Reaching down between us I stroked her clit, softly at first, then felt her ride my hand and cock, desperate for the friction.
I’ll give you what you need as long as you keep giving me your sunshine.
She went off like a firecracker, her body igniting and convulsing as she found her light. The sweetest pussy I ever had, gripped me as she came all over my dick. My eyes rolled, and I pushed my hips and thrust my dick into her once, twice…then shouted her name as I pulled out just in time. My release spurting out, painting her exposed skin.
Covered in Parrish, branded by the Bulldog, Reina became my sunshine.
We were both fucked.
I stared at her long and hard as I pulled my jeans up, zipping the fly but not doing the button to give my swollen dick some relief. Her legs dropped off the table, and she bent over struggling with her jeans, looking at everything and anything other than me.
“Reina,” I started.
She reached for a dishtowel, wiping me from her before she pulled her pants up her legs. She turned around, her eyes blazing with fury and threw the dishtowel at me.
“You can leave now,” she said.
And there she went dismissing me again.
“Guess I was wrong ‘bout you,” I spat, baiting her, hoping to get her to turn around and look me in the eye. But I failed. Staring at her back angered me even more than the silence she offered me. “My dick ain’t straight-laced, and that pussy was still dripping.” I bit out, using my words as my weapon.
Her head bowed, her shoulders slumped and still she didn’t turn around to look at me.
Shunted, I cursed Reina and stalked out of her apartment, slamming the door behind me.
I shouldn’t be bothered. I got what I came here for. I got my taste of sunshine.
Chapter Ten
I stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around my body and leaned forward to wipe the steam from the mirror. I stared at the image reflected in the mirror and pondered the last twenty-four hours. The soft flush on my cheeks, a reminder of Jack and the sensations he evoked inside of me.
I went to bed last night, the scent of his cologne lingering on my skin, allowing me to hold onto the memory of feeling him inside of me. I don’t know what came over me, what possessed me to give myself to him. After, seeing him at his clubhouse and fleeing I never in a million years imagined he’d end up at my doorstep or between my legs.
He opened himself up, laid his secrets before me, causing my heart to ache for the loss he endured. He made me feel. Just as he had the night on his bike. Then he battered me with his words, making me feel some more, opening the gates of anger. Finally, he ended his assault on my feelings with the sensations of him, deep and alive inside of me. Any way you slice it, Jack broke my resolve, tore through my walls and made me feel. A simple ride on the back of his bike, his own heartbreak, his accusing words, his body, I felt it all.
It was a beautiful thing, realizing I was capable of more than just existing. But as beautiful as it was it was also alarming. I wasn’t willing to rely on a man to put the pieces of my life back together. No man, and certainly not one that went by the name of Bulldog.
I believe that people come into your life for a reason and Jack stormed into mine, breathing life into my soul. But with life he brought disgust. His crude ways and filthy mouth, the arrogance that radiated from him, it was all despicable. And yet, it was those three things that drew me to him, the three things that inebriated my self-control and allowed me to give in to him.
The towel fell from my body and I slowly turned to my side lifting my arms above my head, my eyes fell upon the scars that marred my skin. The puckered flesh that ran along the underside of my arm down my hip. I had been so consumed with Jack that I didn’t remember the scars. Looking at them now, seeing all their ugliness, I felt a sense of relief that he hadn’t seen them. They were mine, my pain, my demons to carry, and I wasn’t ready to share them—especially not with him.
I reached for the tube of Mederma, squeezed the ointment into my hand and foolishly applied it to my skin as I did every day. They’d never fade—but one could hope couldn’t they? When the time came, if the time ever came, that I found someone I was willing to share this piece of myself with, maybe the scars would disappear.
I finished my routine, brushed my teeth and slipped my robe on before padding into the bedroom. I glanced at the clothes that lined my closet; they were split in half, depicting the two versions of Reina DeCarlo that lived within me. The flashy, edgy clothes of a girl who loved life versus the unflattering, baggy clothes of a girl hiding behind the threads, running away from life.