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Page 43


“OhmyfuckingGOD!” Kyrie cried out at the smack, arched her spine up, writhing as I drilled into her, giving in to my own rising urge to orgasm.

“That’s not my name,” I growled.

“Oh…oh my fucking Valentine?” It was part statement, part question, breathless as she came.

“That’s better.” I jerked her backward into my thrusts, our eyes meeting in the central mirror. “Is this what you wanted? Is it, love? You want me to talk to you? Tell you how good you feel? You want me to tell you how perfect your sweet little pussy feels when you squeeze my cock like that? You want me to tell you how much I love fucking you? I can’t live without this. I can’t, darling. I won’t.”

“You don’t have to. Keep fucking me, Valentine. Please. Please keep fucking me. Just like this. Fuck me forever. Fuck me until I beg you to stop.”

“Would you? Beg me to stop?”

“Never. I’ll only ever beg you for more.” She put both hands on the mirror now and pushed back to meet my thrusts, to fuck me back. “Just like this, Valentine. Don’t ever stop.”

“I won’t. I promise. I love you too much. I love this too much.”

“You—fuck, Valentine, you’re so big. So big it almost hurts. It hurts so good, though.” She caught her breath and started over. “You remember the last time you fucked me in this closet?”

A flash of memory seared through me as I neared climax: Kyrie, bent over against the mirror, hands on the glass, feet wide apart just like now, a vibrator in her asshole, her wide round ass jiggling and bouncing as I fucked her harder and harder, her screams filling the room, tangling with my own growls.

“God, that was incredible,” I said.

“Yeah, it was,” she agreed. “But…this…this is better.” She met my rhythm, and I felt myself losing control, grinding hard and deep, and she rolled her hips against me, her eyes piercing mine. “I want to feel you come, Valentine. Come for me. Right now, baby.”

Heat billowed through me, pressure in my balls tightening and ratcheting until I was growling and groaning, my hips flush against her ass, my cock buried deep and pushing in to go deeper.

“I’m coming, Kyrie.” I pulled out, on the verge of detonation, and then slammed home. “Kyrie…god, my love…I’m—I’m coming—” She rocked with me as I exploded inside her, shouting as I came. “You’re my everything….” I gasped, groaning as another wave of seed flooded out of me and filled her. “This is…everything. My god, Kyrie…I love you so much…I need you…I love you—”

Her eyes wavered with the intensity of the moment, our gazes locked as I thrust one last time, unleashing a final burst of come within her. “I love you, Valentine.”

We stilled then, my cock still buried inside her, both of us shaking. I pulled out, and she straightened, twisting in my arms. Our mouths crashed together, our arms and hands and legs trembling, our hearts beating in mutual frenzy, our tongues tangling. We broke apart, gasping, and Kyrie took my hand, led me to the bedroom. I let her go as she crawled on the bed, her ass waving side to side with a sultry sway, and even though I’d just come, I was twitching with renewed need. She rolled to lie on her back, knees lifted, thighs parted.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” I murmured. “So beautiful. And all mine.”

“Say it again, baby. Tell me I’m yours.”

I stood at the foot of the bed, drinking in her beauty, thickening into erection as I stared at her. “You’re mine, Kyrie.”

“Yes. I’m yours.” She reached for me. “Come here, Valentine.”

13

FILLED

Valentine climbed onto the bed and knelt between my knees. I brought my heels flush against my thighs, opening for him, staring up at him. His skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, his abs tensing with each gusting breath. His huge, strong, gentle hands rested on his knees, and his blond hair was damp and tangled, his beard thick.

With the beard he looked even more like a Norse god, six feet, four inches of toned muscle and bronzed skin. Although, in the months since we’d left for our world tour, he’d put on weight and lost some of the carefully honed perfection of his physique, not having regular access to a gym. I liked him better this way, though. The too-long, unkempt hair loose just above his shoulders with the untrimmed beard made him look even more rugged, and the loss of tone made him softer to snuggle against, made him seem even bigger. He was still a ripped and bulky giant of a man, but one less perfectly presented. More of a real living and breathing man with flaws rather than a polished and meticulously sculpted paragon of male beauty.

Now, naked, sweaty, breathing hard, his cock growing huge and hard and still gleaming with the essence of our lovemaking, he was a different kind of perfect. The obvious emotion in his eyes, the way he passed his hand through his hair with careless roughness, the way he stared at me as if nothing and no one else existed…it made my heart melt.

He still wasn’t totally okay. He wouldn’t be for a while, I didn’t think. But he was here. He was with me. He loved me.

“Okay” was a relative and often meaningless term, I was learning. Had I been okay during the years following Dad’s death? Not really. I’d been the farthest thing from okay the day I’d walked into my dark, empty, cold apartment with a handful of overdue bills and one mysterious check.

Was I okay now? Not really. Nothing was solved. Nothing was fixed. I’d seen things I’d never forget, things I knew I’d dream about, nightmares from which I’d wake up screaming. But I had Valentine, and he was refusing, as I was, to let it bury him. He’d pushed through his doubts and fears, refused to succumb. He’d taken back the part of himself I was worried he’d lost.

“Kyrie.” His voice was low, a rumble of distant thunder in the darkness.

“Love me, Valentine. Just…love me.” I reached for him, wrapped my fingers around his thick cock, rubbed my thumb over the broad head, and stroked him until he was pushing into my touch.

I pulled him toward me, a gentle urging. He let me guide him, shuffling forward on his knees until I could feed his massive erection into myself. He surged forward, filling me, and I fought the urge to close my eyes, needing instead to see into him, to watch him, to know his every expression and reaction. He caught my heels in his hands and lifted, fitting my feet into his underarms, hands resting on my shins. A thrust, then, slow and soft, a long inward glide to bring our bodies flush. Another. A third, and then he was moving into me with increasing speed, and I felt his huge hardness inside me, filling me, stretching me, and I kept my eyes on him, watched his muscles tense and flex and go slack, watched his belly tighten as he thrust, watched his face morph expressions: need, hunger, focus, desire, appreciation, lust, love. He was going slow, holding back. I held still and let him move for both of us.


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