The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 60: Heather (Hades)

My favorite hobby is making Bree come.

I'm addicted to the way she sounds and looks when she has an orgasm.

I can't get enough.

The way her breathing picks up and her hold on me tightens, the way she moans and shifts beneath me, the way she says my name...

Fuck, the way she says my name is my favorite.

When her voice sounds all desperate and loving and...it's my fucking favorite. We had sex, then she let me eat her out.

Finally.

The way her thighs closed around my face and the feel of her hands in my hair was so sexy.

She tasted so fucking good, so I guess I've also found my new favorite meal as well.

Right now, we're lying on the bed, hands entwined. Bree is lying on her back, facing the ceiling, I'm looking at her.

She looks blissfully pleased, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, hair strewn out behind her.

She's so beautiful I could never get tired of looking at her.

"I guess you're sex detox is properly over," Bree says, voice sounding hoarse.

"Yes," I smirk, and from this moment on, unless Bree dies, I'm never having another one.

I let my eyes wander across her neck where now all the hickeys she has are from me, not stupid fucking Jamie Elliot Green. At least now he's dead he'll never be able to be that close to Bree ever again.

I trace the dark marks and she opens her eyes, turning her head to look at me.

"Can we go home? Tonight has been so nice and I don't want anything to ruin it."

"Of course, angel."

Both of us know she's thinking about the unfortunate happenings that occurred the last time we were in a motel.

Bree rolls onto her side, wincing a little.

"Are you sore?" I ask.

She nods slowly, reaching out a hand to trace my neck tattoos.

"I'm sorry."

"It was worth it." She smirks. "Did getting these hurt?"

"No," I say. "I was out of it a lot when I got them done."

I hardly remember much about my tattoo experience, except that Nicks was the artist.

It's kind of all a blur.

"You're so pretty," I say randomly and she pulls a face, immediately getting off the bed.

Did I say something wrong?

"What?" I ask as she puts back on her clothes.

"Nothing, let's go."

What the fuck did I say?

"Wait—"

"Come on." She tosses me my clothes. I put on the pants, and sling my shirt over my shoulder. I don't want to wear it.

Is this all because I complimented her? No, not her terrible self-esteem problems again.

"Bree," I say quietly, walking over to her as she stands by the door, arms crossed.

"Hades?" She stares up at me from under her long eyelashes.

"What's going on?" I edge closer, sliding my hands under her jaw.