“Oh, my god …” I mutter. “I think …”

“Fuck yeah, come all over me,” he growls, biting my nub.

I gasp, and then the shocks come as he continues to lap me up, sucking up every last bit my body has to give to him. I’m quaking on top of him, weak, almost ready to tumble over and then let him fuck the shit out of me. Yeah, I’ve gone that crazy.

“So fucking good,” he says after the last, tingly lick. He throws me a cheeky look from under his lashes. “Did I please you, Mistress?”

“Oh, Jesus …” I chuckle, crawling off him.

“Make that ‘Oh, Chris’ next time, and I might give you another round.”

Before I have time to respond, he swoops me up, and within a few seconds, we’re standing near the back of the tub, my face against the wall, nipples perky from the cold touch.

“C’mere,” he growls, grabbing my breasts with greed, squeezing them as if they’re his toys. “You’re all mine; you know that, right?” he lisps in my ear.

I nod, delirious with need as his hand slides down my bare ass, spreading my cheeks.

“No one else’s. All mine,” he repeats.

And then I can hear his pants drop. Soon after, he tears his shirt off too, casting it aside. When I feel his ripped body against mine, I melt into a puddle.

His rigid cock pushes between my ass cheeks, bouncing up and down from the sheer pleasure of touching me. And I love feeling it … his desire to have me, and only me, for himself.

“God, I want to fuck you so badly …” he groans.

I bite my lip as he slides my wet hair aside and pecks the back of my neck. “Do it.”

“Do what? This?” He sucks on my earlobe while one hand slides down and between my legs again, while the other fondles my nipple. “Or this.” He releases my earlobe, only to pinch my clit. “Or do you want something else, maybe?”

“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”

He grins against my skin. “Oh … my pleasure …”

Not even a second later, he pushes into my pussy, filling me completely.

A gasp leaves my mouth along with a loud moan, as I didn’t expect him to come in so fast, so hard. But I love it all the same. The roughness of his hands gripping my waist, the feel of his thickness pushing into me, the touch of his thumb grazing my nipple. God, it’s all too much to even think straight.

My lips part, hungry for more, as he thrusts in and out of me as if he owns me completely; a gruff groan accompanies each thrust, turning me on even more. My wetness coats him with ample lubrication, allowing him to slide into me with ease.

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he growls into my ear. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

“Yes …” I moan.

I’m letting his strength completely overtake mine, and I don’t even mind. With my back against his chest, he shoves me against the wall. His hands are all over me, touching me anywhere he can, as if I’ve given him a free pass. Maybe I have handed it to him on a platter. At the moment, I’m too enraptured by his very essence; the way he moves inside me, how he completely absorbs me. My brain has turned off and the focus lies solely on pleasure. It’s so good that I might come again just from his cock alone.

“You’re moaning so loud … Like it so much, huh?” he muses.

“Oh, fuck …” I squeeze my legs tight to increase the pressure building inside, and it makes him even harder.

“Fuck yes, keep doing that,” he says. “You gonna come again?”

I nod as he presses another lusty kiss on my cheek, my mouth inching toward his, desperate to connect. We kiss, our tongues mixing and mingling with heat as his cock begins to pulse. He bites my lip hungrily, grabbing my hips with both hands to thrust even deeper. And then it happens. Pure bliss.

I fall apart with my face against the tiles of the bathroom wall, my legs quaking underneath me.

He groans, “Fuck!”

My pussy clamps around his shaft, and then it explodes, cum bursting out. I can feel it fill me up to the brim, jetting inside me multiple times before streaming down my legs as his half-hard cock slides out of me.

He presses an exasperated kiss on my shoulder, worming his way into my heart again. Between huffs and puffs, we exchange tired looks. His sweet smile gives me butterflies. A yawn escapes my mouth, and he chuckles.

Then he suddenly picks me up in his arms, making me squeal. “Let’s go to bed. You need some sleep.”

Over his shoulder, he carries me to my bedroom and lays me down under the blankets. I only catch half of what he does because I’m so goddamn tired I could sleep for days. I don’t know where this sudden need for rest has come from. Maybe from the fact that a stranger attacked me after a long day at work and a few drinks afterward, and then on top of that, I had sex with Chris. Or maybe a few drinks were a few too many. Who knows. Drowsy, I close my eyes and enjoy floating on the lingering sparks of passion.

And before I fall into a deep slumber, I only barely notice the hand that curls around my stomach and pulls me closer toward safety. Toward heaven.

But it definitely was there.

Or am I dreaming now?

Chapter 32

Chris

Age 17

I watched her from a distance, hiding her tears in her scarf as she stood over her father’s grave. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. They didn’t want me to make it even more difficult than it already was for her, and I agreed. I didn’t make a fuss. I was actually relieved that I didn’t have to face the destruction I’d caused.

I killed her father.

Maybe not directly, but my words made him commit suicide.

It’s been months since the funeral, but the images are still lodged in my mind.

I wish I could undo what I did, but it’s too late for that.

All I can do now is try to stay out of her way.

She hates me. I can see it in her eyes whenever she spots me … the need to erase me from her thoughts. And I don’t blame her … I deserve it all.

Since his death, my mother has moved back into my father’s house, looking for support. She had nobody else but us. Of course, being the forgiving man that he is, my father accepted her back. Maybe not with open arms, but I could definitely tell he still loved her. We all did. Despite her leaving our family, we needed her back.

She came back and brought Emily to our house as well. I knew it was because she didn’t have anywhere else to go, but she didn’t want to be with us. Not in a million years.

Except she had no one left to care for her.

So my mother did what she thought was right. Since she was shortly married to her father, she had legal custody over Emily, which meant she could come live with us.

I’m not sure if it was the right decision, however, because Emily seemed to resent her for it. And me, of course, for being the cause.

I tried to stay out of her way, most of the time. But it was never the same.

She never ate dinner with us; she was always in her bedroom.

She never joined family nights or any of the activities we did together.

She pretty much locked herself away with her books and her memories.

Sometimes I stand in front of her door, my hand hovering so close I could knock. I think about all the things I’d say to her—how I’d beg her for forgiveness, how I’d attempt to rebuild our relationship. Or any relationship, for that matter. With her, my family. Anyone and anything would be okay, as long as she’d stop being angry. So we can move on.

But then I realize that’s the most selfish thing I could ever think.

Maybe she doesn’t want to forgive. Maybe she doesn’t want to forget.

And who am I to tell her any different?

I was the one who made her sad. I was the one who made her world stop.

I can’t possibly do or say anything that would make it better. I can’t fix anything.

And so the moment where I attempt to redeem myself passes. I lower my hand and walk to my room. Just like I always do.