Hate to Lose You

By: Penny Wylder


“Fuck yes. Right there, right there,” she’s panting before long, and I have never needed to fuck anyone so fucking badly. She does something to me, makes every sense in my body catch on fire.

Her cries rise higher, louder, and before long, as I angle my cock inside her to drag against the walls of her pussy, increasing friction, resistance, she screams out, her muscles clenching hard around my cock as another orgasm racks her body.

“That’s right, Daisy, come for me,” I tell her as she moans. “Come with my cock inside you.”

She’s still shaking from that as I start to fuck her harder, faster. I reach down from her hip to stroke her mound, pressing just hard enough around the edges of her clit to make her gasp again, and an aftershock of her orgasm pulses through her, her pussy clenching around my thick cock.

She tries to say something, my name I think, but her voice is just one long, low moan, too desperate for me to make out words among the syllables.

It doesn’t take long for me to near the edge. I hold off for as long as I can, wanting to drag this moment out, wanting to fuck this woman who crashed into my life from out of nowhere forever if possible. But eventually the scent of her, the sound of her pleasure as she moans under me, the feel of her tight, perfect little pussy clenched hard around my cock, it all becomes too much to resist.

I dig my fingers into her hips as I pound into her again, again, and finally, with a low, guttural roar, I come inside her.

When we break apart again, both of us coated in sweat, breathless, smelling like sex, I catch her chin in my hand, tilt her face up toward mine so I can kiss her, deep and slow. We break apart, and our eyes catch, filled with just as much fire as before.

“That was fun,” she says.

“Understatement,” I reply with a wide grin.

She hesitates. And then… “You going to leave now?” she asks, one eyebrow arched, the faintness of her voice the only sign of weakness I’ve seen from her since I met her.

I lean back in to kiss her again. “Not unless you ask me to.”





2





Bronson





“What about this one?”

It takes every ounce of effort in me not to physically flinch at the hot pink shag carpet Daisy’s pointing to. Still, I must give something away, because one glance over her shoulder at me, and Daisy dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, my god. You should see your face, Bronson. You didn’t think I was serious, did you?” That grin of hers, the one she wears when she’s deliberately trying to drive me crazy—which, to be honest, is most of the damn time—still drives me wild.

I make a grab for her waist, but she dances out of reach. “You know, much more of this and I’ll have to spank you later,” I comment, one eyebrow raised as she skips ahead of me up the aisle of Ikea.

“Oh, trust me, I’m counting on that,” she calls over her shoulder, those baby blues flashing in the bright neon overhead lighting.

I know we’re a walking cliché. The way she makes me feel is something I’d only ever seen in cheesy rom-com movies—movies I assumed were exaggerated, playing up the romance to unbelievable levels just so they can paint a healthily unrealistic ideal for us men to try (and fail) to live up to. But even being in this fucking Ikea with her, of all places, the dreaded store where relationships go to die…

It feels right.

My heart feels lighter than it has in years as I follow her through the aisles, my gaze glued as usual to her perfectly proportioned backside, drinking her in as she skips from one ridiculous set of apartment decor to the next.

“And this one?” Also pink, this time a bedspread with embroidered kittens on it.

This time I don’t fall for it. I roll my eyes skyward right off the bat. When I look back at her, though, she’s pouting. “You do not actually like this,” I say.

“Not for our room, silly.” Her eyes flash.

“Oh, you’d like this comforter for the baby’s room, then?” I reply, smirking. Two can play at this game. The see-how-serious-you’ll-pretend-we-are game.

Her cheeks flame bright red, and I know I’ve scored a point. But when she glances down and away, I catch a hint of something else. A downturn at the corner of her mouth. Like maybe she wasn’t completely kidding.

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