I’m ready for him to get off yet I never want this sensation to end. Where nothing else exists but our bodies joined together in carnal pleasure. Fisher hate fucks me, and I love every second of the sinful and erotic act.
He jerks, pulling his dick out to tease at my asshole with the head. The thought of the forbidden action paired with his teasing is enough to get me off again. I’ve lost track of my orgasms, but I know I’ve never came so hard in my life as I have tonight.
“Not yet, but soon, it’ll be mine.”
My mind flashes to Death saying similar to me.
Now being with him seems like a lifetime ago instead of days.
Fisher flips me over, ordering me to ride him. I’m exhausted. Every bone in my body wobbles like gelatin. I sink down on him, holding onto his shoulders for support. His gaze holds me captive. His stormy grey eyes bore into mine.
“Fuck me, Freya. Fuck me till I come all up in that pussy. Fuck me like you want me to plant a baby in you.” His voice is dark and raspy, as though he’s smoked one too many cigarettes. It’s sexy and in the moment, I crave nothing more than for him to deliver.
To make a baby with me.
It’s stupid, deep down I know that, but it doesn’t stop me.
Fisher wraps a hand around my throat, applying enough pressure to cause slight discomfort, though not enough to hurt me. He’s making a statement. That he owns me. In this moment I’ll agree to anything as long as he keeps getting me off.
“You ever think about another man but me…you ever fuck another man, promise you, Freya—be the last fuckin’ thing you do.” His hips thrust meeting every roll of my hips, hitting me in the right spot.
Releasing my throat, he latches onto my waist, holding me where he wants me.
“Fuck,” he hisses, teeth sinking into his lip as his cock twitches inside me, spilling his warmth into me. Muscles squeezing and contracting, I milk his cock, wanting every ounce of his come.
I fall forward, his cock still jerking inside me, resting my head in the crook of his neck. His fingers strum the length of my spine, tracing the bones. Hot and sweaty our, skin suctions us together. His lips move over my forehead. “You still mad?”
I shake my head. I’m not mad. I’m sad that this is what we do to each other. Make one another crazy with jealousy. I shift, removing him from me. I slide out of bed, grabbing my robe. His come dripping down my thighs thick and slow like honey.
“I need to clean up.”
“Don’t take too long. Already getting hard again. Got a lot of lost time to make up for.” He smiles his perfect smile at me and my heart squeezes tight in my chest. I’m torn between loving and hating him.
The same with Death.
My heart and my body are in love with two men. Both different in so many ways, and yet they are alike. Bikers who don’t give a fuck who stands in their way. They’ll cut anyone off at the knees to get what they want.
I won’t come between them and cause a rift in the club. I know what I need to do for them and me. It’ll hurt. Cut me to the bone, but I have to for their sake and my sanity. I return Fisher’s smile knowing it’s the last he’ll have from me for a while. Maybe forever.
“Love you, babe,” he tells me, all husky and deep in a tone that sends the good kind of shivers up and down my spine.
I know he does. Fisher loves me a little too much.
“I love you, Riley Fisher.” I turn and rush to the bathroom before he sees the tears staining my cheeks.
Quietly, I turn the shower faucet on. I take my time in hopes that when I’m finished, Fisher will be snoring.
By the time I’m out and dressed it seems Lady Luck is spreading some good my way. Fisher is sprawled out in the center of the bed on his stomach with my pillow tucked partially under his arm and head. The loud sawing sound of his snoring would wake the dead, but not him it seems.
Guess I tired him out. My soul is drained. Exhaustion wears on me, but I need to be quick. I grab a bag and stuff my favorite clothing items in, not bothering to fold them or worry about wrinkles.
I slip on my boots and take one last look at Fisher while silently praying he doesn’t hate me for this. I hope one day he’ll forgive me. I want him to have the life he dreams of. If I stay, I’ll only be hurting him.
I don’t want to give him up for selfish reasons, but I know I have to. It’s so cliché to leave him an it’s not you it’s me letter, but that’s exactly what I do.
Dear Fisher,
I don’t know how to find the words to tell you that I love you. God, do I love you. We’ve been through so much together and have so much more to overcome. Right now though, neither of us are in the right headspace for a relationship. You need to get your life back, and I need to stand on my own. I don’t want to say its not you its me, but it is. I need to figure my life out and I can’t do that in Hell. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need space. I need time.