The sound of her pleasure pushes me over the edge. I roar, hips snapping forward as I unload, every spurt of ejaculate painting her insides, the white-hot pleasure blinding.
“Fuck!” I shout, pounding her butt with the full force of my fuckshaft. “Shit shit shit!”
She screams again, her asshole spasming around my cock as she experiences a deep anal orgasm for the first time.
“Liam!” she wails. “Oh god, Daddy, yes!”
We shake and wail for ages, my cock pumping gallon after gallon of sweet, hot sperm deep inside her anal passage. Her butt ripples around me, milking me dry of every drop, the pleasure so great that I lose my vision temporarily. Finally, I collapse over her, both of us shaking, sweat pooling between our bodies.The moonlight through the blinds paints stripes across our skin, zebra-stripes of blue and white and the red of my flushed face.
For a long minute, neither of us moves.
Finally, I pull out, slow, watching the way her asshole gapes, glazed and slick with lube and my cum. Unable to resist, I lean forward and lick it, enjoying the flavor of her used rectum.
She rolls onto her side, hair plastered to her cheek, eyes glazed.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” she whispers in a scandalized voice. “That’s— that’s!”
I pull her close, spooning her, my hand over her heart.
“Daddy does whatever he wants with your body,” I growl. “And you were perfect, sweetheart. Exactly the kind of anal whore I’ve always craved.”
She stares at me.
“Am I really an anal whore?”
I grin, flashing white teeth in the darkness.
“You will be after I’m done with you, sweetheart. You’ll be gaping on a 24/7 basis if I have my way.”
Simone is scandalized and tentatively clenches her backdoor for a moment, testing it. Deciding she likes the used feeling, she snuggles back, and we lie there in silence, listening to the city hum, the echo of our bodies still buzzing in the air.
I stroke her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my fingers.
“I love you,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t reply right away. But she kisses my hand, and that’s enough.
We fall asleep tangled together, the sheets a disaster, the world outside forgotten.
Tonight, there’s no remainder.
Tonight, we fit.
The lightin the kitchen is different in the morning. It’s sharp, honest—a pattern of rectangles on the tile, every grout line and speck of dust suddenly lit up in high definition. I don’t mind. I like seeing the place in its most unforgiving state. There’s a truth to it, a refusal to hide anything, and after last night that seems appropriate.
I’m at the stove, spatula in hand, the sizzle of eggs loud against the hush. The only other sound is the soft click of Simone’s nails on her phone as she scrolls, sitting at the island in nothing but my shirt, which shows off her big breasts. She’s looped her blonde hair into a messy knot on top of her head. She looks completely at home. Better than at home—she looks like she belongs here, which is something I never let myself hope for.
She glances up, eyes barely open, and makes a vague gesture at my apron. “Is that new?”
I look down. It’s red and white, ruffled at the edges, a cupcake of an apron with PEANUT BUTTER IS MY JAM in bubble letters across the chest. I’d bought it on a dare, but now it seems to fit, in an ironic way.
“It’s a classic,” I say, flipping an egg with more flair than necessary.
She grins, stretches her arms above her head, and yawns. The shirt slides up, showing a bare patch of thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I do.”