Branded

My balls tighten with the need to come and I push those thoughts aside because they have no business here. I’ve never fucked Phina before, but I’ve dreamt of it so many times that the familiarity is probably only natural.

“Harder!” she shouts as she slides her fingers through my hair and squeezes so hard I feel some of it being pulled out by the roots. I’m so glad she didn’t tell me she hates me again that I’ll do whatever the fuck she asks.

My hips move like pistons, my cock driving into her so hard and fast that my thighs start to ache, but I don’t let up. I keep pounding into her over and over, slamming her down on top of me so hard I’m surprised I don’t break her in half.

“Fuck, I’m coming! Fuck, I fucking hate you!” she shouts as she grinds herself on top of my dick and her pussy clenches around me.

So much for stopping that whole hate thing.

My dick is surrounded by wet heat and the pulsing of her release and it feels so fucking good that it pushes me right over the edge. With a roar, I bite down even harder on her neck as I come, tasting blood on my tongue as she bounces up and down on top of me, prolonging my orgasm until I feel like I’m going to die from pleasure.

Her pussy milks my cock as she continues to ride me, and I swear to Christ nothing has ever felt better. With a final thrust up into her, I hold myself still for a few seconds before my ass slumps back to the bench. Phina’s body follows, her hands dropping from their death grip on my hair as she drapes her arms over my shoulders and collapses against my chest.

With my cock still buried inside of her, I wrap my arms around her and hold her against me until my heartbeat returns to normal and I feel like I can finally breathe without passing out.

“I hate you so much,” she whispers softly, her face pressed against the side of my neck. There isn’t any anger or conviction in her voice this time, just a tinge of sadness and exhaustion.

“I hate you too, Fireball,” I lie with a smile, tightening my hold on her.

“I shucking fate him,” I slur, after my sixth shot of tequila. Or was that seven?

After removing myself from DJ’s lap in the locker room, I watched him scoop up my underwear and shove them in his pants pocket before I stormed out of there and away from the comfort of his arms. Fight Night had officially ended by the time I got back out to the truck bay, and a bunch of people were heading to McCallahan’s to celebrate the police department’s victory over the fire station. I figured it would be a good place to hide and drink away my troubles without having to worry about DJ showing his face. He basically lost Fight Night for the station because of his jealous pissing match with Dax, and I figured his ego wouldn’t allow him anywhere near the place. Stupid me for thinking for one second that DJ wasn’t a stand-up guy and wouldn’t want to celebrate even though he lost. Five minutes after I got here, he came strolling in, congratulating the victors and easily taking all the good-natured ribbing from everyone. I ordered as many shots of tequila as the bartender would allow, slammed my ass down on a barstool and haven’t moved since. It didn’t help that every time I fidgeted on the wooden seat, I winced at the tenderness in my fucking vagina and thighs and immediately remembered every second of what it felt like to have DJ pounding away inside of me.

Every. Fucking. Glorious. Second.

Finnley grabs the refilled shot glass I started to reach for and moves it out of my way. “Yep, you’re cut off. When you can’t even properly explain how much you hate someone, you’ve had enough to drink.”

I close my eyes and the room starts to spin, so I immediately open them. “You don’t understand, Finn.”

She rubs her hand on my back and nods. “You had sex with DJ. Now you’re drowning your sorrows because, instead of fucking the guy over for what he did when he was young and dumb, you just fucked him. And you liked it.”

She wags her eyebrows and laughs while I sit on the barstool, staring at her in shock. There’s no way she knows I had sex with DJ. I tried not to hobble when I walked in here and I grit my teeth whenever I cross my legs instead of moaning in a mixture of pleasure and pain. I asked him to give it to me hard and that man sure did deliver, Jesus Christ.

“Close your mouth, you’re catching flies,” Finnley giggles. “Did you honestly think you could hide something like that from your best friend? Besides, I saw you disappear into the locker room after DJ went in there and when you came out, your skirt was twisted around backwards and you had messy sex hair.”

I try to smack her in the arm, but the liquor running through my body makes the appendage feel like a wet noodle and I just sloppily paw at her.

“I hate him for what he did to me back then,” I tell her.

“I think you hated him back then. I KNOW you hated him back then, but he’s a different person now, Phee. I think you’ve seen just how different he is and you just hate the fact that you DON’T really hate him.”

What she’s saying would make sense if I were sober, but all I hear are words, words, words and none of them make me happy.

“I see the way you look at him when you think no one is watching and I also see how protective he is of you, especially after we told him about your dad. I know you’re pissed we told him, but he had every right to know since he got a note, too. Why is it so hard for you to just let him in?” She asks softly.

I glare at her. “You know exactly why.”

Well, not exactly, but she knows enough.