Part 2 of 3 (check my profile for part 1, can’t link here)
*Though I’m not poly, I really wanted to explore what a healthy polyamorous relationship would look like in this tale. Hope you like it!*
**Felicia**
*I wasn’t like the others. At least, I like to tell myself that. I wasn’t gonna just sleep around. Poly doesn’t mean that. Well, for some it does, but not for me. No, this isn’t a story of me seducing Quade and pulling him into some dark closet, ahem—Roberta, but to the point. This is not a story of sex without consequences. It’s a story of how I fell deep, deep, in love with an incredibly sweet man.*
*He’d always been kind to me, but it takes more than a few opened doors and prepared meals to win me over. The first time I felt something for Quade was when I was working in the dome one fateful morning in May.*
“Mornin’ Felicia,” Quade smiled. I was filling the new soil sacks for storage.
See, I’m a really efficient worker. I was on a roll that week. It didn’t really matter that the shovel had dropped from the storage rack onto the back of my leg the day before. It was a nasty bruise, sure, but I’d felt worse.
“Hey, Quade,” I returned his grin. “So—how was Roberta’s prenatal?”
“Oh, you know,” he beamed, “little guy—”
He paused and looked at me even though I hadn’t said a word.
“—or girl, is wigglin’ around great. They’re apparently the size of a pygmy shrew right now. How cute is that?”
I smiled. Maybe I shouldn’t have found it so cute that he was excited about another woman’s child, but I was always a bit different. Polys are difficult to understand for those in monogamous relationships. It didn’t bother me a bit that he was still with Fleur, and Roberta, but I certainly wasn’t feeling much for him yet. I wasn’t the type to jump into bed for a bit of extra rationing.
As I finished zipping the full sack, I lifted it into the garden cart. My leg spasmed. I didn’t even yell that loudly. It was more of a whine, but Quade was at my back in a second.
“Y’alright, Felicia?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of my back. I looked down and he removed it without hesitation.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I smiled through dull aching pain. “Just a cramp.”
He wasn’t even trying to coddle me, but his concern was touching. He tapped my water bottle in the cart.
“You gettin’ enough fluids? Could be dehydrated. Looks like you’re workin’ pretty hard, same as always.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing offensive, I swear. I’m just trying to say, I can lift about triple what you can, but you keep pace without a problem. When it comes to organization, you keep the storage room straight.”
“Even though you always put nutrients on the wrong shelf,” I stabbed for no reason at all.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, looking slightly saddened by my words. “Sorry about that. I honestly don’t even think about it. I just make sure they’re in the right area, but you know what. That’s on me. I’ll—”
“Fuck, Quade,” I groaned, shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t even know why I said that. It’s like—the mess just bugs me. I organize because it pisses me off when shit’s everywhere. Nothing to do with you, I swear. It’s me.”
He shook his head.
“Yeah, but you’re right. What else can I do to help keep things a bit neater?”
I’d assailed him, and he was apologizing to me. I was feeling a rush of guilt, and frustration, and then I made it worse.
“Jesus, just stop apologizing!” I snipped. “That’s a start.”
Why had I said that? Seriously, why? I really don’t like to use the term bitch, but I knew I was one. I had a lot of loathing for my own mind. Why did it have to be like this? Couldn’t I just be nice and bubbly like Fleur?
*Ugh, no,* I laughed to myself. I had no desire to be bubbly.
I lifted the first bag of soil onto its *proper* shelf in the storage unit, and my leg cramped again.
“Goddamn it,” I grunted, slapping my firm calves. The pain seemed to lessen a bit. I only had two more bags to dump. I’d take a break after that. I gulped a bit of water because Quade was right. Dehydration did cause cramping, and I hadn’t had enough fluids. I found it difficult to stop for breaks. Imagine that.
I flexed my foot back and forth, and the pain disappeared. I exhaled in relief. I considered dumping the cart onto the shelf, but the bags were polypropylene. If it tore, it would be a huge mess. I took a deep breath and crouched, lifting with my legs as I should have.
Then, as I brought it up, something terrible happened. It wasn’t a cramp. It felt like my leg had exploded. I heard a snap. There was no letting myself down easily. I dropped the bag and my arms crashed against the titanium cart, sending it flying sideways. My left arm caught the legs as it tumbled, and the metal tore a gash in my skin. I hardly felt it. What I did feel, though feel is really the wrong word, was the back of my leg on fire like someone had poured lava down it.
I was screaming like I never had. I had broken bones in the past. I’d stretched tendons when I danced, but I knew exactly what had happened. I’d seen other girls rupture their Achilles tendons and had lived in fear of it. That was why we stretched before practice. Now that I felt it, I knew exactly why they howled like they did.
It felt like every nerve in my lower leg was being scorched. I screamed out in pain, just rocking back and forth. I curled up, the tears streaming between loud rough breaths. I looked down at my ankle and realized it was worse than I thought.
“Jesus, shit!” Quade thundered into the room, sending the swinging storage door flying. “Felicia, what’s wrong?”
“I’m—fine!” I tried to minimize for some reason. I was sure I needed a doctor. I don’t know why I downplayed the pain.
“You’re fuckin’ not!” he shouted, sliding on his knees to my side. “Jesus, Felicia! That’s a ruptured tendon.”
“It feels—” I tried not to show the howling pain within me. “Fi—ahh!”
I began to sob as I touched the dented muscle in my calf. It was worse than a ruptured tendon. I’d torn something in the muscle itself, and by the looks of it—badly.
“Xi!” Quaid roared out. He turned back to me. He stroked my face and held me tight to his thigh without moving my body. He whispered to me. “Everything’s alright, Felicia. I’m here, darlin. You’re gonna be okay.”
Xi’s shoes squeaked as she stopped on the polished stone.
“Fucking hell!” she exclaimed.
“Grind up three acetaminophen. Bring some water and the pills, then I’ll run her to the med center.”
“You are not running me a mile and a half down the cart track. We’ll just wait for transport!” I urged.
“You know how slow they are!” he returned. “Settlement is growing too damn fast. It’ll be an hour before it gets here.”
“Well, so it’s—” I shut my eyes tight and clenched my jaw. “an hour. I can take an hour.”
“Will you shut up and let me take care of you for once!” he barked back.
I looked up to his face. He was scared for me. I knew the injury wasn’t life threatening. At absolute worst, I’d spend a few months healing from surgery, but in that moment—I was everything to him. I nodded softly and placed my hand in his.
“Okay.”
___
I had to ask him to slow down several times. My body didn’t like being jiggled as he ran. It made the pain much worse. He groaned in frustration. The thing he most excelled at, strength, he couldn’t use to the best of his ability. He seemed to search his mind for some solution.
“Right,” he warped his nose. “Okay, how ‘bout you tell me about your favorite memory.”
“Does your face itch?” I asked him.
“Little bit,” he replied. “Right above my lips. Where the mustache would go.”
I reached up and gave a gentle scratch with my nails. He smiled in relief.
“Thank you kindly.”
“Anyway,” I sighed. “Favorite memory is easy. I was in high school, senior year. I’d done ballet for twelve years before that, and—”
“You dance?” he asked.
“You interrupt!” I smiled, flicking his chest with my finger. My finger might have broken for how hard his muscles were as he carried me. I grinned a bit wider and giggled as I continued, not intending to let him know how I felt. “So, we were at state competition and I had qualified in pairs with my partner. When the scores came up, I was—ecstatic.”
I remembered the time, and how it felt to dance. I also remembered why I quit.
“Our technical score was anywhere between 9.5 to 9.7 across all five judges, artistic was a straight ten, except for two who rated 9.7. I jumped into Saori’s arms and just laughed and laughed. My dad was there, and he looked so proud. We were going to nationals. We fucking won.”
“That’s absolutely amazing,” Quade grinned. “I had no idea you were such an athlete. It explains the body, though.”
His eyes went wide. He had spoken without thinking. I was flattered, but I still felt the need to tease.
“What do you mean, *explains the body?*”
“I just—well, you know, all dancers are strong, but ballet is brutal.”
*True,* I thought.
“Dancers train for hours and hours a day, doing the craziest and most rigorous moves, and it shows. They tend to be very—physically fit.”
“You think I’m hot?” I prodded further.
“Uh—” I could see him trying not to offend me. I just wanted to squeeze his cheeks. He was so cute. Quade spoke up a moment later after thinking through his words. “I think—you have put a lot of work into your physical fitness, and it shows, because you are very—toned.”
*He thinks I’m hot,* I rocked my shoulders a bit in a minor celebration. I exhaled as we finally reached the med center.
“Well, you are also very fit,” I replied. “I can’t thank you enough for carrying me.”
“Psh!” he laughed, watching my head carefully as he stepped inside. “Anything for you, Felicia. We’re family.”
___
It was a grade three, non-surgical, calf strain. I was ordered to rest for four weeks and then to take it extremely slow, walking only with crutches. If the pain got to be too much, I was to report back and return to bed rest. I tried at four, but it ended up requiring six weeks of me sitting around doing—nothing.
This was part two of how I crashed deeply into a meaningful, lasting, love with Quade. He brought me most meals. Some he’d prepared, others he just dressed up to look nice. He would sit with me for at least two hours a day. He’d climb into bed and we’d watch television, or play cards, or just chat. I loved our talks. He told me all about his life back home, about his brothers and sisters and how they’d shoot shit just for fun. At first, I thought he meant “shoot the shit,” but he literally meant, “shoot shit.”
Apparently, it was a Texas thing.
I told him about how after that competition I won, my coach told me that either the whole team went to nationals, or no one did. I argued, but he warned that he could *end my career* in dancing if I challenged him. I put away the flats. I never returned to another practice. I hadn’t danced since. Now, I never would again.
I fully admit to being a bit deceptive during my recovery. I’d complain of phantom pain in my right leg, even though the left was the one that tore, and ask him to massage me. He always obliged. I always enjoyed it.
I already had a big, huge, crush on him after my first stage of recovery, but when I started physical therapy was when I absolutely fell for him. He’d talked to the doctor. In addition to the *frequent* PT visits that he always made time to accompany me to, he had something special set up in the dome. He spent days, apparently, shuffling around planters to make a small dance floor for me. He hung up mirrored sheets along one side and even installed a bar atop one of the remaining planters he left in place. I wanted to be snarky. I wanted to tell him how much I hated it, and that what I said was told in confidence, but the effort was so sincere. It was so beautiful. Then, as if to finish me off, he told me that he wanted me to teach him the basics, because if I taught him, it’d force me to start slow.
A Texan rancher wanted me to teach him ballet. How could I say no, if only for the opportunity to see him in tights?
I was extremely rigid for the first month or two. My body used to bend and twist like a finely oiled machine, but years of neglect had left it soft. By month three, I was feeling confident again. Sometimes I’d sneak up alone at night, flip on a few lights, and spend hours practicing for fun. They weren’t the UV bulbs; I kept the plant’s cycles firmly at the front of my mind.
Then, something awful happened.
Roberta was waddling around one day while I sat on the couch, slyly holding Quade’s hand.
This terrible scream shrieked from Xi’s room. It was like she was having a night terror in the middle of the day. She shrieked, and then hyperventilated, and screamed again. Quade was up and gone in a flash. I knew—right then—that something had changed. I didn’t know at the time that Hong Kong had been hit with five separate nuclear warheads. I didn’t believe it was Great Britain, as the news reports indicated. I was in shock when I heard China, Russia, and India were joining forces to go to war. I was horrified to hear the US was neutral.
Why did everyone jump to war? Shouldn’t there have been a more in-depth investigation?
The next few months were ugly. Fleur and Xi refused to look at each other. Each seemed to harbor resentment for actions happening hundreds of millions of miles away. Fleur would sit in her room and flip through stories of France’s occupation. Xi would peruse articles that pointed fingers at Europe for starting the war and those which blamed them for avoiding peace talks.
Our little family barely came together for the birth of Trey Watkins. The little wiggling bundle was brought home by Roberta and Quade after ten short hours of labor. Roberta was sleepy and smiling, but Quade was running him around. He was showing the baby every little part of his new home. I cried that night, not because I was sad, but because maybe the baby would be something to actually bridge the gulf between our shattered family.
Roberta was, quite possibly, the luckiest mother I’d ever seen. Within one month, Trey was sleeping in his crib independently. She’d set him down and the cutest little curly-haired baby you’ve ever seen would just coo for a moment, and drift to sleep. I wasn’t even a mother and I hated her.
Fleur was morose. It was hard for her to see Quade so excited about the boy while they went through fertility treatments together.
In the midst of it all, I danced. I would put in my headphones and dance until the world disappeared. I was happy. I felt like myself for the first time in a long while. I was *good*. I felt proud of my skill. My anxiety actually started to decrease a bit. I started feeling other things. I started to feel my heart thrum when Quade would practice with me, even after I had finished PT. Five months after Trey’s birth, I couldn’t take it anymore.
We were close. Quade was holding me gently, as always, and after he spun me about, I recoiled back to him in an arabesque and I kissed him. My mind immediately screamed *what the hell are you doing?* and my anxiety spiked.
“I’m sorry!” I piped up. I marched over and stopped the music. I leaned against the bar and exhaled.
“Felicia, it’s natural,” he muttered, walking up behind me. “Look, I know you don’t feel that way about me. It’s just build up. Maybe you need some time to—”
“Why would you think that?” I flipped my head to face him. “What could possibly make you believe I don’t love you?”
*Fuck! What? Abort! Fucking abort!* my subconscious screamed.
“You—do?” he asked.
His question was enigmatic. Was that a good thing or a bad thing. His goddamn kind eyes didn’t give a thing away, except the same thing they always did. I felt safe.
I cleared my throat.
“Yes,” I nodded, trembling. “I love you. I’m so goddamn in love with you that—”
I kissed him again, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“It’s crazy, right?” I whispered. “We haven’t even—been intimate. I can’t love someone who I never even kissed.”
He looked at me and through me. I was quivering. I was *not* someone to make myself vulnerable. Now I’d confessed my *hardcore* love for him, kissed him twice, and not given him any opportunity to respond.
I tapped my slipper to the floor.
“Well, fucking say something!”
“You didn’t know I loved you?” he whispered. “We haven’t been intimate? I loved you so much I was willing to goddamn practice with you for almost a year because I thought you liked it, no matter what it did to me, being that close to you.”
“Oh,” I mewed.
“I loved you so much that even when you held my hand, I ignored how it made me feel because just being near you was enough.”
“It wasn’t,” I breathed.
“You love me?” he asked a bit louder. “You, Felicia Hume, love me, and we haven’t been kissing like that, why?”
“I—uh,” I shook my head.
“Well, would you like to? Because that was fucking amazing!” he chuckled to himself.
“God, yes!” I smiled, leaping into his arms.
This wasn’t real. My life didn’t go this well. It couldn’t. I’d had terribly awful luck all through school. Nursing didn’t work out, so I went into Agriculture. I didn’t get paired up with my best friend, who entered the astronaut program with me. None of it mattered. Quade loved me. I adored him. Everything else disappeared.
He set me on the bar and kissed down my neck. It had been several years. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything else. I pulled his lips back up to mine and fumbled with his tights. I’d felt his body against mine for a year, since we’d been practicing, but it was disconnected. I wouldn’t let myself be turned on by a partner, especially one who didn’t want me back. This time, I grabbed him. I stroked him. I dotted kisses across his chest and used my core strength to lower down to the floor in a split. I was definitely showing off.
He looked like he’d seen a ghost; a sexy, sultry, flexible ghost who wanted him right there and then. I wasn’t in the mood for play. I’d fantasized about this moment every time I masturbated. I had this exact scenario play out in my head several times, but I always dismissed it as fantasy. Who knew he had room in his heart for me? I suppose I should have.
Before I moved to pull them down, I pressed my face to his waist and kissed once.
“I love you, Quade Watkins.”
He smiled down at me.
“I love you, Felicia Hume.”
My eyes lit aflame. I lowered myself and dragged down his waistband with my teeth.
“Shit,” a word dribbled from his mouth.
It was much more exciting than changing backstage. Quade apparently didn’t know to wear a dance belt. His cock fell down beside my face and I covered my mouth and giggled like an idiot. I looked up to him like I’d just been given the greatest present ever. I nuzzled it, because I was giddy and couldn’t think logically, and helped him step out of his tights. Luckily it had been a relaxed practice night. We were both chilly and fresh. I took his cock into my mouth and thought about how he would probably like it. I bobbed quickly, taking long deep strokes, and used my hands on both sides of his ass to pull myself along. He had a fantastic butt. I wanted to be friends with it. I was in pure bliss. I gave it a spank without even thinking.
He laughed.
“That’s my—oh, shit,” he groaned. I sucked faster as he tried to talk. Now I was teasing, like I used to, but in a much more fun way.
“What’s that?” I asked, pulling away and allowing him a moment.
“Oh,” he grumbled, looking down. “I said, that’s my mo—oh my God.”
I kept doing it. I’d give him a second and then suck even more vigorously before he could finish his sentence.
“You keep—” I laughed, sucking again. “Stopping, babe. What’s up?”
I raised an eyebrow as I looked up and held my tongue out right at his tip.
“I said,” he began.
“Uh, huh,” I smiled, licking just below the head.
“I uh—”
“Yeah?” I giggled as I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took him into my mouth without sucking or even touching him. His hips began to jerk, trying to get me to continue.
“You’re an assho—” he smiled and then dropped his mouth open as I let my jaw relax and began sucking anew, taking him deep into my throat.
“Mmm,” I had a thought about how to reward him.
I took him out of my mouth and patted the dance floor. As he went down, I really wanted to blow his mind. I hadn’t tried it in a while, but I kept jerking him while I stood up without using my hands, pulling my legs together from the split. He twitched as his jaw dropped.
The things I learned in ballet were usually appreciated by men.
I dropped my tights and slipped my shirt off my shoulders, and he followed suit. I was already planning to make him come like a fountain, but when he told me to just stand in front of him, I felt myself get wetter than I had in my entire life. His eyes were scouring every inch of my body, every muscle, every freckle, and I loved it.
I couldn’t wait to make him come again and again. He’d been so good and kind. I just wanted to be bad.
I knelt down between his legs and he spoke up.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he mumbled. “I’ve been in love with you for months. At least come up here so I can taste you too.”
How was a girl to argue with that?
I straddled him and bent down between his legs, all business. It was time for him to finish. I throated him over and over, sticking out my tongue and showing off all my body’s flexibility. He was close. I took him out of my mouth and began pumping with my hands as I scooted down between his legs. I took his balls into my mouth and then just as he was about to come, licked a bit lower. He had already started when I caught him by surprise. It sprayed my back. I began to laugh and kept licking and pumping. His moans were incredible, especially knowing I caused them. I felt like my hand was cramping as I slithered up and down his soaked shaft with increasing speed. He could come again; I could feel it. He didn’t know that yet, though. I kept ramping up intensity and started sucking while both hands did their best. Luckily, I’m a good multi-tasker. It paid off. I hit the motherload.
“Fuck!” he shouted. “I’m gonna! Oh, fuck! Suck it!”
I smiled and forced my way back up as his orgasmic shouts began to sound like those idiots in porn. He was red in the face as he started to come again just a minute after the first. I opened my mouth a second too late for the first spasm. He sprayed my face like a hose, and I laughed through his second spurt. By the third, I’d remembered my job and was sucking up and down, taking the remainder in my mouth. As a woman who’d heard him come with other women, I was pretty damn proud. That was one for the record books. I felt like taking a selfie. I wanted to scream out:
“*This is how the ballerinas do it, bitches!*”
His load was—unreal. Just when I thought he was almost done; he’d spurt in me again. I wrapped a hand around his balls and massaged gently, causing a final twitch before he started laughing that sexy little way a man does when it’s *really* good.
“Whoa!” He kept laughing, “Okay, alright, woo—alright!”
I hated swallowing. I certainly wouldn’t do it every time, but—I felt kind of slutty with his gigantic load all over my face and back. I sat up onto my knees and looked into his eyes. I grinned at his drained expression and made sure he was looking as I gulped.
His eyes widened.
“Holy—shit,” he mumbled, running hands through his hair.
“Good?” I asked with a wink, taking my towel from the bar, and starting the *lengthy* cleanup process.
“Babe,” he groaned, still breathing sexy long, post-orgasmic, breaths and not even knowing what to do with himself. “That was—”
“Good right?” I laughed. I closed my eyes as I wiped the torrent he’d unleashed from my face. I opened one eye carefully and continued. “I’m pretty proud of my abilities there.”
“Well, you’re definitely the queen of blowjobs,” he laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever have one match up to—”
“Baby you only came one extra time!” I winked. “You’re going to have ones a lot better than that.”
I closed my eyes again as I wiped with the other side.
“No, you can probably get like five or six if I—” I squealed as he grabbed my hips and cradled me in his arms. He set me down on the dance floor gently and I hated my mind. My first thought was that I hadn’t wiped off my back. *Gotta clean this spot as soon as we’re done,* I thought. It was fleeting, though as my mind was quickly turned to jelly. He set his hands on both of my inner thighs and spread my legs wide. I think he was really turned on by how I looked splayed apart, so I really stretched for him. I felt his tongue slow and stop as I kept flexing my thighs as far as I could manage.
He sat up onto his elbows and shook his head.
“That’s even more than a split!” he almost cheered in disbelief.
“Oh sweetheart,” I smiled. “You have no idea what I’m going to do with you. Other girls may be hotter—”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
I blushed and rolled my lips inward. Even as he’s about to go down on me, he’s sweet.
“—hah, well. What I mean is, I’m gonna rock your world, babe.”
“You already have,” he grinned as he dropped back down between my thighs.
He licked softly for several minutes before he released my thighs and slipped a pair of fingers inside me. I was moaning, enjoying the man I love working to please me, and then I felt something else.
“Whoa!” I giggled, sitting up a bit. “Watch where you’re sticking fingers there—”
“You’re really gonna lecture me?” he asked.
I blushed, again, my face hot. I just wanted him to keep going before I lost it.
“Whatever,” I smiled, “ but if I—”
As he resumed, he began to work my g-spot, and my clit, and my ass, and I felt like once I relaxed—everything just fell into place. I started moaning lower than I usually did. I hadn’t had a g-spot orgasm before, and I’d tried, but I was ninety-nine percent sure that’s what I was hurtling toward. I started to pump my hips into his face, grabbing his hair with both hands as he tongued and finger-fucked me in every possible way. I felt it. The orgasm was so different. I convulsed. I shook. I might have been undergoing an exorcism. I felt him withdraw his fingers and he kept licking. I was moaning, borederline-screaming, for so long. I couldn’t feel my toes. I couldn’t feel my face. I just was adrift in an ocean of pleasure.
“Oh, my God!” I shouted, not caring about the time. “I will never doubt you again.”
His chest was soaked when I looked down.
“Holy fuck!” I covered my mouth, “Was that me?”
I was mortified.
“Fuck, Quade!” I gasped. “That is *so* embarrassing. That’s never happened to me before and I—”
“Will you stop apologizing and hand me a towel,” he chuckled.
I smiled and tossed it over. Just when I thought I couldn’t love him any more, he wiped the floor first. I think I came again, from my left brain’s type-A lady boner. I laughed and sat up a bit, before realizing my core muscles were on vacation. I fell to my back as my abs continued to convulse in aftershocks.
“I love you so much,” I breathed. “And I love you even more for wiping my precious floor first.”
“Well I didn’t want it ruined! I built it!” he laughed, finally toweling himself down and providing quite the show. I felt heat in my cheeks as he wiped himself, focusing on his monstrous twelve pack. I shivered. He paused, looking serious. “Hey, you alright that I didn’t—uh, do it inside you?”
I shook my head and sat up for real.
“Quade it’s not about a baby with you,” I whispered. “I didn’t fall in love with the idea of sex and having a kid. I sure don’t count that out, but I love *you*.”
I kissed him. He returned my affection. I reached down, then he pulled me into his lap. He quickly broke off the kiss and wiped where my back had been a moment prior.
“Stop it!” I shouted, mouth agape in pleasant surprise. “I would have been thinking about that all night if—”
I paused, looking away.
“That is, if you did want to sleep with me tonight,” I whispered. “It’s a tiny fucking bed, I know that, so if you need space, I understand.”
He looked into my eyes and rested against my chest, kissing my neck.
“Guess we’ll just have to sleep on top of each other to make a smaller profile.”
I snickered a horny squeal as he licked down to my nipples and sucked one into his mouth.
“If we’re sleeping on top of each other,” I breathed, “we probably won’t do much sleeping.”
Quade pulled back and looked into my eyes as he slipped a finger into me.
“Honey, I’ve been a gentleman for almost two years with you, and I’ll surely keep it up, but you’re mine tonight.”
I raised my eyebrows and bit my lip as he began to work in and out of me.
“That sounds dirty,” I sighed, grasping his rock-hard arms as I started to grind against his fingers. “I’m in.”
“No,” Quade laughed, scooting me all the way into his lap. I opened my eyes wide in shock. “Darlin’, you’re not in. I’m in.”
**Was it as good for you as it was for me? If so, please follow my profile so you can see more!**
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/h88e8x/five_horny_entrepreneurs_sex_all_around_but_one
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Wow, that’s just, wow
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