Page 31 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

The rough log bed frame smacks against the solid wall as the springs below us squeak and whine in a rhythmic protest.

My balls tighten and the base of my spine tingles.

We come together, so hard I forget where I am for a moment.

“Fucking hell…”

“Oh my god…”

“That’s my girl…”

“So good…”

“Quincy…”

“Reef…

My body jerks and jerks. There’s so much cum. And when it’s over, I’m still hard.

But the bone-deep need, for now, is satisfied.

She’s so fucking beautiful on top of me, and I belong to her.

“I’m yours, Quincy.”

“Reef…”

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Quincy collapses on top of me, limp and spent, damp with sweat, and all out of breath. I slip out, missing her warmth, yet

holding her here, just like this, is bliss. She folds into my side, rubbing her hips.

“You okay?”

She nods. “Fine. Good. Wonderful.”

I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes. We’re both exhausted and sticky and completely done.

“How’d I do, boss?”

I snort, “Come on.”

“You had to know I was going to ask for a performance review.”

“I have nothing to compare it to.”

“You’re just being nice,” she says.

“Fine. Here’s my review. Gives amazing head. Top tier cowgirl. Search and rescue needs some work. Okay at rope tying. Will have to experiment.”

She laughs. “Jerk.”

“You love me.”

After a long silence, she sighs. “I might.”

“Me too.”