Page 14 of His Summer Intern

“Caleb,” she moans, those green eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh. Oh. Right there. Faster. Please.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growl, pumping into her at a breakneck pace now. “You going to come with your knees up near your fucking ears, girl? You get off on fighting me and getting drilled?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Louder. No one can hear you out here.”

“Yes!”

“Good. I don’t wait for an invitation when it comes to this pussy,” I push deep and hold, feel her begin to shudder. “It’s mine. You want to walk around my house looking like a tasty little cupcake, flashing that young ass at me, I’ll drag you out to the woods and fuck you sloppy. Spreading your legs is the price you pay for making my cock hurt. You hear me, girl?”

“Y-yes!” Her orgasm turns her green eyes blind.

That puffy mouth forms an O and she huffs, huffs, screams, her heels digging into the breadth of my back. I feel every ripple of pleasure that goes through her, her cunt sucking me off, milking the seed right out of my balls.

I bear down on her, groaning loudly, hips slapping roughly against hers, my come funneling into her in hot waves. Jesus, I’m shaking, sweat trickling down my spine, ass flexing to keep me deep in her heaven. I’m boxed in by pleasure, my lower abdomen clenching, my dick jerking like an unattended fire hose, spraying down the walls of her channel. Her womb. God yes, let her get pregnant. Let her grow round with my child and let me care for them forever.

I collapse on her, panting, her limp legs dropping down on either side of my hips. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, a sheen of dew on her tits, her neck. Teeth marks on her lower lip, eyelids weighed down like sandbags.

“Is there something wrong with us, Caleb?”

“No.” I kiss her fiercely, wanting to obliterate every single worry in her head. “The whole world is wrong, princess. We’re just finding our patch of light in the dark. Our light just happens to be a dimmer shade than some. But as long as it makes you happy, it’s right for us. Does it?” I swallow hard and brace. “Do…I make you happy?”

She explores my eyes, a smile curving her lips. “Yes.”

I let out a shaky exhale. “Thank God.”

With my heart doing donuts in my chest, I tuck her head into my neck and let her sleep, the sound of the stream burbling happily beside us. And I mouth the words I love you up at the tree tops until blessed unconsciousness claims me, too.

8

Juno

When we wake up at the stream, a storm is moving in and we run for the cabin, closing ourselves inside just before it pours. And for two days after that, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Caleb works on his book, typing sounds coming from his office. When he’s not in his office, he follows me around. Observing, taking notes in his notebook.

I put on music and dance for him. I cook. I pick a biography from his shelf and read it in the window, combing through the words while water patters softly on the pane. And he sits there, watching me in that intense way, his pen scratching on the paper. Sometimes he whispers the notes as he takes them, but I pretend not to hear. They seem private.

Scratches her knee.

Mutters at the author.

Can’t get comfortable in her seat.

Thirty-one breaths in a minute.

An hour since I’ve been in her pussy.

Two hours.

I’m starting to think Caleb is obsessed with me and it teaches me about the newly discovered darkness inside of me…because I love it. I love his obsession. When he stares at me with madness lurking in his eyes, my body blooms like a rose. I can barely breathe. We have sex like starved animals every single time. He throws me facedown over the kitchen table or barges into my shower, impaling me against the tile and grunting brokenly into my neck, taking me in maelstrom of biting and scratching and dirty words.

Our lovemaking is such an emotional upheaval that we fall asleep afterward every time, our limbs tangled together, his strong arms wrapped around me possessively. We lose track of time. It has no meaning. There is no day or night, there is only the last time he was inside me. The next time he’ll be inside me. What he’ll say. How rough he’ll be. If we’ll leave marks.

He’s typing in his office now with his back to the doorway. He’s shirtless.

Nail marks decorate his back in dramatic red slashes.

The considerable muscles in his shoulders stiffen with awareness. His head turns ever so slightly to one side and I sense him holding his breath. I’m obsessed with him, too. I know it in that moment. The reason I know he’s always following me, always staring at me, is because I’m doing the same to him. Memorizing him from the shadows. Waiting for him to come out and play. To throw me down like a plaything and vaporize my will.

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