𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

• 33 •

I used to go to church on Sundays. Now I go to Keenan Travino's mansion to get fucked in six different positions in three different rooms, have cum dripping down my legs and hickeys on my neck. Yes, I have come far.

I am being fucked against a wall. It was a request. I've always wanted to know what it feels like—whether Hollywood's depiction of against-the-wall make outs and fucking are as good as they let on or whether they're just lies—cinematic lust-inducing scenes that are shit when re-enacted. See, I've never been with a man as strong as Keenan. After a three-second sweep over of his head to toe, I supposed that he'd be the guy to fulfill my cliche fantasy. And so, I made him do it.

My back fucking hurts. I keep being slammed against it. My arms fucking hurt too. They've been around Keenan's neck for too damn long, helping the man keep me up by clinging to him for dear life. I could tell that Keenan was also annoyed, having the need to carry my weight with his thighs and arms for minutes. Although the man's dick size is impressive, Keenan junior had slipped out twice already.

"This," I said between our kiss, "is not working."

His thrusts slowed down. Keenan's lips fell to my neck. "It really isn't," he agreed, sucking the skin afterwards. Yet again another hickey. I've earned an uncountable many so far: on my shoulders, my neck, my chest, my thighs, and my ass. Yes, my ass. I should be worried about the amount of bruises I've accumulated after hearing stories of how unlucky people developed medical complications, but I wasn't. Plus, Keenan didn't look too good either. My eyes settled on the area of red spots on his chest. I did that. Me!

"Floor?" I suggested. The wooden floor of Keenan's home library looked nothing like a bed, but compared to the wall, I'd take it.

He didn't respond verbally. Keenan lowered us, him sitting near the said wall to rest his back against it. I was straddling him, knees on the hardwood and sex on a different hardwood. The man looked tired, eyelids heavy. I felt tired too. Still, I kept fucking. My fingers clutched his shoulders as I lifted myself up to fall back down on none other than Keenan Travino's King Cobra. Is it deadly? very.

He watched me. What looked like a frown sat on his lips, but it's really just his face being slack from fatigue. I couldn't blame him. Before the wall, I made Keenan fuck me from behind—him standing as I was on my favorite black sofa. The man's hands grazed my thighs, his touch featherlight. Then, his index finger tilted my chin up. "Give me a kiss," he mumbled.

I did. I kissed Keenan as I rode him. Perverted things popped into my head then as I rocked back and forth against his body. I wanted to take Travino everywhere: in Lemon's backseat, in his pool, on the hood of his McLaren, on his front porch, maybe even on his goddamn roof. I wanted his lips on every spot it could reach. I wanted his children in every goddamn hole. Okay, maybe not the last one, though the thought had me throbbing. Fucking rubber. I should start taking birth control shots again.

Two palms met each cheek of my behind before fingers gripped harshly, pulling the mounds apart. My rhythm had grown messy, ups and downs inconsistent. Helping me out, Keenan Travino rubbed the sensitive hood of my entrance until I came apart on top of him. He followed after, using the involuntary contractions of my Gia walls to prompt his own release.

We fell on the floor. "I hate you," I said randomly, "You tire me." as the shitty explanation.

"Well, whose fucking idea was it to have sex against a wall?" he had his eyes closed, lips swollen, hands on his abdomen.