Page 71 of Violent Little Thing

And tight.

And mine, oh, mine.

“I’m going to come, don’t stop.”

I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

She started to come, contracting around me so tightly that my eyes crossed.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” she whispered. “I finally understand.”

I didn’t have the mental acuity to ask her what she meant until much later, after I’d come inside of her, filling her so full that my cum spilled out the sides.

Thank fuck for the towel.

“You finally understand what?” I asked as I placed my forehead against hers, breathing deep.

“What the French mean by ‘Little Death.’”

I chuckled and twisted us, taking her to the dry spot on the towel and turning her so that her backside was pressed up against my still hard cock.

“Felt more like a big death to me,” I admitted. “Best I ever had.”

And I wasn’t lying.

It was the best I’d ever had.

Which was shocking since Lauri and I had a great sex life.

But it’d never been anything like this.

Which only seemed to make me more confused.

Twenty

We all know a douchebag named Chris.

—Court to Charleigh

Charleigh

We had sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

So much sex that I’d had to beg off the last time and tell him that, in no uncertain terms, my vagina was now off limits.

I couldn’t even sit.

Something he noticed as we made our way into the conference room the next day to talk shop.

Or, more accurately, Noe and the coaching staff talked shop with Court.

I, on the other hand, sat there and twiddled my thumbs as they talked about things like “tight ends” and “defensive formations” and “screamers.”

I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I could tell you that the cinnamon rolls in the middle of the table were better than the apple fritters.

I could also tell you that my vagina hurt so badly that I had to sit sideways so that my butt cheek and thigh took most of the pressure.