Filthy Beautiful Lies(#1#2)

Sophie

We make love against the bathroom counter, our bodies moving frantically together. It’s exactly what I need – desperate, hungry kisses, the granite counter hard and cool beneath me, gentle fingers whispering through my hair, soft kisses pressed to my temple. I’m grateful to feel something other than numb.

“Yes, fuck me. Harder,” I beg, gripping his shoulders.

Colton slams against me, his thick cock sliding in and out in a punishing rhythm.

My gaze lowers from his and I look between us to the spot where we’re joined. The sight is erotic and carnal, and my insides clench around him, teasing a low groan from his throat.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“You like that baby?” He surges forward again, burying himself to the hilt and my head drops back.

“Yess…” I groan. “Harder,” I beg again.

He suddenly lifts me from the counter, scooping me up underneath my butt and carrying me toward the bedroom.

He dumps me down onto the mattress and gazes down at me. His hard cock is wet with my juices and his abs are clenched tight, but his face is completely composed and in control. “Get on your knees.”

I obey, quickly scrambling onto my hands and knees. Perched on the bed completely naked and ready, I wait to see what he has in store for me. Colton grips behind my knees, tugging me backward until I’m positioned at the edge of the mattress. He runs his hands along my legs, my butt, then pushes against my upper back – his hand resting in between my shoulder blades until I lower my chest to the bed. Turning my head, I lay one cheek against the mattress and gaze up at him.

He’s still calm and in control and it’s utterly sexy.

“You want to be dominated and fucked hard?” he asks.

I nod my head, keeping my eyes trained on his.

His eyes go dark and my insides flip with anticipation.

He aligns himself against me and pushes forward. I love the way my body stretches around him and I push back, drawing him deeper inside.

With one hand secured around the back of my neck, the other palms my ass. I feel his thumb rubbing against my back opening and I shudder. With his cock still pumping into me, he pushes one finger into my ass.

“Goddamn, Sophie,” he moans.

Every sensation, every rough whisper of breath lights up my entire body. I push my ass back, meeting his hard thrusts. He’s pounding into me, probably bruising me, but I fucking love it.

“Is this what you need? You need me to be rough?” He leans over me and growls against the shell of my ear.

I whimper with delight, my insides screaming: Yes, yes, yes!

His hips crash into mine, rough cries of pleasure clawing their way up his throat after each brutal thrust.

The orgasm slams through me, robbing me of air and forcing a rough cry from my mouth. I shudder, my insides clamping down on him, deliciously, as I come apart.

Finally, air rushes into my lungs and I repeat his name over and over. I feel the moment his cock swells and his hot release pours into me.

After, Colton rolls me over to face him, then kisses my face – my eyelids, my cheeks, my forehead, telling me how much he loves me. Then he brings me a warm cloth, along with my clothes, and cleans me up.

I feel sated and calm as he dresses me and tucks me into bed. My limbs are tired and sore and between my legs aches in the most wonderful way.

The past several weeks has been endless cycles of wine poured early in the afternoon to help me get through the day, sleeping pills that knock me out at night, and tears that flow way too easily. The grief counselor Colton sent on his first day back to work didn’t help. She could not possibly understand the depth of my relationship with my twin sister. The loss has been unimaginable. My only form of therapy has been jogging. Just as it had been in the days when Becca was sick. It calms me, tires my limbs and helps me cope, if only for a short time. But as I learned tonight, intimacy with the man I love trumps everything else. I feel better than I have in days.

A knock on the bedroom door captures our attention. I didn’t know anyone was here.

“Colt?” I ask.

“Be right back.”

He shoves his legs into a pair of sweatpants and then goes to answer the door.