by Shandi Boyes
A new type of anticipation courses through my veins when I see the glistening of pre-cum beading on his knob. Scampering off the bed and onto my knees, I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and lick off the drop of excitement from his crown. A groan tears from Hugo’s throat as his knees buckle. Weaving his fingers through my hair, he secures a tight grip and guides my pace. The sting of pain from his ardent tugs on my hair spurs on my pursuit to unravel him as he just unraveled me. I lap him up, drinking in every inch of him. His seductive scent, the warm silkiness of his glorious cock, and his delicious taste. God, I’ve missed his taste.
I draw him in deep, working hard to untangle him, wanting to force him to lose all rational thoughts. The corners of my mouth burn as they stretch to accommodate his girth, but nothing can snuff my enthusiasm. I glide my moist lips over the smooth crest of his cock, then down his shaft with palpable eagerness. My tongue flicks and teases his knob while gathering up every drop of his enjoyment. My cheeks hollow, revealing my keenness to suck him dry.
“Slow down, babe, I don’t want to come yet,” Hugo demands, his words throaty. “We’ve got all night.”
I increase my pace, loving that I can push him to the brink just as quickly as he can me. I stare up at him, peering past the bumps of muscles carved in his impeccable six pack. My hankering eyes advise him that I have no intention of slowing down until I’ve swallowed every drop of his spawn. A cocky grin carves on Hugo’s mouth when he spots the determination in my eyes.
“Be careful what you wish for, Babe,” he mutters.
Before I have time to prepare my throat, hot, thick cum spurts out of his silky smooth crown, drenching my mouth and throat with his magnificent goodness. I moan before swallowing vigorously, battling to ensure every bit of his cum is consumed. I don’t want to waste a single drop. The throb in my pussy intensifies when the hardness of his cock doesn’t lessen any, even with every drop of his cum expelled. If anything, it gets thicker, more veined.
I guide his still rigid cock out of my mouth before staring up at him wide-eyed and highly aroused. Smiling, he bands his arms around my waist and repositions me back onto the bed. His eyes absorb my naked, feverish skin as he glides my panties down my legs. When my panties are dumped to the side, my thigh muscles sweep open to accommodate Hugo kneeling between them. My body tenses when the crown of his cock hovers over my drenched pussy.
Hugo stares into my eyes as he sheaths me one glorious inch at a time. I'm so wet, he can slide in without too much hindrance. My breathing stills and a nib of pain rockets through my body when he finalizes the last three inches. I'm so full, so taken, so overwhelmed, tears prick my eyes and dribble down my face.
Spotting my tears, Hugo intakes a quick, sharp breath. “Babe--”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt, my voice husky, strangled by an upwelling of emotions. “I’m more than fine. Please don’t take my tears the wrong way. They're sentimental tears, not tears of pain. I’m just overwhelmed with having you here, with me, doing this,” I blubber.
Hugo’s concerned eyes bounce between mine, seeking any untruth in them. The strain hampering his gorgeous face relaxes when he sees the candor spoken by my eyes. Every word I spoke was the truth. I can’t believe he's here, in my bed, in my home, and I’m not dreaming. I may have pinched myself earlier just to make sure.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ava. Never again,” he assures me, intuiting what has caused my sobbing.
Fresh tears well in my eyes when he leans over and kisses away the ones falling down my heated cheeks. Once every teardrop has been lapped up, he seals his mouth over mine and kisses me senseless, expressing his promise with actions instead of words.
By the time he pulls away, my heart has just as much fluid surging through it as my lady garden does. He watches me, patiently waiting for my body to adjust to the sheer girth of him while also ensuring no more tears spill from my eyes.
Only once I nod, giving him permission to move, does he slowly withdraw his cock. My pussy ripples around him, greedily trying to hold him inside. It doesn’t care about the bite of pain shooting through it, all it cares about is being consumed by him.
“Fuck, you feel good, Ava. Tight, wet,” he mutters, his eyes burning into mine. “You feel even better than I remember.”
His words have me on the verge of another mind-hazing orgasm. I just need a little more to push me over the edge. Hugo rocks into me harder, reading my body’s desires without a single word needing to seep from my lips. He places his hand on the small of my back and tilts my hips high before wrapping my legs around his sweat-slicked waist. A husky moan rumbles through my lips when the hardness of his V muscle rubs against my pulsating clit with every perfect stroke he inflicts. Our bodies mold together and move in sync, like two pieces of a puzzle, perfectly matched for one another.
Over time, my skin dampens with sweat and my whole body is overheated, but nothing can weaken the excitement coursing through me. I’ve dreamed of days like this. Hell, I prayed for days like this, and now, it is coming true.
I run my nails down Hugo’s sweat-slicked back before grasping the globes of his perfect ass. Just like every other part of his body, it’s gotten better with age. His body moves with such ease, showcasing how in tune he is with himself. He's a sexual creature who holds nothing back as he possesses and claims every inch of me, inside and out.
The tightening of my coil strengthens with each precise stroke he inflicts. He's like a machine, designed to unravel me.
The room is thick with humidity and the smell of sweat and sex filters through my nose as his body guides me to a core-shattering climax. His name is torn from my throat and goosebumps prickle my skin as my orgasm hits fruition. My nails claw into his back as I fight my way through a blinding scattering of stars forming before my eyes. A carnal groan sounds from Hugo’s parted lips when my pussy squeezes his cock, greedily begging for his hot cum.
My earth-shattering orgasm sets Hugo off. He sheaths me to the very root of his cock before he stills. Hot, violent cum spurts from his cock, like lava exploding from an active volcano. Unlike me, he manages to keep his cries of ecstasy to a bare minimum. Although from the strained look on his face and the way his veins are bulging, it was a hard-fought battle.
A snuggle into my pillow, beyond exhausted and eagerly anticipating a few solid hours of sleep. Hugo arches his brow and peers into my sleepy eyes.
“No sleep, Babe. I’m not even half done with you yet.”
A squeal emits from my lips when he flips me over and yanks my ass into the air. Dynamite explodes in my womb when he rubs his cum into the cleft of my pussy with his hand, coating me with his slickness to lessen any friction before his slides his still rock-hard cock inside me. I crank my neck and peer at him, both shocked and incredibly aroused by his determination.
Any thoughts on catching a few hours of sleep turn into a forgotten memory when the sting of his hand spreads a fiery heat across my butt cheek from a perfectly placed spanking. The final act to confirm our fire-sparking reunion.
Twenty-Five
Hugo
Two weeks later…
My heart pounds hard as my lungs fight for air. I feel like I’m dying, suffocated by the heaviness weighing down my chest. The face of a monster is before me, snickering as he seeks his revenge, evening the score between us. I took his son; now he's taking mine. Joel’s big blue eyes stare at me, pleading for me to save him from the devil holding a knife to his throat. Even with tears flooding his eyes, and his entire body uncontrollably shaking, he maintains a brave front, appeasing the fear of his mother standing beside me.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, Daddy will save you,” Ava stutters through the tears streaming down her pale face.
When Joel is jerked backwards, I lurch for him, pulling through the heaviness asphyxiating me with fear. I outstretch my arms, frantically trying to reach him, but no matter how hard I fight, no matter how far I stretch, I can’t reach him. Col is too quick.
; “No!” My back arches as a tormented scream tears from my throat. “Please, don’t hurt my son.” I plead as Col drags Joel through a sea of black, soulless shadows. “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt my son.”
I thrash against a heaviness entangled around my legs, fighting to be released from their stranglehold. I need to save my son. I have to save my son. I suck in quick blasts of air, filling my lungs with oxygen as I race toward Joel. The ice cold fear clutching my chest impedes my usually lengthy strides. My thighs burn as I chase the white Range Rover that has an unconscious Joel in the backseat. My lungs are heaving, and my entire body is covered in a dense layer of sweat, but I don’t give up. I'll never give up.
Confusion envelopes me when I race past distinguishable landmarks in Ravenshoe: Harlow’s bakery, the office building where Izzy worked, and the Dungeon nightclub flash by as I sprint down the narrowing street.
The heaviness on my chest increases when the Range Rover vanishes before my eyes, not leaving a trace of its existence.
“Joel!” I yell out.
I run my hand through my hair as I spin around in a circle on Tivot street. My brows furrow as an overwhelming volley of confusion steamrolls into me. Only now do I realize, Joel was snatched from his bed in Rochdale, not Ravenshoe. My bewilderment intensifies when an image of a blond-haired man resuscitating another surfaces before me. My wild eyes dart up and down the street, seeking assistance. Surprisingly, the usually packed sidewalks of Ravenshoe are empty. Not a soul is in sight.
My focus returns to the two men in the middle of the street when the blond man releases a heavy grunt as he pumps furiously on the chest of the unconscious man sprawled on the ground.
“Come on, Hugo,” he commands, thumping the unconscious man’s chest with his enclosed fist.
I shift my feet and slant my head to the side, unsure exactly how I can aid them. The air is forcefully removed from my lungs when I discover who the blond man is resuscitating. It’s me.
“Don’t give up! Do you hear me? You're not allowed to die!” screams the resuscitator.
I step around the scene, wanting to see the face of the man saving me. I don’t recall the events after I was shot. All I remember is landing on my backside with a sickening thud and waking up to the devastated face of Izzy. Everything in the preceding seven hours was a complete blur.
When I peer down at my rescuer, my pupils dilate to the size of dinner plates. “Blondie?”
I crouch down on the ground, unable to comprehend what I'm seeing. The son of the man who ruined my life is saving my life?
As the sounds of sirens approach, the buildings surrounding me distort before I'm suddenly swamped by eerie blackness. It is so dark, not even a star in the sky can be seen.
My head cranks to the side when a familiar voice screams through the darkness. “Hugo, wake up!”
I stand from my position and walk toward the voice. “Ava?”
Lifting my hand, I shelter my eyes when a blinding light streams through the darkness.
“Wake up!” Ava screams again.
I jerk awake, gasping for air. My massively dilated eyes shift around the unfamiliar room as I suck in deep pants of air. It takes me several moments to realize where I have awoken. I’m not in my apartment, my childhood home, or Regan’s penthouse. I'm in the guest room of Jorgie’s home. Ava’s bedroom. Gratitude envelopes me when I discover the bed is empty. Catching sight of the alarm clock on the bedside table, I see it is a little after seven AM. Ava and Joel will most likely be in the kitchen getting ready to start their day.
Kicking my legs, I break free of the sheets wrapped around me and run my trembling hand over my head. My body is cool from the combination of sweat and the remnants of my nightmare still clinging to me. A new type of fear clutches my heart when my surveillance of the room stumbles upon Ava crouched on the ground halfway across the floor space. She has her hand covering her mouth and fresh tears staining her cheeks.
“Ava.”
I scramble off the bed and kneel in front of her. Grief and despair smack into me when I see the terrified haze clouding her beautiful eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, panicked as my eyes rake every inch of her, seeking any injuries from the brutality I can display in my dreams.
Ava shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “I remembered what Dr. Avery told me about ensuring I'm at a safe distance before waking you.”
I peer into her eyes, seeking any untruth in them. I inwardly sigh when nothing but honesty reflects back at me. Wrapping my arms around her quivering shoulders, I slump onto my bottom and lean my back against the bed. The pain twinging my heart weakens when Ava presses her cheek onto the sweat-drenched skin on my chest and nuzzles in close, not the slightest bit concerned about the dampness. She sobs quietly. She's so discreet, if her tears weren’t adding to the wetness of my chest, I wouldn’t be aware she's crying.
I gather her hair off her cheeks and lift her tear-stained face to me. Her lips twitch, itching to speak, but no words spill from her mouth. I already know what she's going to ask without her needing to speak. Ava’s eyes have always been expressive, revealing way more than her mouth ever could. Today is no different, but even if I couldn’t read her eyes, she knows me well, better than anyone. She would have determined what my nightmare were about the instant she heard my tormented screams begging for Col not to hurt Joel.
My voice shakes as I begin to speak. “I tried, Ava. I swear to you, I tried every legal avenue available. When that failed, I took matters into my own hands. I couldn’t let him get away with it. He killed Jorgie and Malcolm, but was free to live his life how he saw fit. He didn’t suffer at all. I’d already seen Gemma endure the injustice of the courts. I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to Jorgie.”
Ava’s moisture-swamped eyes stare into mine, but she doesn’t speak; she doesn’t need to. The understanding in her eyes is all I need to see to ease my concern about revealing a secret only a handful of people know.
“I wanted him dead. I wanted him to suffer the way Jorgie suffered. The way we suffered.” I peer into Ava’s forgiving eyes as my chest rises and falls with every inhalation I take. “I wanted to make him pay.”
Ava takes a quick breath as her pupils dilate, but remains as quiet as a church mouse……
I load .38 caliber bullets into the magazine of my gun before clicking it back into the chamber. After sliding across the safety mechanism, I house my gun into the back of my jeans, swing open my truck door, and walk toward the compound I’ve been surveying the past two weeks. I have one plan on my mind: exact revenge on the man responsible for killing my sister and unborn nephew.
I tried to follow the necessary legal channels. I spoke to the DA, the detectives assigned to Jorgie’s case, and I even pleaded with the media. No one listened. Jorgie’s killer was a free man, exonerated of all charges. That is about to change.
A sense of calm settles over me as I pace toward the warehouse surrounded by a six-foot steel wire fence. A Rottweiler charges out of a kennel at the back of the compound, barking and growling. His fang-baring snarl only lasts as long as it takes for me to throw a juicy bone over the fence. He gnaws on the half frozen turkey leg as I cut a hole in the mesh wire with a pair of bolt cutters. After returning the bolt cutters to my duffle bag, I conceal it in a bush at my side and climb through the hole.
When I enter the unsecured grounds at the edge of the warehouse, I take a sharp left. I’ve witnessed the same routine every day the past two weeks at this compound. Three men enter the complex at nine AM, two guards, and one asset – my target. One armed man stands at the front entrance of the warehouse while the other follows the asset inside. Within ten minutes of entering, the second armed guard cranks open a door on the left hand side of building, his nicotine habit too strong from him to overcome the desire for a quick hit. Within twenty minutes of arriving, my target leaves the warehouse flanked by the two guards and carrying a black briefcase in each han
d. Their routine hasn’t altered the past two weeks I’ve been watching them. Their complacency is about to cost them dearly.
When I reach the edge of the warehouse, I slow my pace, ensuring my heavy stomps don’t cause the gravel under my feet to crunch. I lean my back against the sun-heated outer wall of the warehouse, vying for a prime opportunity to react. When the door next to me cracks open not even five minutes later, I pounce.
Grabbing the handle, I yank the metal door forward before slamming it back with brutal force. A grunted noise echoes in the quiet, closely followed by a hard thud. Gliding my hand into the back of my jeans, I retrieve my revolver before peering around the door. A man easily six feet tall lays sprawled on the dirty concrete floor. A nasty bump is forming on his forehead, his eyes are closed, and his half-lit cigarette is dangling from his mouth. My eyes scan the inside of the warehouse as I crouch down to remove the two semi-automatic weapons strapped to his hip and a knife wrapped around his thigh.
Housing his Glock and Bulpap into the back of my jeans, I brace my gun in front of my body and move through the warehouse. The smell of freshly printed Benjamin Franklins filters through my nose the closer I amble to an office on my right. Years of sniper training ensure my fast pace goes undetected. I push open a heavily weighted wooden door and sweep my eyes over the room. Roberto’s suit-covered back faces me as he piles bundles of money from a black safe bolted to the floor into an open suitcase sitting on a polished wooden desk.
“Give me another five minutes, and I’ll be ready to go,” Roberto instructs when he senses my presence.
“How about we leave now.” I aim the barrel of my gun at the back of his head.