“It’s so wet…” I whispered.
“Wet and fucking dirty,” he said, the rhythm as he fucked my ass was so good. So perfect.
“How dirty did you make my last pair?” I asked him.
“I’ll show you, don’t worry.”
“Make these just as dirty,” I told him. “Make me just as dirty.”
I cried out loud when he pulled out, and he was rough as he tore my wet knickers down my legs.
“Oh God,” I whispered as he stretched them over the head of his dick and lined back up. “Fuck, Lucas…” I began, but he was already pushing in.
He got the head of his dick inside my ass, cloaked in sopping lace, but it was tight. So tight.
I loved the slick jerks as he worked his dick with his hand, the tip still inside me. His breaths turned ragged and I spread my thighs all the wider, straining for a view.
“Holy fuck,” he grunted, and he was gone, trembling with the spurts.
It was absolutely fucking filthy.
He came over my dirty knickers, stretched tight inside my asshole. He cursed and groaned and told me what a dirty little bitch I was, and he kept on spurting and kept on working his dick until I was a dripping mess right down my butt crack.
But not as much of a dripping mess as my knickers were when he pulled them from his cock and held them up to his face.
“Nice,” he said. “So fucking nice.”
My clit was screaming again, knowing he was going to work that filth against my pussy before he did it.
Our bodies knew each other even better than our minds.
It was so slippery. So warm and wet and noisy as he worked my pussy through that fabric.
I came all over again with his cum against my slit, and I loved it.
I loved him for it.
Loved him.
I stared up at him as I shuddered and I saw it loud and clear.
I loved him.
My heart burst along with my pussy, and the world set alight all over again as I lost myself to Lucas Pierce.
It was still thumping hard from the orgasm as he dropped on top of me, breaths to breaths, those dirty knickers pinned slick between us.
I wrapped him in my arms and pressed my mouth to his shoulder as I caught my voice, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to let him go. But I didn’t say it.
It would have been the most natural thing in the world to say those three magic words. But I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
“That was amazing,” he whispered and I nodded, but kept quiet.
I was glad when he eased up enough to press his mouth to mine. Grateful that he took away my ability to speak.
His back was clammy with sweat, and between us it was baking hot. It felt like pure bliss as we lay there.
And then he moved.
My skin screamed for his the very second he rose up and pulled me with him. He took my knickers and put them on the counter behind the mushrooms along with my blouse and got back to work on chopping, and I took the throw from the floor and wrapped myself up as I watched him.
I didn’t want dinner.
My body was crying out for so much more than food.
It was crying out for him.
“I think maybe omelettes rather than steak,” he laughed, and I nodded.
He cooked as I stared, a smile on his face every time he flashed me a glance, and I smiled back but it was all a veneer.
My soul was churning. My mind was chewing. My body was calling. Just trying to make sense of it all.
I shouldn’t want him. Not one tiny bit.
I shouldn’t be there. Anywhere else in the world but there.
I should be checking out my phone and telling him to take me home to my regular world, but I didn’t want my regular world. I wanted his.
He served up my omelette with a “Ta-dah!” and I accepted with a thanks.
We didn’t even bother sitting at the table, just chowed it down with a fork at the counter, and I sought out the emergency tablets from my handbag and tipped them back with some juice.
And then we went to bed.
It felt ridiculously natural to slip under the covers beside him, and worryingly natural to snuggle up close. The crook of his shoulder felt made for my head, and his chest was beautifully firm under my arm.
Beautifully firm and beautifully solid and beautifully safe.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” I whispered, and his lips pressed to my hair.
“I’ll always come to get you,” he told me, and my heart panged at the truth in his words.
If only there had been as much truth in them a decade ago, before he ripped that same heart to pieces.
“You asked me questions about Millie,” he said, and his voice was so quietly serious it made my tummy flutter.