I pull my panties to the side, lifting my hips and using my hand to slide him back and forth over my wet slit. The tip of his cock teases my entrance every time, and it has us both on the edge.
“I tell you in the way I kiss you,” he groans in my ear as his mouth sucks on the sweet part of my neck where my shoulder and throat meet.
I slip him inside of me, shocking him for a moment. The head of his dick is encased with my warmth, and I moan at the feeling of him being inside of me. I look at his face, his eyes are nearly black, they are consumed with so much lust.
With one smooth movement, Bishop’s hands grip my hips and he slams me down onto his shaft making me scream in ecstasy. Every inch of him is buried inside of me. I can feel him so deep inside of me. Not just physically, but everywhere.
An animalistic groan leave’s his mouth. “I tell you every fucking time you look down at that necklace of mine.”
We both still have our shirts on. We’re both sweaty and dirty from the game we just played, but we don’t care. It doesn’t matter. We can barely contain our need for each other. His hands move my hips up and down on his dick aggressively.
This wasn’t how normal couples made love.
But it’s how we did. We were consumed with so many emotions, that it was just hands, sloppy kisses, sweaty bodies, and loud groans of pleasure. We weren’t slow, and it wasn’t easy. It was hard and fast. We had waited for what felt like eons to be with each other like this.
Every time he slams my hips down, he lifts his waist up meeting in the middle to pound into me mercilessly. Over and over again. The sounds of our skin slapping together echo off the walls of the arena, but it only fuels Bishop to thrust harder.
“This is my home. Buried inside of you, it’s my home. Do you hear me, Vallie?” he commands in my ear. I nod helplessly.
Bishop wasn’t just making love to me with his body, but he was using his words. Every stroke of his dick was matched with either a sweet or demanding word. Combining to make the most addictive feeling. I was euphoric.
The feel of my juices sliding between us and coating his thighs has my body aching for release. I’m right on the edge of falling into a blissful orgasm. The tingle in my toes has worked its way up to my stomach, and I’m so ready to explode.
“Bishop, Bishop…” I moan over and over again.
With one more shove inside of me, he bottoms out inside of me splitting me in half. I clench his cock tightly between my walls as my climax takes over my body. My toes curl, and I arch my back as shock after shock of pleasure washes over my body.
I hear him groan the word goddamnit as he spills himself inside of me, tightening his grip on my hips. His head is bowed, and those blond locks I love are covered in sweat. His jaw is flexing and his eyes are shut.
I know that guys are supposed to have these ugly climax faces, but Bishop’s isn’t. It just makes me want to go again so I can see that face. The muscles in his face are flexed, and his jaw looks sharp enough to cut diamonds.
But my favorite part is when he opens his eyes, they are that turquoise blue shade I’m obsessed with. There is so much warmth and happiness inside of them. I press my lips to his, in a quick kiss. Before pulling back and looking at him with a tired smile on my face.
Through all the mess, all the trauma, all the shit life threw at us, we always seemed to find our way back to each other. We had made our way back. We were both home.
I finally say the words I have been waiting to say, the words that I have felt since I was only ten years old.
“I love you so fucking much, Bishop Maverick.”
There is something to be said about souls that meet time and time again. No matter the situation they end up in or how far apart they fall, they always come back to each other. The universe is telling them, ‘Stop. You are meant to be together.’
“Valor, angel, are you alright?”
I turn my gaze to the woman in front of me, and I smile. The years have been kind to her complexion; she doesn’t look a day over thirty. I hope I age the way she does. The older I get the more I see how similar we look. Down to the freckles on our faces.
Now when I looked in the mirror, I no longer saw half of me, there was no longer a stranger standing in front of me. It was just Valor.
There isn’t a right way to heal broken relationships. If you believe it’s worth it, you pick up what pieces you can, and you try to move forward to something better. That’s what Anna and I did.
I told her from the start that I wasn’t calling her mom and she was fine with that. I still don’t call her mom. I’m no longer bitter or holding a grudge, but our relationship was mended into a friendship more than a mother and daughter situation. I was already an adult by the time I allowed her back into my life, so she couldn’t exactly discipline me, now could she?
It took me eight months before I would even sit down and have a conversation with her. Even when I did that, I could barely say three words without wanting to scream at her. But slowly, I accepted that our past was never going to change. I either had to move on from it or leave her out of my life completely.
Through the years we met once every month, we would meet halfway at a little coffee shop and talk. It started as a way for me to vent my problems to her, but once a month turned to two, and so forth and so on. Without realizing it I’d developed a friendship with Anna, an understanding I never had before.
She’d shown me a book of newspaper clippings, print outs, and photos of me over the years. Every time I was in the media she had it documented in a scrapbook. Every year on my birthday she burnt a candle, and put the wax on a piece of paper in the book. It was her way of supporting me from afar.
The child in me still hurts that I never experienced the things a normal kid did with their mom. But I have forgiven her. I guess you could say that I got a new perspective. I had someone new come into my life that changed my mind.
“I’m fine, just dozed off. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I explain softly, rubbing my temples to prevent the oncoming headache I knew I would be getting soon.
“Did Bishop keep you up?” she says wiggling her eyebrows and I snort.
“The better question is when doesn’t he keep me up,” I joke with laughter. She joins me in a laugh and I take a sip of my coffee.
I had matured a lot over the years. I had learned what letting go meant. I learned how difficult it was for her to leave me. A maternal instinct isn’t something that can be easily broken. It’s something that is wired in you when you find out you are expecting a little one. They grow inside of you, they find shelter in your body, and it is your job to protect them.
“How are Violet and Lily? Is Lily still heartbroken over that guy? Vi is still buried in her books, I assume?”
She sighs, biting the inside of her cheek, chewing it softly.
“Lily has moved on to the next target boy. I’m so worried she’s going to truly get attached to someone and end up devastated. Not to mention she is going to send Eric into cardiac arrest with the boys she picks. Violet is still Vi, refuses to do anything but study for LSATS.”
I chuckle. Lily was a mess, for lack of a better word.
My sisters could not be more opposite of each other. Violet was soft spoken, quiet, enjoyed reading more than talking, animal lover, and didn’t care about anything other than becoming a politician. She had a strict plan, she wanted to become a lawyer, and then she wanted to get into politics. Bishop bugged her all the time about who was going to be her first ‘man’ when she was president, and she’d simply state that assuming she needs a man to run the country is sexist.