Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
She points to my eyes and I remember that I have on the blackout contacts. I can see through them without issue, but she can’t. I move to pull them out but she shakes her head, catching my attention. Quietly, she says, “You look like a monster, but I see you. It’s sexy.”
I know there’s an entire corner of the internet where people write fantasies of my onstage alter ego and them fucking. I avoid those like the plague. But this isn’t that . . . not exactly. However, there’s a certain degree of freedom in being that character, me but also not.
I am no one’s fantasy. But I can be her reality.
I click into that part of myself, the one that commands the stage, the music, the audience. I push her back roughly, grabbing the waistband of her jeans and pulling her down until she’s lying on her back on the floor of the van. I undo the button, and she realizes what I’m doing and starts to help, reaching for her zipper and wiggling the jeans over her hips and down her thighs. Her panties are lacy and black, with nothing more than a string going over her hips. She wore these for me.
For Ben. But now for this version of me too.
I undo my own jeans, pushing them down and freeing my cock. I kneel over her, letting my knees slide out and lowering myself, finding the right angle until my crown brushes over her glossy pink lips. Her tongue darts out to lap at my head, savoring me. I reach back, dipping beneath her panties to cup her pussy and find her soaking wet. I gather a bit of her juices and stroke them over my length, mixing it with the pre-come dripping down my shaft. Then I feed her my dick again, letting her taste not me, not her, but us.
She opens her jaw wide, swallowing me eagerly, and I bump the back of her throat as the van hits a pothole. Damn LA roads are a hazard. Except tonight, they’re a blessing in disguise. “Good girl,” I growl, curling over her so only she can hear me. I work my way in and out of her mouth, gritting my teeth to keep from shouting out not only my pleasure but also my joy that Hope loves me.
Broken, worthless monster that I am, but also the man I’m becoming.
Too close to the edge, I jerk myself back and flip her over to her stomach. Fuck me, the string of her panties disappears between the cheeks of her ass. I grip them in my hands, a devilish grin stealing my lips as I leave handprints marking her.
I lie over her, forcing her legs as wide as they’ll go with the restraint of her jeans, and line up with her entrance as I hold the G-string out of my way. I don’t go slow, I don’t let her adjust to me. She’s wet and ready, and I thrust in balls-deep in one forceful stroke. She grunts but takes it, even lifting her ass to give me deeper access.
I lean forward, catching my weight with one hand pressed to the van floor and wrapping my other arm over her shoulder and down to grip her breast. She presses up, throwing her head back and placing her cheek to mine. I catch her mouth in a kiss as I slide in and out of her, feeling her pussy clench as I give her everything I can.
She can’t move with the way I have her pinned, but she starts to quiver beneath me as her walls spasm. I swallow her cries to silence them, keeping them for myself. But her pleasure sends me over, and she reaches up, gripping my head to keep my mouth on hers to quiet me as I spill jet after jet of hot come into her.
Panting, I stroke into her a few more times, wanting the come to stay deep inside her, marking her as mine the way my hands have claimed her flesh and my love has filled her heart. “Fuuck,” I finally groan under my breath.
The van stops.
Shiiiit!
I pull out of Hope, feeling cold instantly when I lose her warmth. Scrambling, I grab her shirt and, grinning deliriously, she takes it and pulls it on.
I dive into my bag, trying to find my street clothes. I pull a solid black shirt over my head, too, and keep my jeans on, just rebuttoning them. I grab the towel pre-coated with heavy-duty makeup remover and scrub it over my face. Then, seeing Hope’s face, I grimace and scrub at hers instead.
She shakes her head and mouths, It’s okay. She takes the towel from me, wipes the areas that must be more covered in the paint, and then she leans back, perusing my face. She points to her eyes, and I dive into the bag again. I pop the contacts off, put them in their case, jerk a beanie over my head to cover any paint along my hairline we missed, then look at her.