The Kingpin's Weakness

And then he exhales in a rush and pulls himself from my throat.

“You think you’re sore now?” I’m being pulled to my feet, the bikini bottoms ripped down my legs. “Get your legs around my fucking waist.”

I’m whimpering his name as I comply, my extreme wetness more obvious now that I’m no longer kneeling in the water. I’m damp and dripping and it has nothing to do with the ocean. “Easton,” I sob, climbing his hard body, and lock my thighs around his hips, biting my lip in anticipation of being filled up. Filled completely. “Please, please…”

The head of his sex nudges inside me, his hands going to my buttocks and rifling me down every hard inch until he’s reached the hilt. My gratified scream echoes down the beach, off the rocks, even as Easton stumbles, groaning, going down on his knees in the water.

“Tighter? How are you fucking tighter?” He leans back and rolls his hips, using his hold on my bottom to pull, pull, pull me onto his throbbing girth. “Find your clit, baby. That little button I licked last night. Find it and rub it on Daddy.”

“O-okay,” I hiccup, pulling myself higher against Easton’s body and tilting my hips back—and explosions go off in my ears. That sensitive bundle of nerves he exploited with his tongue last night finds the meatiest part of his manhood and I ride it there, up and back, dragging the tingling flesh faster, faster. “Feels so good, Easton. Oh my God.”

“You feel so good to me, too, baby. So goddamn perfect.” He grips my hips and grinds me down, heightening the incredible pulsing pleasure. “Jesus Christ. Your mouth has me so fucking horny. Now this little wet pussy?” His hips slam upward into me, his hands bruising on my hips. “I’m already going to come.”

“M-me too,” I cry out, not realizing the truth of it until I speak it out loud. But the pleasure twines inside of me, wrapping around everything and preparing to snap. Soon, soon. It’s coming. I can’t bear it. I can’t live without it. “I love you, Daddy,” I chant, finding that final hint of friction against my clit and flying off the handle. “I love you. I love you.”

Easton’s mouth molds to mine, capturing my screams of pleasure and mingling them with his growls, the wet heat of his pleasure fountaining into me, his lower body hefting me up and up relentlessly. I’m consumed. In his arms, I’m broken into tiny, little pieces and put back together, welded by a sense of desperation. Belonging. Coming home.

His male release rolls down my inner thighs and we don’t come up for air, our mouths in a continuous dance of wet hunger. Until finally we break away, sucking down gulps of oxygen, his eyes locked on mine like he might tackle me backwards into the surf. Even on the heels of mind-blowing release, he’s feral. An animal. And I’m the one who incites him.

He crushes me to his chest and bellows a tortured curse toward the heavens.

Several seconds tick by. And then…

“I love you, too, Scout,” he breathes unevenly in my ear. “I love you.”

In that moment, I’m so positive he could never let me go.

Not when we love each other.

If I was thinking coherently, I would have remembered the saying about loving things. And how letting them go is often the only way to express it.

* * *

Me and Easton swim in the ocean. He peppers me with questions about myself that I’m all too happy to answer when he’s holding me close, his fingertips lazily stroking ocean water up and down my spine. The sun warms his skin and I rub my face against it, breathing his scent and sipping salt off his shoulders.

We’re both naked and the moment feels bare, too. Unguarded. He tells me about his brother and father. How they were killed coming out of a restaurant on his twenty-fifth birthday. They were targeted on purpose and Easton was spared, specifically so he’d have to live with the knowledge of what his lifestyle had wrought. The rivals he’d tested by rising to power and usurping them as number one.

Their killers were dealt with.

He says the words easily, but the brief tension that rides through his muscles is not simple. Or detached. He still feels the loss—and it’s obvious that the deaths of his loved ones is why he planned to keep me at a distance.

The reason he still might still be planning to return me to the real world.

Without him.

But I try not to think of that. Instead, I bask in the sunshine with this man I love, telling him about the antics me and Whitney once got up to. He laughs, kisses my neck, holds me while I float on my back, tracing every inch of my body with his fingertips.