Page 19 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
"Slow down..." I twisted, moaning.
He growled, pounding faster, abs slapping my mound, balls smacking my ass. Each hit sparked electric numbness.
I bit my lip, soaked in sweat, mind blurring. Time vanished—he jackhammered endlessly, hitting depths that drowned me in ecstasy. I tried pushing him off, arms flailing weakly with his thrusts, voice shattering: "Wait... uh... slow... slower..."
He caught my resistance, diving to kiss me, silent, merciless. I whimpered into it. His tongue mirrored his cock, owning me. The raw invasion fused us, senses lost except where we connected. He sped up, ruthless, shaking me. I slammed into the headboard, thumping loudly. To quiet it, I clung to his sweaty neck, muscles bulging.
Ages passed. My body reacted shamefully. He angled just right, curved head nailing that numbing spot. I chased it, electric bursts spreading, wave after wave battering my nerves. Something built inside, a flood ready to burst—terrifying, addictive.
"Come for me, Ella." His voice rumbled in my ear.
It electrocuted me. Ecstasy exploded from our join, frying my brain. I broke, walls clamping his cock, squirting like I'd lost control. Overwhelming, I shook, barely conscious. Seconds later, he stiffened, roaring as hot cum blasted deep, flooding my womb like endless heat. The fullness trembled me again, mind scattering. He didn't pull out, thrusting slowly to plug it in, instinct driving him to breed.
I woke trembling,fingers slipping into my panties without thinking. My middle finger found the swollen clit, circling slowly to chase the dream's void.
The bed felt empty. My husband, who should've been here, had been screwing another woman for three days straight, doingeverything we should've done. Me? Stuck fantasizing about him while I touched myself.
Pathetic. Logic screamed to forget Lucas—we'd split soon. But my body wouldn't listen.
I couldn't stop. One finger slid in easily, walls gripping hot. Not enough. I added a second, stretching, curling up to hit that shaking spot.
I pumped slowly, moans spilling out. In my head, Lucas buried his veined monster deep, thrusting brutally. The image heated my core—I fucked myself harder, fingers slamming faster.
"Come for me, Ella." His voice echoed.
Climax hit like a tidal wave, building fierce. But right at the peak, nausea surged from my gut.
I bolted up, stumbling to the bathroom. No time for lights. I hurled over the toilet.
Bile burned my throat. I slumped against the edge, mind reeling. What the hell?
My eyes caught the empty trash can. A thought struck.
I hadn't used a tampon in two months.
Two months.
It doused me like ice water, snapping me alert.
No way.
Impossible.
I rinsed my hands, grabbed my phone back in the bedroom, searching symptoms: delayed period, vomiting, raging libido...
"Pregnancy" popped up.
No, no, no... not now?
I scrolled frantically, words blurring. Cold sweat slicked my palms; I nearly dropped the phone.
If I was pregnant, what then?
I'd finally decided on divorce, papers ready, two days from freedom. Now this—maybe carrying Lucas's kid?
Absurd.
A sick joke.
