After the Devil Has Won by Rick Wood

Author:Rick Wood [Wood, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rick Wood Publishing
Published: 2018-10-26T06:00:00+00:00

27

She bent her head over his so they were trapped in her hair, their faces hidden from the room. She went down to kiss him, then didn’t, and he laughed, enjoyed being teased, it turned him on, so she leant down again, but this time bit his lip.

She leant up, looking down at him, all smiles and happiness.

“You warm enough yet?”

“Hell, yeah,” he exclaimed, that same grin, that same fucking grin.

She mounted him, grabbing hold. She tried placing him inside of her, but couldn’t figure out how, so he did it, with a look of smugness she wanted to claw at. He began thrusting, slowly and tamely, until she sped up and took over – at which point, he simply lay there adorned with a smile of pleasant surprise. She was dry and it felt rough, but he didn’t care, which meant she didn’t care; so long as he was enjoying himself it didn’t matter.

And he needed to enjoy himself.

He had to reach heaven while he was with her.

She rode him, grinding back and forth, moving her hips and nothing else, circling him, looking down at his face, showing him nothing but mutual pleasure.

She painted her face with playful naughtiness. She painted it with brushes of ecstasy, a pastel of sexual lust, a canvas of pure joy. He saw it and he believed it, and she let him.

He shifted, went to move, went to put himself on top, but she wasn’t having it. She grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms down and he loved it, he took it, he relished it. She felt him quiver, and he joined in with the heavy thrusting, and it went in far, and it hurt her, scraped her insides, thrusted her around, and she wanted to cry out in pain but she played it as pleasure, her cries of despair the same as her cries of climax.

It’s what he needed to believe.

“You ready yet?” she asked him.

“Already?”

“Yeah!” she said, letting her tongue out of her mouth, sticking it out, licking her lips.

She ran her hands down her body, down the outside of her tiny, perky breasts, down her hips, and felt disgusting for how much she was getting into it, how much she was letting him think she was getting into it. But she was playing the part. Like the school play when she was Wendy, and she had to pretend to like Peter Pan, and she had to kiss him on the cheek after he lost his shadow and pretend like it wasn’t disgusting.

It was like that, but worse.

And he was just a child.

A child who had no idea of what the outside world was like.

A child who had no idea of what the outside world did to people like her.

A child who had no idea of what she was willing to do to get back to Boy. To get back to Harriet and find out where she heard that poem, so she could find him, the one person she would do this for.

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