“Murph,” I whimper, my lower body twisting, only to be pinned down hard by his forearm. “I think…oh, God, I think I’m going to h-have an orgasm…”
“Good girl,” he growls, pursing his lips around my clit, applying light suction that shoots me higher, higher, toward some incredible peak. “Jesus Christ, I could live off this tasty little pussy, baby.”
With that, he pushes a long, thick finger inside me, twisting it in a circle, his tongue batting my clit relentlessly and the storm breaks, pleasure ripping through me from head to toe, arching my hips off the bed and milking, milking, milking my sex until I’m not sure I can stand it. I clamp my thighs around Murph’s head, riding my flesh all over his stiff tongue, the sound of his deep moans burning me alive.
I assume my body’s frenzy is going to end when my climax wanes, but it doesn’t. I’m still frantic. Out of my head with purpose. The purpose of helping Murph experience the same euphoria he just gave me.
My fingers curl in the collar of his shirt and I pull with all my strength, guiding Murph up and onto my still-trembling body, wrapping my thighs around his waist. “Do it,” I whisper in his ear, my hands dragging up and down his muscle-yoked back. “Use me to get relief.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Need it.” Murph’s erection is like steel between my legs, wide and pulsing. Excitement burns through me when, looking pained, he reaches between us and unzips his jeans, dropping his heavy shaft between the juncture of my thighs, his hips beginning to pump eagerly, desperately, tunneling his thickness up and back through the valley of my wet sex. “Not popping that cherry, but I can damn sure tuck you in tonight, dripping in my come.”
His crudeness makes me gasp, but that show of outrage only seems to encourage him. Excite him. Turns his eyes a deeper color, his jaw flexing.
“Shouldn’t be doing this,” he grits out through his teeth. “Shouldn’t be touching my angel with this big, dirty cock.”
An intuition prods me. He likes a little shame.
That realization almost pushes me into another climax.
“No, you shouldn’t,” I murmur, trying to catch my breath. “You just can’t help yourself, though, can you?” I shove at his huge shoulders a little, feigning outrage. “Can’t help humping me with that filthy, aching thing.”
Murph’s panting shout fills the room. “Jesus. Angelica. Fuck!” That massive body flattens me to the mattress and he ruts me like a wild animal, never penetrating me, but using me nonetheless for his needs. His balls slap loudly off my backside, his mouth burying in my neck, his groans thrilling me more than any stadium full of screaming fans ever could.
Warm moisture shoots across my stomach, Murph’s mouth pressing hotly to my ear, his loud sounds of relief and pleasure and misery sending a shiver of satisfaction down my spine. More and more spurts from between his legs bathe me, mark me irrevocably, my heart soaring when his mouth stamps down over mine, as if I’m his lighthouse, too, and he needs me to get through the tumult of lust. And finally, when he grinds his shaft down against me, pressing down on my clit, another orgasm catches me off guard and I wail his name, clinging tightly, both of us shaking as we fight to the other side of the pleasure.
As soon as it’s over, I float down on some blissful cloud and unconsciousness starts to claim me. Murph lifts his head, studying my face as if he doesn’t know what to do next, his breath laboring in and out. But I can see what he wants to do. So badly. It’s in the groove between his brows and the way he wets his lips eagerly. And he does it by rolling to my side and pulling me up against him, soothing me to sleep in his warm, safe bear hug.
5
Murph
I watch Angelica sleep with my heart in my throat.
The morning light is only beginning to fill her girly bedroom. More and more sunshine begins to reveal the delicate pink sheets, the ballet dancer painting on her wall, the sparkly high heels discarded in the corner. One of these things is not like the other—and it’s me. I’m horribly out of place.
Even our pressed-together bodies are painfully dissimilar. I’m the giant ogre who has captured the princess, my coarse, fat-knuckled hand resting on her flat stomach, her petite feet tucked between the knees I’ve used to crush a man’s windpipe. But I can’t seem to let go.
She only wanted comfort last night. I have to keep telling myself that.
Angelica has everything she could ever want. Money, fame. There was something I could offer her last night—oblivion—but this isn’t a permanent job and I need to be realistic about that. For so many reasons.