Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
That it’s not just me balls deep in him with my free hand possessively pinching and pulling any piece of our Princess I can reach until her fingers fold with mine indicating she knows I’m here too.
That we’re together.
That this isn’t just him and her or me and him.
That we’re one.
That this is about showing everyone that we’re one.
Master twists one arm behind him to latch onto my shaggy locks, pulling me into the pounding he’s delivering to Princess, wordlessly instructing that I meet him hit for hit.
Stroke for stroke.
That we rapidly thrust to the same speed.
Rhythm.
That every buck and shudder and moan is felt by each of us.
Salt water occasionally splashes up against our rocking frames as if trying to cool us down; however, it makes no difference.
Each heave we grow hotter and more uncontrollable.
And the more Princess moans, the more he groans, the more I whimper, air ceaselessly restricted by his tight hole cutting of my ability to do anything other than concentrate on not coming.
Not burying my load in the deepest depths.
“Th-th-th-there,” chokes out Master, head slightly whipping around in my grasp. “Right. There.” His muscles constrict more than they had been. “Dios…Mio…”
“You ready for your little fuck toy to come in your ass?” I pant, right on the edge. “Ready for me to come and lick it out?”
“Ohfuck,” he growls and shifts his grasp on Princess up to her neck.
“Ohshit,” she hums out in ecstasy. “So…So…Close.”
“Be a good girl.” My insistence is attached to my eyes screwing shut. “Come for Master while he comes for me.”
“Si…” escapes an airy slur. “Si…” One last round of unbearable clamping occurs leaving my balls no choice but to follow suit. “Si!”
White-hot splashes coating his most sensitive gland shove him over the deep end, inevitably taking her with him. The three of us howl and swear and desperately paw at one another until I’m tasting her while she tastes him and he struggles to taste us both. Orgasmic shutters knock us into the railing, and the unevenness of the increasingly choppy waters merely adds to the steady stream of ecstasy I’m grateful I get to call mine for another day.
Maybe another month.
Hopefully forever.
I would really love forever.
Through half-hooded eyes, I glance over at our audience to silently inquire if we’ve fulfilled our end of the deal only to discover we’re completely alone.
That this moment…our moment…is truly only ours.
That our most important debt has been paid.
The others will follow suit, yeah, but a lot like this one…I get the vibe it’ll be fun paying them back.
Especially since we’ll be doing it our preferred way.
Together.
Epilogue (1)
One Month Later…
Garcia
This is that moment.
That crucial moment where you have to enter a plea.
An official plea.
In front of everyone.
Those in the gallery.
The court reporter.
The bailiff.
The other attorneys.
Other clients or victims.
The Judge.
It’s either agonizing or easy.
Today?
For me?
Here in the court of public opinion?
It’s easy.
A helluva lot easier than I honestly ever envisioned it being.
Benefit of being chloroformed, kidnapped, and forced to get fucked in front of an audience, I imagine.
I thank the bartender for my tequila and lime prior to turning towards Cian McDermott, one of the attorneys at my firm that’s closer to my age, who grumbles under his breath, “God, I hate these fucking garden charity events.” He takes his own bourbon and lime that’s being offered. “Who wants to wear this much clothing in this much heat?”
Chuckles precede us strolling away from the open bar.
“However, I will confess-”
“Very unlike you,” escapes in a mirthful fashion.
“In confidence-”
“Ah,” I steal a sip of my beverage, “more like you.”
“That these PR parades are a perfect place to search for our future partners,” he announces alongside an arrogant smirk. “And I don’t mean for the firm.”
Rather than remind him that I’m aware of the secretary he’s harboring feelings for, I simply state, “Searches for you, maybe. Not me.” Our meandering continues towards the table I’ve been occupying most of the afternoon with my guests. “I’m here with my boyfriend.”
His beige forehead wrinkles in obvious confusion. “Boyfriend?”
“And my girlfriend.”
“And girlfriend?”
I casually nod.
Sip.
Present no shame.
Nor guilt.
Because why should I?
I’m happy.
I’m genuinely happy.
Our relationship…our…choice…at non-societal conventional romance isn’t harming anyone nor is it really that different than so-called traditional couples.
Occasionally, people stare, however, that occurs for several reasons ranging from the discomfort of sexual orientation to race, which are things two people relationships can and do face as well.
My best friend is supportive – mind you he himself has two partners.
My parents are overly supportive – Mom claiming she just knew this is the type of situation I would end up in, especially after Ace did.
And as for my job, well.
This is the first opportunity I’ve had to bring them to anything.
It’s not like you bring your significant others to the courtroom with you and due to the work, I’ve been hired to do for Ravencroft regarding the ocean discovery, I’ve actually spent very little time here in Spike Village. I’ve practically had to uproot my entire existence and relocate it to Turtle Haven in order to effectively navigate the legal nightmare she correctly assumed we’d be facing.