STUFFED (The Slate Brothers 2)

I can barely speak to answer him. “Yes. Yes, but it wasn’t bad,” I stammer.

Carson is breathing hard, trying to slow himself down. “You might be this time,” he says.

And then he thrusts into my pussy.

I cry out in pleasure as his cock fills me, not inch by inch like it did the first time, but in a single, sweeping stroke. I don’t know if he’s entirely inside me, but it certainly feels like it, and I moan as he fucks me in deep, bold strokes. With each hard thrust, his thumbs press against my asshole, and before I even realize what’s happened I realize that he’s penetrated me— though only an inch or so— there as well, with both thumbs inside me. I can’t believe this, I can’t believe how good it all feels, and I nearly collapse across the railing as a result of the whirling feeling that’s rocketing from my toes to my head and back again. I hear Carson groan again, and I try to regain control of myself, holding onto the railing tightly and forcing my ass back against his hands.

“Say you’re mine, Astrid,” he says, his voice far away in my disoriented state.

I smile hazily. “I’m all yours.”

“And you’ll let me fuck your tight little pussy however I want?” he asks through staggered breaths.

“Yes. Yes, please,” I say, and the world feels so unbalanced and beautiful. I moan again as he increases his speed, begins to fuck me harder, and I feel the swell of an orgasm rise in my core. But I don’t want to come yet— I want to keep going. I focus my breath and try to regain control of my senses, then toss my hair to the side and look over my shoulder as best I can at Carson pumping against me. He sees me watching and dares to go even harder— though I can tell he’s still having to hold back. My pussy is still tight, straining against Carson’s girth.

Carson slows, breathing heavy, then pulls himself from me. I turn around, ready for more, and he guides me to the ground, onto my back. He leans over me, then reaches back and guides my legs around him, till I’m gripping him tightly around the hips with my ankles locked against his lower back. Carson cranes his neck down to suck one of my nipples, a brief reprieve for my pussy, then releases it and guides himself back into me, deep enough that I gasp.

“Almost all of me this time,” Carson whispers in my ear, just before he begins to fuck me quickly, never fully withdrawing from me, but rather almost grinding into my pussy. I tighten my legs around him, squeezing against him to try and get him farther inside me. Carson growls at this, then lifts up slightly, moving my hips up with him. The new position instantly makes me moan— something about the angle, about the way his cock pushes inside me, about the tension in my own legs. I moan and writhe my upper body, unable to contain the dazzling feeling streaking through me.

“I’m going to come,” I pant, eyes squeezed shut. “Carson—“

I feel like a tidal wave has crashed over me, and I cry in pleasure as it washes over my body. I fist my hands and press them against the ground, bucking my hips as high as I can; Carson responds by fucking in deep long strokes through the orgasm, draining me of energy, leaving me a blissful, happy disaster when the feeling finally subsides. I’m panting, staring at up at Carson’s face and beyond him, the gazebo ceiling.

“You’re good at this,” I huff.

“So are you,” he answers, and ducks his head down to kiss me, his tongue gently sweeping through my mouth. He then speaks directly against my lips, the words a soft murmur. “But we’re not done yet, Astrid, so better catch your breath.”

14

I write the article about Carson the following day.

I write it a half dozen times, in fact, editing and rewording and rephrasing as I go. Dumbass Devin/Diminutive Dick Devin/Don’t Even Devin texts me non-stop, but I ignore him save for a few messages to tell him I’m working on it, and to leave me alone. Honestly, if Devin weren’t graduating at the end of the year, I’d quit the paper entirely; as is, I focus on the fact that I’m getting the story, getting the great portfolio piece, and keeping Carson from being cast as a monster. I write him the way he is to me— intimidating at first, but a good person. Someone who wanted to believe his father. Someone who was tasked with an insurmountable responsibility that he didn’t want or deserve. Someone who is a great football player with a great future, and wants to pour himself into that instead of suffering for the potential crimes of his father.