“We’re not even halfway there,” I mentioned, doing my best to get inside her.
“Wait, you’re—you’re not all the way inside me?” she cried, and I could see her eyes widening with a look of panic spreading over her perfectly tanned face.
“Not quite,” I said, grinning. And then I grabbed her hips with my hands, my chest muscles flexed and my hips thrust as I buried my cock deep into her shaven pussy.
Nothing like fucking a rich broad after a night of drinking with the boys at the bar. A classic end to a classic night.
“Oh shit!” she screamed as she received my full girth.
“Now we’re in business,” I said, warming to the task.
She was wet as hell, juiced up and I’d finally gotten her open enough so I could do what I did best.
And what I did best was fuck.
Well, some said that what I did best was fuck up.
Or maybe fight.
To me, it was all the same anyhow. Fucking, fighting, drinking—everything I did since getting back from Afghanistan was the same.
Just as long as I didn’t have to think…didn’t have to remember.
Didn’t have to remember who I used to be or what I’d become.
There was just the now.
The beautiful, violent, horny, drunken and raging now, where I could forget about Zack and just be Wild.
My hips pumped faster as her wet thighs jittered and she started to climax.
“Damn, baby, that didn’t take long,” I said, grabbing her tits and pulling her to me as I went just a little deeper still. “You’re coming hard for me, girl.”
“Oh, Jesus Mary and Joseph!” she screamed, her head rocking back, the whites of her eyes showing yet again.
Damn, I didn’t think I had the power to make women speak in tongues. Score one for me.
I tightened my hands around her fake titties and got ready to get my own rocks off. I was wound up. I had been waiting all night for this, because, like most nights, I needed to get it all out and leave myself completely spent at the end of it or I wouldn’t be able to sleep so much as a wink.
Even exhausted, sometimes sleep took far too long to come.
But tonight, I would sleep like the dead.
Her tight ass was drenched in sweat and I leaned back and gave it a hard spank with the flat of my palm.
The chick moaned. “Oh, God,” she panted. “I just came so hard, that was unreal. You can come now, too, baby.” She looked over her shoulder—gave me that look.
That look that told me it was on.
“Oh yeah? You think you can handle it if I do?” I said, grabbing a fistful of her platinum blond hair.
“I want you to come for me,” she said, breathing faster.
“I bet you’ll fucking go off like a rocket when I do,” I said, pumping my hips again, letting her know shit was getting real.
“Oh yeah. Oh, baby, I’m so wet.”
I started to rock and roll then, riding her like she was a BMX bike and I was a goddamn stunt rider on a mission.
I watched myself in the mirror and it was like I was Elvis, Kanye and a porn star rolled into one. I was a goddamn super star, and this girl was taking my fat dick all the way in, loving every second of it.
I could do no wrong.
I was going to blow.
My hips started to fire faster and faster as I rode her, sliding in and out of her lubricated pussy with intentions of hitting every corner.
By the end, she was on all fours and I was thrusting, cumming into the condom I’d made sure to strap on—dropping the biggest fucking load as every muscle in my body strained and I felt like blood vessels in my neck were going to explode.
And then it was done, and I was pulling out.
She was exhausted, babbling something about giving me her cell number and what times and days her husband would be out of town.
“Listen honey, it isn’t like that,” I said.
Some women made the contact list and some didn’t. This lady hadn’t made the cut—not her fault, but then again I hadn’t realized she was married until just that moment.
She’d hidden the rock. If I’d known up front, I never would have done this in the first place.
I didn’t like fucking around with married chicks—not worth all the hassle and drama.
I got dressed fast as hell.
She followed me to the front door of her apartment like a lost puppy, her big blue eyes wide and kind of pathetic. “Will you be at the bar again?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”
“I’d tell you yes, but that would be a lie,” I said, giving her a slight smile. “I had a nice time, though.”
“Oh, you did?” she said, rage flashing across her face as she realized I was rejecting her, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Well, let me tell you, I don’t usually fuck bar trash like you, but I got desperate. My husband’s a heart surgeon and he went to Harvard. I went to Brown. Where did you go, Bunker Hill Community College—or did you even finish high school?”