressure on my clit is too much too bear.
“Jo!”
It’s all the warning he gets, but it’s all he needs. He draws out almost completely and then slams back into me as I come.
My body shudders, and every muscle tenses. I yell breathlessly as I ride out my orgasm, dimly aware that Jo’s coming too. His hot release fills me, spills out when he pulls back, and runs down my crack.
If I could move, I’d mop it up, but he’s ruined me again, like he always does.
A hand burrows under my back, and the envelope from Cornell appears in front of me like magic.
“Open it,” he commands.
My fingers are made of taffy, but I manage to pry open the flap.
I’m not scared anymore.
I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.
I already know what it says, but I read it out loud anyway.
Jo rips the acceptance letter from my hand and tosses it behind him. I hear the drawer squeak open, and my body tenses as if preparing for the next delicious onslaught coming my way.
But then Jo rolls onto his side and, instead of presenting me with another one of our toys, he holds up a ring.
I blink at it. Then at him. Back at the ring.
“Are you sure that letter was addressed to you?” he asks quietly, narrowing his eyes. “Because you’re taking a pretty damn long to—”
I throw myself on top of him and kiss him.
He pulls away. “Is that a yes, darling?”
I don’t trust myself to speak. Tears are already pricking at my eyes. I wrestle the ring from his fingers and jam it on mine.
“Then I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “Now, next order of business…”
He drags me on top of him, and shifts my legs, so I’m straddling him. Then he holds up three fingers.
I laugh, lift myself, and slowly lower onto his hard dick.
“You know there won’t be any time for this when I start at Cornell, right?” The tears have receded—for now, anyway.
Jo shakes his head. He grips my hips and urges me to pick up the pace. The muscles in his neck stand proud as he starts bucking into me, driving slivers of pleasure through my entire body.
“You haven’t seen their library yet, darling.” His voice is tight, and he keeps snagging his bottom lip with his teeth when he looks down at my pussy.
Those dark eyes flicker up. This time, when he smiles, he looks like a wolf about to pounce on a lamb. “I’m gonna make love to you in every single nook and cranny.”
The End
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About the Author
L. D. Fox writes deliciously dark and twisted stories for people that, like her, enjoy reading it.
Having grown up on names like Graham Masterton, Dean Koontz, James Herbert, Stephen King, Robert Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, her stories are an eclectic mix of the sadistically twisted, the epic, and the darkly comedic. She strives to create characters that are as immersive as the worlds she raises around them. Expect more than your average amount of plot twists, superb dialog, characters you’ll either love or loathe, and a book hangover that’s guaranteed to last at least few days, if not longer. She doesn’t hold any punches - nor should she, for that’s what she expects in the books she reads and what she offers to her readers in return.
She hails from the four-seasons-in-a-day suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa. She’s so busy writing she doesn’t have time for much else except the occasional indulgent Netflix binge. She loves hearing from readers, so don’t be shy to contact her and tell her what you thought of her writing.