by Logan Fox
Quinten Dench likes to make out as if he gives a shit, but he still cashes our checks every week, so…
Jo leans to the side, grinning at me as he rummages around in my nightstand.
“No, not yet!” I slap at his hand. “Open it, Jo. I want to know—”
Jo pulls out a pink dildo and lays it on the sheets. Then he slides his hands under my shirt and lifts it over my head.
“I told you what it says.” He leans forward and presses his lips to my throat. He works his way down between my breasts, then from one nipple to the next, drawing each tight bud into his mouth. “Not only have they accepted you, they’ve given you a full scholarship too.”
He teases my nipple with his teeth, drawing a low moan from me.
In a flash, Jo scoops me up and has me on my back. I struggle, giggling, and squealing as he tickles me out of my dread. I’m panting by the time he listens to my pleas.
There’s something under me, and I realize it’s the envelope from Cornell.
“Jo!” I twist, trying to reach under me, but he pins me easily with his weight. He’s been working out a lot in the beach house’s built-in gym. His therapist suggested he use exercise to deal with his residual energy, using it for positive things instead of letting it build up. He’s almost as well-muscled as his father used to—
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing that horrid thought from my mind.
I’ve been seeing a therapist too.
I’m not sure how much it’s helped.
Some nights, I wake in cold sweats, convinced Wayne was touching me again. Others, I rush to the bathroom and puke up what tastes like a belly-full of blood…but what always turns out to be nothing but stomach acid and some random carrots I don’t remember eating.
While I don’t think therapy has helped all that much, I have learned a lot about what my mind does to cope with all the shit I’ve had to deal with. The thing that happened with Patrick back at Happy Mountain? Turns out, I’d been triggered and sent reeling back into the past, possibly to the night Wayne first sexually assaulted me.
Josiah knows everything now, and I love that. I know it wouldn’t have been possible with anyone else.
When Jo lifts my knees and plants an almost chaste kiss on my clit, everything except him disappears from my mind.
“Know what else?” he asks.
I shake my head, biting at my lip again as I stare down where he’s framed between my thighs. He keeps his eyes on me as he licks my pussy, and I shudder at how fucking good it feels.
“We’ll be eating lunch together every day you’re there getting your Masters.”
He’s been at Cornell for a year already. Although I’d managed to make up for my shitty grades back when Mom and I were barely in one place longer than a month, it took me a year to do that. I’ve had to see Jo off every morning for the past few months, knowing he was getting everything he wanted.
Candace Furey would have been a right jealous bitch about it.
Candace Bale couldn’t be happier.
Jo sucks my clit into his hot, wet mouth and massages me with his tongue.
The envelope crinkles as my back arches. My fingers are in his hair, and I don’t remember grabbing hold of him.
I lose myself in ecstasy as he slowly fucks me with his tongue. When he slides the length of the pink dildo over my folds, I groan and spread my legs wide as they can go.
“That’s it,” Jo murmurs, his voice vibrating against my clit. He sits up, teasing me with the dildo as he takes his cock out of his boxers. I stare at him, enraptured as he strokes himself. He’s still watching me, but I can’t look up. The sight of his strong hand moving so easily up and down his length makes my core ache for him to be plowing into me instead.
But that’s what the pink cock in his other hand is for. He presses it against my entrance, wriggling it around until I’m about to go insane, and then thrusts it in deep. I arch off the bed, eyes fluttering closed as a deep thrill chases through me.
He grabs my chin, wrenching my face toward him, and I swallow the tip of his cock with greedy lips. As soon as I have hold of him, he lets go of my face and starts milking his length, the side of his fingers bumping against my lips when he reaches the end of his cock.
“Why aren’t you touching yourself?” he growls out, and pulls his dick out of my mouth. I mewl at him, darting forward to pull him back in as I hurriedly stroke my clit.
He forces the dildo into me hard and fast, his breath speeding up alongside mine.
“I’m getting close,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my mouth.
And as soon as he says that, so am I.
I moan around his dick, and he yanks himself out of me with a hiss. “Christ,” he mutters, his knuckles going white how he throttles his dick. “You almost made me come.”
I smile at him, and then spread my legs, inviting him to replace the toy. He shifts over between my legs and, after giving me one hard thrust with the dildo, tugs it out.
He slides in immediately, groaning. Wetness oozes from me, but he pushes it back in with his cock.
I fall back with a choked gasp, my hips bucking up to allow every inch of him inside.
He fucks me to within an inch of my life, ignoring my desperate pleas for him to touch my clit. When I try and do it myself, he pins my wrists to my stomach.
I clench around him like a fist when I come, and he grits his teeth in frustration when I lock him down. As punishment, he burrows himself in me balls deep and stays there. As soon as I’m down from my climax, he starts strumming my clit again.
“Jo, stop. I’m done.”
“I want another one from you. This time, you’ll do it right.”
I quiver, my body relenting to his touch. My fingertips sink into his thighs, leaving half-moons behind. But he’s heavier than me, and if he doesn’t want to thrust, then I’ll have to lie here and wait until he does.
With him filling me, tearing me open, the incessant pressure on my clit is too much too bear.
“Jo!”
It’s all the warning he gets, but it’s all he needs. He draws out almost completely and then slams back into me as I come.
My body shudders, and every muscle tenses. I yell breathlessly as I ride out my orgasm, dimly aware that Jo’s coming too. His hot release fills me, spills out when he pulls back, and runs down my crack.
If I could move, I’d mop it up, but he’s ruined me again, like he always does.
A hand burrows under my back, and the envelope from Cornell appears in front of me like magic.
“Open it,” he commands.
My fingers are made of taffy, but I manage to pry open the flap.
I’m not scared anymore.
I’m so excited I can hardly breathe.
I already know what it says, but I read it out loud anyway.
Jo rips the acceptance letter from my hand and tosses it behind him. I hear the drawer squeak open, and my body tenses as if preparing for the next delicious onslaught coming my way.
But then Jo rolls onto his side and, instead of presenting me with another one of our toys, he holds up a ring.
I blink at it. Then at him. Back at the ring.
“Are you sure that letter was addressed to you?” he asks quietly, narrowing his eyes. “Because you’re taking a pretty damn long to—”
I throw myself on top of him and kiss him.
He pulls away. “Is that a yes, darling?”
I don’t trust myself to speak. Tears are already pricking at my eyes. I wrestle the ring from his fingers and jam it on mine.
“Then I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “Now, next order of business…”
He drags me on top of him, and shifts my legs, so I’m straddling him. Then he holds up three fingers.
I laugh, lift myself, and slowly lower onto his hard dick.
“You know there won’t be any time for this when I start at Cornell, right?” The tears have receded—for now, anyway.
Jo shakes his head. He grips m
y hips and urges me to pick up the pace. The muscles in his neck stand proud as he starts bucking into me, driving slivers of pleasure through my entire body.
“You haven’t seen their library yet, darling.” His voice is tight, and he keeps snagging his bottom lip with his teeth when he looks down at my pussy.
Those dark eyes flicker up. This time, when he smiles, he looks like a wolf about to pounce on a lamb. “I’m gonna make love to you in every single nook and cranny.”
The End
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About the Author
L. D. Fox writes deliciously dark and twisted stories for people that, like her, enjoy reading it.
Having grown up on names like Graham Masterton, Dean Koontz, James Herbert, Stephen King, Robert Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, her stories are an eclectic mix of the sadistically twisted, the epic, and the darkly comedic. She strives to create characters that are as immersive as the worlds she raises around them. Expect more than your average amount of plot twists, superb dialog, characters you’ll either love or loathe, and a book hangover that’s guaranteed to last at least few days, if not longer. She doesn’t hold any punches - nor should she, for that’s what she expects in the books she reads and what she offers to her readers in return.
She hails from the four-seasons-in-a-day suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa. She’s so busy writing she doesn’t have time for much else except the occasional indulgent Netflix binge. She loves hearing from readers, so don’t be shy to contact her and tell her what you thought of her writing.
