27. 27

27

Robbie McGuire

I’m full.

I’m so full.

The only thing I feel is full. A bulbous stretch, a deep pull inside me. There’s a big dick crammed up my ass, and the only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want it to stop.

Ant’s moving, thrusting slowly and deeply. He’s leaning against the headboard, and I’m sitting astride him. I have my hands around his neck, fingers knotted in his hair, and I’m moving with him.

It started out frenzied, but it’s slowed. I’m grinding my hips now rather than posting up and down. Each time I do it, I feel it more than I did the last time. A flare of pressure. A delicious heat and a gentle burn. The curve of his dick keeps hitting my spot, sending long, sustained bolts of pleasure up my ass.

It feels so good that I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I want to give in. I want to throw myself into the abyss. Into the darkness that makes me forget my own name. I don’t though. I can’t because Ant’s eyes are open, anchoring me to this realm, and I can’t look away.

I stay like that, with him, looking into his eyes until he groans, “You close?”

I answer by leaning back, putting my hands on his knees, and arching my back. He takes my dick in one hand and circles it tightly. He doesn’t move it all that much but rather lets the motion of my own hips be the source of my torture. My torment. My endless pleasure.

“Close,” I pant, throwing myself forward so I can kiss him and whisper the secrets of my orgasm into his wide-open mouth.

He lets me.

Not only that, but as he starts to shake and jerk and empty himself inside me, he whispers his own secrets back to me.

It’s the first time I’ve ever come with my eyes open. His eyes stay open too. Dark orbs take on a life of their own, galaxies form and expand, and in the deepest, darkest recess of him, I see something. A plan. A rudimentary map. A clear outline of the rest of my life.

Neither of us moves until he’s softened and slipped out of me, and neither of us talks, not even me .

We lie in a heap, a tangle of arms and legs, and when we start to cramp from the awkwardness of our position, he shuffles onto his side and then onto his belly, stretching his legs out to release a spasm in one of his calves.

I lie beside him and take in the colored expanse of his skin. It’s beautiful. Unexpected and strangely lovely, like him. I trace the lines of his tattoos gently. I take my time with the roses, following the intricacies of each petal with my fingertip. I take in every detail. Every color. Every shade of black. Every knob of his spine.

“I love this one,” I say, kissing the face of the swallow on his left shoulder. “And this one.” I kiss each rose in turn. “And this too.” This time, it’s the viper that winds around his spine, and instead of kissing it, I trace the outline with the tip of my tongue. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” I say dreamily, not really expecting an answer.

“Really? Why’d you never get one then?”

“Ugh, I dunno. Probably because I’ve never been able to think of something I know I’d love forever.”

“Mm,” he murmurs. It’s less of an agreement and more of an acknowledgment of the fact I’ve spoken. From the sliver I can see of his face, it seems sleep has almost found him.

I tug at his shoulder, rolling him onto his side and melding my body to his. For once, I’m the big spoon and he’s the little one. To my surprise, he doesn’t fight it at all. He just sighs in faux exasperation.

I know sleep is calling, but I don’t want the moment to end. “Do you think you’ll get any more ink?” I ask before the spell that’s made him sleepy and compliant is broken.

“Dunno. I think my back piece is done. I don’t think there’s anything missing.”

Well.

“Oh, there’s no way it’s done. I’ve just conducted a thorough investigation, and there’s clearly something missing,” I say, putting my arm around his chest and curling my fingers into the meat of his chest and holding him so tight I hear his ribcage adjust. “There’s a glaring omission,”

“Mm-hmm, and what’s that?”

I kiss his neck, his shoulder, and his neck again. “The words Property of Robbie McGuire .”

He breathes the words, “Oh Jesus,” softly and then says, “Go to sleep, Princess. You’re delirious.”

“Okay,” I say agreeably, “I’ll go to sleep. But only if you do something for me.”

He groans again, louder and longer than before. “What do you want me to do and how much will it cost me? ”

I tighten my grip on him and curl my legs so there isn’t a single inch of space between us. “Tell me you’re happy.”

He goes stock still in my arms, not moving a muscle except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s fallen asleep.

When he speaks, his voice is so soft and far away that I almost think I’m imagining things.

“I’m happy, Robbie.”