Her cunt is swollen from her recent orgasm and the fit is tight. She gasps as I push inside.
“What do you want Amy? Lady’s choice. Fast and hard or slow and easy?”
She rises on her tiptoes and pushes back. “Fast and hard.”
I bend my knees and surge upward, nearly lifting her off her feet. “Like this?”
“Yes, God, yes, fuck me, Flint!”
The unexpected coarse words from my prim Amy cause me to nearly burst before I can bring her off. I pull out abruptly and turn her around, lifting her to sit on the edge of the sink.
In this position and with her hands tied behind her back she has no balance. I press her thighs apart, displaying her dripping, flushed cunt.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to feel me in your throat,” I growl. One thrust and I’m inside her. Her head snaps back against the mirror. I think her hands must be braced against the faucet but she is helpless under my assault.
I bury myself inside of her until my balls are slapping the underside of her ass. Her cunt walls begin to ripple around me—her need is just that fucking strong. She’s almost coming and I’ve only stroked my cock inside of her once.
“You don’t come until I tell you too,” I order.
“No. I can’t wait,” she pants.
“You will or I’ll pull out,” I warn.
She narrows her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
I pull back, just a fraction. Because she can’t grab me with her hands, she does one better. She squeezes her cunt muscles so tight, I swear my eyes crossed.
I let out a helpless laugh. “Fuck Amy. You don’t fight fair.”
Being with her is going to be a constant battle but I knew that and I love it.
There’s no chance of me drawing this out, not when she’s working her pussy against me like she’s competing to win the Kegel Olympics. Next time, I’m going to fuck her for hours.
For now, I’m going to hammer this cunt until she’s screaming so loud her throat aches.
“Look at your pretty cunt sucking up my cock,” I tell her, drawing her eyes down. I pull out slowly so she can appreciate how fucking hot it is. My cock is engorged and wet with her lube. She looks like she’s devouring me.
“It’s…you’re so big,” she says in amazement. “I don’t know how you fit inside me.”
Her unintentionally filthy words make my head spin and I’m two seconds from blowing my load.
“Viewing time is over, Amy.”
I withdraw and flip her around again and take her hard against the sink. She grunts with each thrust of my hips against her but it only takes three strokes and she’s off flying. Her head falls forward and her body loses it’s ability to hold her upright. I clamp an arm around her waist and thrust that last stroke in before jumping over that cliff with her.
She slumps against me, all the fight out of her. Two hard orgasms will do that to a person. I carefully untie her wrists, wipe a warm wash cloth over her tits, torso and cunt and carry her sleepy head to the bed.
In the bathroom, I say “fuck it” and sweep every last bottle, jar and tube into the carry all. She can sort it out later.
Chapter Six
Amy
I wake up to a hand over my mouth.
"Shh." Flint's whisper is nearly voiceless. "You've got visitors. I'm going to get up and when I leave the room, you roll out of bed. Don't stand. Roll. Got it? Nod your head if you get me."
I nod. People in my house?
“Good girl.” He presses his lips against my cheek. “Go to the bathroom. Get a can of hairspray and wait.”
He rises soundlessly from the bed and pads to the door. He pauses and it’s at that point I see the wicked gun in his right hand. I strain to hear the intruders, but the only sound is the whirring of my old furnace, chugging along on its last breath.
He slips out down the hall and I beat back the urge to run after him. I do as I’m told because if there’s anyone competent to fight off an intruder, it’s Flint. And it’s not the big bruising body I’m putting my faith in, but the cold killer that lurks inside.
I know what the Death Lords is—a club that skirts around the edges of the law. The president called on me to bail out his son who’d killed a skinhead in a skirmish outside of a bar. They’d given me enough information to help deal the son’s case down to an involuntary manslaughter charge and he served only three years.
Only. At the age of nineteen, he was already a felon. But having a record was true for many of the Death Lords—most of the charges were related to violent assaults. None against women. I would have walked away and said damn the consequences if I’d found out that they were mistreating women. That’s my hard line. You can rip off the tax man, you can kill a racist but do not hurt a woman.