DON’T STOP (Lila and Darrell) novel Chapter 88

Back in his Bed 88

Daisy

The rain hadn’t stopped; if anything, it sounded louder now, like the sky was trying to drown out whatever stupid thing we were about to do next.

Norman’s forehead stayed pressed to mine for a long beat, our breaths mingling–hot, uneven, tasting of sex and whisky and bad decisions. His cock in his pants was still rock–hard against my thigh, slick from my come and his own stained pre- cum, twitching every time my hips shifted even a fraction.

I should have pushed him away. Should have said the words again: We’re exes. This is over But my body wasn’t listening. My nipples were tight peaks scraping against his chest hair, my clit throbbing in time with my heart beat, and the deep empty ache inside me was screaming for more.

He didn’t rush. Instead, his hands slid up my sides slowly and, gently, his fingers catching the thin straps of my dress that had somehow stayed on through everything. He hooked them with his thumbs and dragged them down my shoulders, exposing my breasts inch by inch. The cool air hit my nipples, making them tighten painfully. He watched them pebble, eyes dark and hungry.

“Still so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice wrecked. His palms covered my breasts, thumbs brushing the peaks once, twice, then pinching just hard enough to make me gasp. “Missed these. Missed how they feel when you’re riding me.”

i arched into his touch without meaning to. My hands found the hem of his shirt, the crumpled and half–unbuttoned from earlier, and yanked it over his head. It hit the floor somewhere behind us. His skin was hot, scarred in places I still remembered tracing with my tongue years ago. I ran my nails down his chest, over the ridges of muscle, feeling him shudder.

He retaliated by shoving my dress the rest of the way down past my hips, pooling at my knees. I kicked it off impatiently. Now it was just my soaked panties clinging to me and his pants still half–zipped, cock straining against the fabric.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties. He didn’t pull them down right away, just tugged them aside, exposing me completely. One thick finger traced my slit, gathering wetness, then circled my clit, slow and mean.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Dripping again already. You’re going to soak my sheets.”

I whimpered, hips chasing his finger. “Take them off.”

He smirked, darkly and dangerously. Then, he slid the panties down my legs, tossing them aside. Then he stood long enough to shove his own pants and boxers off in one rough motion. His cock sprang free. It was still very thick and veined, flushed dark at the tip, glistening. He stroked himself once, eyes locked on mine, letting me watch.

“See what you do to me?” he said, his voice low. “Even after you came all over my face, I’m still this hard for you.”

I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his length. He was so hot, so heavy in my hand. I stroked him slowly from the base to tip, feeling him pulse and feeling the bead of pre–cum slick my thumb. He hissed through his teeth, hips jerking forward.

“Fuck, Daisy…”

He pushed me back onto the bed, gentle this time, almost reverent, and crawled over me. Skin to skin now. No barriers. His chest pressed to my breasts, cock sliding hot and slick between my thighs, not inside yet, just gliding along my folds, teasing my entrance with every slow rock of his hips.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The head of him nudged my clit on every pass, making me whine.

“Norman… please…”

He kissed me deeply and filthily while one hand guided his cock to my entrance. He pushed in just the tip, stretching me open again, and held there, letting me feel every inch he was about to give me.

“Tell me you want it,” he rasped against my lips. “All of it. Or I’ll stop.”

“I want it,” I breathed. “All of you. Fuck me, please.”

I hated him for making me beg. Hated myself more for how badly I needed to.

I tilted my hips, grinding my soaked folds along his length slowly, coating him in my wetness. “I want you inside me,” I whispered, the words burning my throat. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t think straight. Until I forget why we ever stopped.”

His eyes darkened to black. A muscle jumped 1.

Then he moved fast and brutally, very perfectly.

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Back in his Bed 88

One hand fisted my hair, yanking my head back so he could bite the side of my neck, hard enough to mark but not hard enough to break skin. The other gripped my hip, angling me exactly where he wanted. He notched the thick head or his cock at my entrance and thrust in one long, punishing stroke.

I screamed–half in pain, half in pure bliss. He was so deep I felt him in my stomach, stretching me open again, filling every inch like he was trying to carve himself into me permanently.

“Fuck,” he groaned against my throat. “Still so tight. Still gripping me like you never want me to leave.”

He didn’t give me time to adjust. He pulled almost all the way out slowly and torturously, then slammed back in, setting a rhythm that was relentless, filthy, and possessive. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the rain and my own broke moans. Each thrust dragged his cock over that swollen spot inside me, sending sparks up my spine.

I clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails. “Harder,” I gasped. “Please… harder.”

He growled… an actual growl, and flipped us so I was on top, straddling him, his hands bruising my hips as he forced me down onto his length again and again.

“Ride it,” he ordered, voice gravel. “Show me how much you missed this cock.”

I did. I planted my hands on his chest and rolled my hips, grinding in tight circles before lifting and slamming back down Every time I bottomed out, he hit so deep I saw stars. My clit rubbed against his pubic bone on every downstroke, friction building fast and vicious.

He reached up and pinched my nipples sharply, twisting, then soothed them with rough thumbs. “Look at you,” he muttered, eyes devouring me. “Fucking yourself on your ex–husband like a desperate little slut. Bet Steve never makes you this wet.” The mention of Steve should have stopped me. It didn’t. It only made me clench harder around him.

Norman felt it. His hips snapped up to meet mine, brutal. “That’s it. Squeeze me Milk me. Come on my cock again. Let me feel it.”

I was close–dangerously close. My thighs burned, my rhythm faltered, but he didn’t let me slow. One hand slid between us; two fingers found my clit and rubbed fast, merciless circles.

“Come,” he commanded. “Come now, Daisy. Or I pull out and finish on your tits.”

The threat was crude, and possessive tipped me over.

I shattered.

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