wip wednesday
please enjoy a little snippet of chapter five of Second Act mdni
“We had a deal. I lost. You won. Promised you three days.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Your nail catches, and you drop your hand. “If It gets you out of my system,” you murmur. “If it gets me out of yours.”
Simon swirls the amber liquid. “Just me?” he questions, taking a sip. “Not the four of us?”
“I made the deal with you.”
Simon takes a step forward. Another. The glass clinks against the marble as Simon sets it down. “It was never just me. Only us. You forget that we were three more?”
Your voice is a ghost. “No. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Saw Kyle talking to you. At the bar.”
“And?”
“What did he say?”
You glance up at Simon, frowning. “Is that any of your business?” you snap.
The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches. “You’re mine for three days. You do as I say when I say it. Now, I asked you a question.”
You lick your lips, tapping your index finger against the countertop in agitation. “He said that making a deal with you means I made a deal with all of you.”
Simon places his hands on the edge of the countertop, staring at you intently across the kitchen island. “You believe that?”
You push off, giving Simon your back as you head for the safety of the living room. It’s further, but not far enough. Simon is far too close, and thought it’s been years, parts of you sing for me like you’ve never been apart. This knowledge is a vice around your heart that sinks down into your stomach.
“Given the past,” you murmur, “I believe him.”
As you glance over your shoulder, Simon is right there, lingering, head dipped toward you. You cannot discern the expression on his face. There isn’t any reason to care, to venture forth into once was, but you don’t care for the defeated—nearly warring hesitation in Simon’s eyes. Years apart, yet you’re looking into a mirror, witnesses the past as present.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” you observe, a small smile on your face.
“What’s funny?” rasps Simon, stepping closer, his broad chest brushing against your upper arm.
Your breath quickens, a warmth blooming low in your core. His fingers lightly dance over your lower back, finding your hip, stirring that warmth until it becomes heat.
“How we’ve come to find each other again.”
Simon hums. “You were always meant for us, love.”
But you don’t know, Simon. You don’t know why I fled.
You attempt to step away from him, to create some distance, but Simon refuses this momentum.
“Come here,” he growls, hooking his arm around you, dragging you against him.
Your breasts flatten against his chest, hips and thighs grinding together. Instinct takes over, seizing your muscles. It’s a tug. A grasp. Fingers threading behind Simon’s neck. Bodies sealed together. You gasp, and Simon’s hands palm your ass. Squeezing. Squeezing.
“You want to fuck,” he states as if there’s no arguing with him. “Don’t you?”
Your pussy flutters. Clenches. “No.”
“Liar,” he drawls, bringing his lips in close, teasing your skin with the promise of a kiss. “Wouldn’t accept my wager otherwise.”
His grip tightens, and Simon grinds himself against you. Hardness greets you, and there is no denying the erection beneath the denim. Not that what he’s packing is a mystery. For four months, you took his cock…and Johnny’s. Kyle’s. John’s. Sometimes one at a time. Sometimes all at once. The memory of being tangled between them, having every hole filled, your clit teased, mouth full, skin painted with cum, makes you whimper against Simon’s lips.
no pressure tags: @clancycatears @lay-z @ladykelsi @voltac @theorist-fox @frudoo
