“Fuck you, Decker,” I spat while pulling up to a sitting position. “Fuck. You. Fuck your mind games. Fuck your guilt. Tell me why you stopped!”
My voice was so loud I was sure the neighbors would hear, but I didn’t care.
“I’m your teacher,” he stuttered.
“I’ll transfer out of your class,” I bargained while crawling closer to him.
“I’m Lance’s best friend!”
“He’ll learn to be happy for us,” I promised while settling over his lap. I hovered to keep space between us.
“I don’t have a condom,” he rasped.
“I’m on the pill,” I promised before sinking onto his hard cock.
My walls stretched to accommodate him. He was so big. I was so full. We both moaned the moment our bodies connected, and it was like harmony, perfect harmony. It was serendipitous. It was haunting. It was ideal but somehow wrong, too.
I wanted this thing to be mutual between us, but I’d taken that choice away. Now he couldn’t stop.
Up and down I moved, all while he refused to look me in the eye. I rode him hard and fast, light whimpers escaping my lips each time he bumped that deep need within me. Grabbing his chin, I forced him to look me in the eye as I reached my peak. I wanted him to watch me come undone. “You see this?” I asked as sweat dripped down my face. “You see me riding your cock?”
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse.
“Look me in the eye when I come, Decker. I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.”
I broke apart in his lap, creaming his dick as I screamed his name over and over and over. It was one of those rolling orgasms that just seemed to go on and on. He watched it all, his mouth parted in ecstasy as I shivered and arched, my body contorting to accommodate the pleasure coursing through me.
And when I was done, I rested my forehead against his, breathing in his whiskey breath smell and exhaling his name. “Decker, I’m yours,” I promised.
We sat like that for a moment, his dick still hard as steel and twitching inside of me as if to spur me to move again. “Decker, I’m yours,” I said again. I wanted him to feel how much he owned me. I wasn’t sure when it happened or why the world decided two people who didn’t belong together should feel this way, but I was falling for Decker Harris. Or maybe I already had.
Finally, Decker replied to my declaration with a simple word that echoed his acceptance.
“Mine.”
In an instant, I was pulled off of him and slammed down onto the plywood floor. My head cracked against the hard wood, and the jagged grooves bit into my skin, but I didn’t care. He parted my thighs with one hard press of his hands and plunged inside of me, his slamming movement almost punishing against my sensitive pussy. “Mine,” he said with a hard thrust. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Decker. I’ve been yours since you confronted me in the hallway outside our loft,” I promised through broken, clipped words and harsh breaths.
“This mouth is mine.” He leaned forward and bit my lip, tugging the plush skin with his teeth as he slid in and out. Wet noises filled the treehouse as our bodies slipped and collided. “These breasts are mine,” he added before pinching my nipples between his thumb and index finger, pulling my peak as far as it would go while teetering me on the edge of pain and pleasure.
“I’m all yours, Decker,” I gritted as my back arched off the plywood.
“This tight”—pound—“little pussy”—pound, pound, pound—“is mine, too,” he promised between each slam of his cock. His touch was wrought with power. His scorching touch enveloped me in sensations, and I felt my body prepare for another orgasm.
“I’m going to come again,” I said as my bottom lip dropped, preparing to release another scream. I couldn’t keep quiet, and I was so in the moment I almost didn’t care. He placed a hand over my mouth to muffle the noise.
“Your come is for me. Only. Me,” he said.
Our bodies curled and fought as we orgasmed together. We were nothing but a collection of rising swells. Falling empires. Dying realities and blooming beginnings.
We’d become our own truths.
25
Blakely
I woke up in a cloud of soft sheets. I stretched my arms high above my head and wiggled my hips, smiling when I felt the ache there. Decker and I spent hours in the treehouse. Bugs crawled along the wilted wooden beams, an audience to our depraved declarations for one another.
We didn’t make any promises for the future. We didn’t make any plans or figure out this mess of our attraction. We simply spent hours acquainting our bodies and working each other over again and again until we were nothing but a sweaty mess of limbs. It was beautiful.
A soft knock on the door brought a smile to my face, and I got out of bed and sauntered over to the door. But when I opened it, it wasn’t Decker on the other side. It was Lance. I didn’t know why I was expecting Decker to be there. It wasn’t like we could have this sentimental morning after. We couldn’t enjoy coffee at the breakfast table while exchanging lingering stares that whispered what had transpired between us. “Good morning,” Lance said with a smile while handing me a cup of coffee. I fixed my expression into something that didn’t look like I was thoroughly fucked last night and gratefully accepted it.
“Good morning,” I replied. Lance chuckled.
“Did you sleep well? I’ve never seen you this cheerful in the morning. If you like the guest room, we can recreate it back at the loft?” he offered.
Shit. I wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding the fact that I was still high on Decker Harris. “I just really like it here,” I said. It was the truth. Despite knowing that we were running from whatever men were chasing down my father and the uncomfortable confrontation I’d had with Decker’s mother, it was lovely.
“I’m thrilled to hear that, Blakely. We can visit as much as you’d like. Mom and Dad really like you,” Lance said with a broad grin that made me feel guilty. The implications of last night hit me like a freight train, and a swarm of negative emotions started to paint over the happiness I had felt. Lance must’ve noticed the shift in my expression, because he then spoke. “We don’t have to though. I was just suggesting. I don’t want to pressure you into anything—”
“I would love to come here again, Lance. Your parents are really nice. I’m really glad that you had them,” I said reverently. And it was true.
Lance scratched the back of his neck before looking down the hall, then back at me. “Mom is making breakfast. I know you don’t like pancakes, but how do you feel about French toast?” he asked. I was curious how he’d learned that I didn’t like pancakes, but I realized seconds later that Decker probably told him.
“That sounds wonderful. Maybe we can call Dad’s parole officer again?” I’d been so wrapped up in Decker that I didn’t even think about Dad last night. But standing here in the harsh realities of the morning glow reminded me that we were here for a reason.
“I already spoke to her. Your dad is nowhere to be found; seems he fled Memphis. We’re probably safe to go back tomorrow, and the guys he was associated with are on a watch list. The authorities have assured us that we are perfectly safe.”