Coup De Grâce (Code 11-KPD SWAT 7)

I gasped and threw my head back.

My hair flipped over my back, and Michael caught it, fisting it into his hands as he pulled back his hips.

Then he sank back inside, pulling my hair to urge me to move back against him at the same time.

I obliged, throwing my hips back so hard that a loud smack filled the room where our hips collided.

He grunted.

“That’s the way you want to do this?” He asked casually, as if he wasn’t driving me crazy with his slow movements.

“Yes!” I screamed.

He obliged that, too.

Pulling his hips back until the meaty head of his cock stayed notched in my entrance, he rammed back inside of me so hard that my knees lifted from the bed.

“Ahhh,” I moaned, lightening coursing through my veins as the erotic staccato of his movements lit me up like a firecracker.

Pleasure was building in my core.

My previous orgasm barreling back towards the finish line as he slammed into me, harder and harder until the only thing I anticipated was the delicious pain that shot through me each time he sank inside of me.

His free hand, that wasn’t pulling back on my hair, found a home on my ass, squeezing it tighter and tighter until I was sure he’d pull my ass off.

But soon I didn’t care because I was coming.

The erotic pain, the pure pleasure, and the excitement smashed through me all at once, and I spontaneously combusted.

Or so it felt like.

Maybe it was an orgasm.

But I wouldn’t call what I had with Michael ‘normal.’

What we had was fan-fucking-tastic.

“I’m coming,” I gasped. “Please!”

He knew what I wanted.

His hand left my hair, and the other left my hip.

One traveled to my clit while the other went to one of my breasts: pulling, plucking, and tickling.

My personal bottle rocket exploded into a full blown fireworks finale as I clamped down on him so hard I heard him curse and pump his hips impossibly faster.

“Jesus,” he grunted.

Then I felt the hot splash of his come pouring into me, filling me up, and marking me as his.

He pushed forward one final time and stayed planted, panting with exertion.

“You know,” he said. “I don’t even muster up this much sweat when I run.”

I groaned.

“I can’t complain.”

And I couldn’t.

If I had to deal with the sweat to get the pleasure I just had, then I’d take it every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

He pulled out of me, leaving me feeling bereft.

I was on my belly on the bed, and I could feel his essence leaking out of me in a gush.

Yet I didn’t have the energy to care at that moment.

“Get up, woman,” Michael slapped my ass.

I flipped him off, no doubt leaking come all over the bed.

I’d change the sheets when we got home.

There was no way I could move right now.

Well, that is unless Michael were to pick me up.

Which he did only seconds later, wrapping his big hands around my waist and standing me up.

“Clean up, pull up your pants, and let’s go. I can just hear my mom screeching now,” Michael teased.

Horror filled me.

“What?” I said frantically. “Are we late?”

Of course we were late.

We’d just had sex when we should’ve been leaving, Nikki Pena!

“Gah!” I said hurriedly, placing the palm of my hand between my legs to catch any stray drops that might leak out as I hobbled to the bathroom, my pants still around my ankles from where he’d left them earlier.

Michael laughed as he watched, sitting down on the bed to holster his gun and tie his shoes.

Twenty minutes later, and only ten minutes late, we pulled up to his parents’ house.

It was gorgeous.

It was one of those plantation houses with white paint, huge white pillars, red shutters, and a large front porch that housed rocking chairs.

“This is nice,” I said in awe.

I’d grown up on a farm.

We’d lived in a five bedroom house with seven children.

My brother, being the only boy, had gotten a room by himself while my sisters and I all had to spilt into three.

It looked like this house had no less than ten bedrooms.

Plus a maid’s quarters.

And a pool house.

“Yeah,” he agreed, opening his door and hurrying around to mine. “It was good.”

I hopped out when he offered me his hand, and started up the front walk.

“I’m nervous,” I whispered to Michael. “And we’re late!”

He patted my hand. “It’ll be alright.”

I knew it would be.

He’d make it so.

But that still didn’t help the nervousness that was tearing up my insides.

Or was that the nausea that hadn’t gone away for three days?

Because I felt like I was going to die.

Of nervousness. Or maybe anorexia since I was so stinkin’ hungry.

I’d met his parents on the ped’s floor, of course, but only long enough to chat with them since they’d both been working at the time.

Meeting them at their house, in their territory, on their baby boy’s arm, was a different thing entirely.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” he told me, as we walked up the front walk of his parent’s house.

“Are you sure my pants aren’t too tight?” I asked worriedly.

His eyes went from the front door to my ass, and I could see his pupils dilate.

“No baby, they’re fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Maybe we should go home. Call and tell them you’re still sick…”

I laughed, knocking him with my elbow in the ribs.

“We did that before we came,” I teased lightly.

Then the door in front of me opened, and a beautiful woman, with Michael’s blue eyes, opened the door, and at her back was a man with Michael’s brown hair. With a few gray hairs that only added to its awesomeness.

“Michael, you’re late,” his mother said reprovingly. Then her eyes lit on Michael’s bared arms, and I winced.

That’d been me begging him to wear a t-shirt.

I should’ve let him wear the long sleeve one he wanted to wear.

“Ma,” he said, walking in with me behind him. “We were held up trying to find a matching shoe.”

And we had been.