I go easily when he hooks his hands beneath my thighs and lifts. I curl my legs around his hips, helping him shove his sweatpants down so his hard cock springs free, our movements awkward, hands fumbling. Splinters cut into my bare ass when he presses me against the railing, making me wince. The pain immediately forgotten when he slides inside me, filling me up.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks me brutally. The cold air long forgotten thanks to the heat our bodies create, his cock sliding in and out of me, Spence grunting with every thrust. My eyes fall closed when he tears the robe off of my body and I’m completely naked, an offering to nature.
An offering to the beast inside him.
He fucks and fucks as if he could do it forever, his cock nudging a spot deep inside that has me seeing stars. I bite his earlobe, hissing when he hits that spot, and I firmly squeeze my inner walls, strangling his dick.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hands shifting, fingers sliding over my ass, teasing the seam. “I missed you so much, Syl. I’m going to come if you keep that up.”
I do it again, crushing my breasts against his chest, wanting him to feel me. To know it’s me and no one else. His fingers trail lower, until he’s teasing the ridged skin of my asshole, and I part my lips on a silent scream, my pussy gripping him tight.
“You like that?” The tip of his finger barely slips in and I gasp, going completely still, as does he. The only movement the throbbing of his cock. “I’d fuck you here if you let me.”
“I’d let you,” I say without hesitation, my hips lifting as I try to ride his cock on my own. But my position makes it difficult and he helps me, shifting me up and down. God, it feels so good.
It always does with Spence. He understands me. Knows my body and what I like. I don’t have to worry or feel self-conscious when I’m with him.
“You going to come?” he whispers in my ear, his finger pushing into my ass, his cock sliding deeper inside my pussy. “I’m close.”
I turn my head, my mouth resting on the strong column of his throat as I breathe in his scent. “Me too.”
Within minutes, I’m shaking, milking him, wrenching his orgasm out of him. He comes with a shout, his face in my hair, his finger slipping out of my ass as he grips me against the railing. I don’t notice the splinters, the scratches. I don’t notice anything else but the sensation of his semen filling me up, and the dread that consumes me at the realization.
I’m not on birth control. I haven’t been for a long time. He didn’t wear a condom.
“Get off me.” I bat at his shoulders, and he rears up, studying me with a frown. “Put me down.”
He does as I ask and I take off, headed into the house, cum coating the inside of my thighs. I’m in the bathroom in seconds, turning on the shower, diving under the steady stream of water the moment it’s hot enough. My fingers are scooping out as much semen as possible, but I know it’s not enough. I know what I’m doing is futile.
The shower door opens, revealing Spence. He steps inside, completely naked, nudging me away from the water, so it will hit him instead, and I scowl.
“What are you doing?” He runs his fingers through his dampening hair, his voice calm. The complete opposite of what I’m feeling.
The panic is still streaking through me, my mind calculating the last day I had my period. I use one of those apps to keep track though, lately, social media tells us not to. I’ve just been too lazy to delete the app from my phone.
I seriously think I’m ovulating right now, which would be…such a mistake. There is no way I can be a mother. I can’t even take care of myself, let alone a helpless baby. And what if I’m just like my mother? What if I’m horrible and controlling and I’ll eventually want to hurt my child, all for the attention it’ll get me?
I press my forehead against the tile wall, closing my eyes. I can hardly bear the thought.
“Syl?” A warm hand cups my shoulder, turning me toward him, and I open my eyes to find him watching me. “Are you all right?”
I slowly shake my head, finally letting the tears I’ve been holding back all morning break free. I’ve cried more since Spence showed up than I have in a long time. I don’t even think I cried this much when my husband died.
Considering it’s my fault Earl is dead, you’d think I would’ve shed more tears out of pure guilt.
SEVENTEEN
SPENCER
It’shard to leave a crying woman, so I don’t. After I fucked her out on the deck and chased after her to the shower, Sylvie turned on the waterworks and hasn’t stopped. We’re currently lying on her bed, her in my arms, her face nestled against my bare chest, her leg draped over both of mine. She’s naked too, our skin and hair still damp from the shower. My chest extra damp, thanks to her tears.
I don’t know what to do or what to say, so I try and offer her comfort in the best way I can. By holding her and remaining silent. We’ve done this a lot over the years, and I’m used to it.
For once, I’d like to see us go through a period of time together with Sylvie not shedding any tears. Jesus.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says, lifting away from my chest, so she can stare into my eyes. Hers are still watery and red-rimmed, her lips puffy. Despite all the crying, she’s still beautiful. Maybe even more so.
This is where I admit to myself that I’ve always gotten off on a sad Sylvie. What does that even say about me?