Dirty: A Naughty Tale

“Oh fuck.” Martin roars as he slams in my tight channel over and over before he pulls free and releases his pleasure all over my stomach and chest. The warm jets of semen make my pussy pulse with the need to fill it. But I know that can’t happen. Not with Martin.

He’s a playboy.

I’m just some dumb schoolgirl who fell in love.

Chapter 3

Marty

I don’t know what the fuck happened. One minute I’m having the orgasm of my fucking life and the next I’m out cold.

I’ve never fucking passed out after sex. I’m normally going for seconds and thirds. But, Jesus fuck, Celeste. She has this innate ability to relax me. She fucking took everything I threw at her and begged for more.

I gave it to her. In spades. I thought she’d have run from the room when I told her she was sleeping with my cum all over her body. She fucking rubbed it in with a goddamned smile on her face and cuddled up to me.

We spent the whole night with her in my arms. I’ve never slept better in my life. I want to do it again. I need to fucking do it again. Every damn night.

With her.

Only ever with Celeste.

Looking to her side of the bed, I already know she’s gone. She stole away sometime in the early morning hours. Anger rolls through me that she thinks she can leave me.

If anyone leaves anyone, it’s me. I leave.

Not with her, though. She obviously didn’t believe me when I said she’s mine. Last night just proved further that she’s it for me. That I’m keeping her for myself.

Rolling out of bed, I grab a pair of shorts and my phone and head over to her house. The street is quiet as I walk outside. For a weekend, that’s unusual around here.

Walking up the front steps to her house, I knock on the door. I know she’s home. When there’s no answer, I try the handle. Locked.

Mother fuck.

Jogging around to the back, I try the back door and luck out when it opens. Gonna have to talk to her about that. Irresponsible.

“Celeste?” I call out. I know she’s here. She’s a quiet girl and I know she doesn’t have very many friends, so there isn’t much else she could be doing.

Waltzing through her house, I’m surprised at the size of the liquor cabinet in the den as I walk past. “Jesus,” I hiss. Someone has an addiction.

“Celeste!” I call louder this time as I reach the stairs. Seeing a closed door with her name on it, I walk in to see her sleeping in my t-shirt in her bed. The picture makes me hard. It’s not just that she’s in my shirt, but the pure innocence that surrounds her makes my chest tight with desire.

Strolling closer to her, I see tears staining her cheeks and worry I was too rough with her last night. Gently peeling back her blanket, I lift up the shirt and see hand-sized bruises lining her hips and back from where I squeezed her to hold her in place.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter quietly. Dropping my shorts, I climb in bed with her and softly roam my hands up and down her body. Being tender with a lover isn’t normally my forte, but she’s so much more than any lover.

She’s Celeste.

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She’s my girl.

My life.

My love.

Love?

When the hell…