“You’re trying to kill me, L—” He thinks he caught himself in time, but he just awakened all the snakes. Shit. I thought we were going to get to the finish alone this time--just him and me without the snakes. Not tonight, I guess.
But he’ll never know. I want him to think I didn’t hear him almost call me ‘Love’. In fact, I speed up, bobbing my head, moaning in pleasure, providing more pressure with my lip-covered teeth. He’s panting, his thick fingers taking extra effort to be gentle on my shoulders, so I don’t feel like he’s forcing me onto his cock.
He doesn’t need to compel me to do this. I love it. I love giving him physical pleasure. It’s the only thing I’m capable of giving.
“Gotta slow down, Mads,” he says as he flips me onto my back and maneuvers between my legs in one swift move.
Two hundred pounds of gladiator muscle is crouched between my thighs with one mission and one mission only. This man wants to hear me come.
He won’t be satisfied with a faint little moan, either. He won’t stop until I’m screaming loud enough for everyone on the ship to hear. We’re a little family. My screaming orgasms quit embarrassing me before we even staged our insurrection, when we were in the cell block. There’s no way to hide them, and they make him so fucking happy.
I guess a few good things came from his gladiator training. He has the stamina of five males, and he had to train with his non-dominant hand, so this male is ambidextrous in all the right ways.
He can finger fuck me with one, and practically bring me to orgasm with the other just plucking my nipples.
“You just keep getting better at that,” I tell him between gasping pants as my head thrashes against the pillow. I pull my knees up, my heels flat on the mattress, and can’t contain my urge to press his beautiful head even harder against my clit.
I come with a grunt, then a long, howling moan. Somehow, he knows what every wordless noise and changing pitch means. He knows when to get right down to business, and when to back off to prolong my ecstasy.
Tonight, I just want it hard and fast, and the red male is delivering it as if he had a written playbook.
He strings three orgasms together, first using one finger, then two, then a third. He does the come-hither thing just when I think I’m rolling to a stop, and amps me up for several more releases. It’s only now that he gives me what I truly desire—that beautiful cock.
I’m slippery with my own release, he needs no help to enter me in one long, hard, delicious drive.
“That’s right, Stryker. Right where you belong,” I whisper as I feel my inner muscles quiver against him, setting off a chain reaction of explosions—mine and his. I love to feel his come jet into me. It never fails to make me feel so feminine, and somehow cared for and owned. The snakes always go away, at least for a moment, after he comes.
I pull him down onto me, our bodies hot and sweaty. I lick his pec with the tip of my tongue so I can go to sleep with his taste in my mouth.
I let him cuddle me after sex. It’s the only time I allow it. And now the snakes come back to play, hissing at me, deriding me for ‘allowing’ anything in a relationship like this. I’m an awful person. I know it.
With two people, one shouldn’t have power over the other. But it’s the only way I can bear to be in a cabin alone with him. If he didn’t follow my rules, my edicts, I’d never be able to tolerate him walking through the doorway.
~.~
I wake early, today like every day. Stryker’s gone, just as I expected. I laid down the ground rules the day we were freed: no words of endearment, no praises about my looks, no sleeping over unless expressly requested, and if so, be gone when I arise.
Bitch, my heckler hisses.
No shit, is my honest reply.
I need to get going, an entire ship full of people are going to be in the dining room wanting breakfast in an hour and I don’t have time to dawdle.
Except I can’t force myself out of bed.
I knew this was coming. It’s why I tried to keep him at arm’s length since the day we met. I knew I could fall for him quick and hard if I allowed it. How could I resist the gentle giant? Look at his big, strong hands, yet they touch me with such exquisite tenderness. And the way he looks at me, the way he’s looked at me almost from the moment we met. God, what woman doesn’t dream of a male gazing at her with adoration?
I didn’t want to taint him. I didn’t want my snakes to infect him, too. But here we are. Does he think he’s sly? Does he really think I don’t know he sneaks into the bathroom at night and turns on the light just so he can look at me? Does he think his little slips where he almost says the “L” word trick me?
I know how he gazes at me with longing when he doesn’t think I notice. And it breaks my heart that I can’t reciprocate.
Hot tears flow down my cheeks. Tears of sadness. And self-loathing, too. Don’t forget that.
I’m getting worse. I knew this was coming.
I’ve fought depression since my teens. It waxes and wanes. Some days are worse, some are better, but on the whole, the really dark times come every few years. Those are the periods
