Miscreants: Next Generation (Badlands 8)

His piercing.

He’d only had one before, but now it looked like there were two or three in the shape of an X. I could see four metal beads sticking out from beneath the skin.

“You almost done?”

My gaze flew to his. “When did you do that?”

“A while ago.” He climbed back on the bed and settled himself between my legs. “It’ll make you feel good.”

That brought a ton of questions to the forefront of my brain. But I was gasping and grabbing at his back before I could ask. He’d pushed inside me without hesitation. The pleasurable burn created another gush of liquid. I was dripping wet, but his dick was too big for me to easily accept.

“Fuck,” he muttered, holding himself still.

I buried my face in his neck and grasped his shoulders, feeling my pussy stretch to accommodate him. I felt the metal bars of his piercing too, brushing against my walls. He lifted my legs over his forearms and pushed himself deeper.

I whimpered, digging my fingers into his skin. After withdrawing, he thrust back in. He didn’t slow or stop this time. He fucked me rougher than he had in months, but still gentler than usual, forcing me to keep still and take every inch of him.

Moans became whimpers, and the sound of our skin slapping echoed around the room.

I was going to come again. I felt it building in my core. I think I said his name again, but I wasn’t sure. My pussy contracted around him, and a mangled scream tore from my throat.

“Fuck, Lils,” he growled, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss as he continued to pound into me.

I ran my hands down his back, curling my fingers into his heated flesh as another orgasm rapidly built. He kept his pace the same, making it that much more intense.

“Mal, please,” I pleaded, pulling him deeper.

“Please?” he toyed with me, his voice still level aside from a slight rasp.

“Make me come.”

He readjusted and started fucking me from a different angle. His cock and his piercing hit my g-spot simultaneously. I could hear—feel—how wet I was as he thrust in and out of me.

I felt the flood of warmth and liquid inside my pussy before I realized I was coming. Absolute bliss flowed through my whole body.

I rode the high as Mal found his own release, pulling out at the last second. He fisted his cock, moving his hand up and down to get every drop of come out. The sticky liquid spurted onto my lower stomach and pussy, dripping down to the mattress.

My chest rising and falling, I wrapped him in my arms and hugged him tightly, never wanting to let this go. He kissed my forehead, then my lips, before easing himself backward.

I rolled my head but didn’t bother to move, watching his toned ass as he vanished from the room.

When he returned, he had a warm rag and voluntarily wiped between my legs.

When he was done, he laid down beside me, his back flat on the bed. I shifted closer and rested my head on his shoulder.

We remained like this for a few minutes, both consumed by our own thoughts.

At first, I thought I’d regret this, but now I knew I wouldn’t. Having him inside me was one of my favorite addictions.

The other was him.

Being by his side and loving him was as natural as breathing. Maybe that’s why the pain was inevitable—because it wasn’t supposed to be. Our love was manic—bittersweet and possessive madness. It didn’t matter that it was nurtured by blood and obsession, addictive highs and crushing lows. It continued to grow.

The secrets and animosity between us did nothing to slow its progression.

It was growing so rapidly I had become anxious.

The man beside me had become someone incredible, but I didn’t know him anymore and he wasn’t giving me a chance to learn who the new him was.

Despite all of this, I loved him now more than I ever had before. I found that realization to be terrifying—more so when I thought back to what he had said the night prior.

He began tracing up and down my spine. I snuggled closer to him, relaxing into his warmth and the softness of the duvet beneath us.

“I don’t like keeping you captive.” His deep voice broke through our comfortable blanket of quiet.

“Then why do you?”

“Because everything is different, and you’d run from me the first chance you’re given.”

There was so much I could ask or say in response to that, but I just didn’t feel like talking anymore. I was tired of spinning on this hamster wheel, running in place. We either said too little or didn’t say nearly enough and came to yet another roadblock.

Everything that needed to be vocalized was caught in our failure to communicate or our wires getting crossed.

Unless we took our clothes off. We had no problems communicating then.