Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

And then it doesn’t matter because he’s sliding inside of me.

He’s pushing into my dripping pussy and starting to fuck me.

And it’s so good, it’s so wonderful that it feels like heaven.

His thick cock inside of me, his hips smacking into my ass, his hairy thighs rubbing against mine and his big hands on my waist.

Yeah, heaven.

And then he bends down, his sweaty and massive chest covering my back and those big hands of his moving away from my hips to grab hold of my jiggling tits.

I watch his dusky hands kneading my milky flesh.

I watch how even though my tits are big and plump, he can still cover them all with his hands.

Because he’s so big and strong, you see.

He’s my daddy.

He’s my safety blanket and I’m his baby.

That’s when I come for the second time, with those filthy, erotic words.

And then he’s pushing me down on the bed, laying me on my stomach. Before jerking my ass up and adjusting it at an angle for his entry again.

So he can hump my ass like that.

With me lying flat on my stomach, and him kneeling over me like a bronzed god.

Him going deep and deep and deeper, as if all the way into my belly, as he watches his dick go in and out of my hole.

At some point, I drool, my head turned and watching him, his big thighs digging into the mattress on either side of me, looking so magnificent.

At some point, I also come again. I have lost count of what number orgasm this is though.

But I know that we’re still not done.

I know all of this was in preparation for the big show, the main show.

For my ass.

I know he was preparing me by first eating me out and then fucking me into oblivion so it doesn’t hurt as much.

Don’t I know him so well?

For all his tortured thoughts and angsty and agitated emotions, he’ll never hurt me.

And so I find myself rearranged once again.

He turns me onto my back and my eyes clash with his for the first time since he began saying all the things in my ears. Since he began toying with my pussy and fucking me.

And I know.

I know the word that I was searching for before he distracted me with his filthy words.

The word that felt so entwined with the future.

Our future.

It slams into my chest and throbs inside my body as I look at him.

He’s kneeling between my thighs, all naked and flushed and beautiful, his cock still hard and jutting out and bare — I guess he took the condom off at some point — because I know he hasn’t come yet; he was waiting for the main show.

His main meal, my ass.

He parts my thighs and pushes them up to my chest. My arms reach out on my own to hold my limbs and make it easier for him to take what he wants. To make it easier for him to focus on other things.

Things like pushing his dick into my asshole.

Pushing it past the initial resistance.

And then pushing it and pushing it some more until he’s seated all the way.

And yes, there’s pain and pressure and all those things but I don’t care about that. I only care about paying the price of doing all the bad things to him by giving up my last hole.

But what he doesn’t know is that I’m also giving him my heart.

What he doesn’t know as he fucks my ass, all gently and patiently but steadily, is that I’m also giving him my love.

Love.

That’s the word I was searching for.

Because that’s what I’ve been feeling all this time.

And it’s throbbing and throbbing inside of me as he fucks me with his eyes closed and his head thrown back as if he can’t bear to look at me, and I watch him with my eyes all open as if I can’t look away.

What he doesn’t know is that when he’s done, his cum filling my ass and my pussy dripping with yet another orgasm, this one the most violent of all as it comes squirting out of me, and he leaves me in his bed without a second glance, I’m crying in the sheets.

I’m crying and sobbing, thinking about the future that suddenly seems so bleak and so alone.

I love him.

I’m in love with him.

With Alaric.

My devil guardian, my tyrant principal and the man I’ve hated since the moment I met him four years ago.

Although now that I think about it, maybe I never hated him.

Which is extremely weird to say.

Because my life for the past four years has revolved around the fact that I hated him. Everything that I’ve done, every plot, every plan, every thought that I’ve thought is because I hated him.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

The fact that he’s the only thing I’ve thought about in the past four years.