ℂ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝔾𝕝𝕠𝕨 ➃

53. Behind Bars - ✭ Boston ✭

I hear the shower turn on and can't help but smile to myself. It reminds me of back when Monica and I had first stayed together in a hotel. Hearing each other in the shower was how this whole thing started between us. It's what got our sex life going in the first place.

I slip on my underwear and pants, then a shirt for good measure. Don't want to be intimidating or freaking out the staff by opening the door half-naked, covered in tattoos, reeking of perspiration and pussy. It was already bad enough that the room pretty much permeates sex, but I know that I do too. I've had my face between Monica's thighs an endless amount of times today, well, tonight... whatever time it is.

I've had her moaning and writhing in every different position and in every different way, trying to make up for the time we haven't been together. I plan to do that for the remainder of the evening as well. I want her completely spent, to pass out from so much pleasure, then and only then, will I be satisfied.

That fucking professor of hers could never live up to tonight, even if he tried. I bet that old man couldn't muster the amount of stamina needed. In all honesty, I'm surprised I haven't had some sort of heart attack yet. I mean, this would be the way to go if there were ever a way to go.

Death by sex. Heart attack via too much pussy. Not so bad sounding, if you ask me.

I run my hands through my hair a few times, trying to straighten it the best I can. From what I'd seen in the bathroom, it was sticking up all over the fucking place. Monica had been gripping it for dear life as she rode my face. I lick my lips thinking about it again.

It was the hottest experience I've ever had giving her head. She wanted it so bad, she was so desperate for each orgasm, it was fucking bliss. Her cries into the room, the way she was soaking fucking wet, was everything. I laugh to myself as I think about what I'd called her earlier— my little squirt gun. I can't wait to continue messing with her with that one. Get her back for all the tatted Elvis stuff.

Tatted Elvis and his squirt gun.

I burst out laughing at the thought. After a moment of giving myself one hell of an ab workout via laughter, I hear a knock at the door. That'd be the sheets. Sheets for round... I've honestly lost track.

I walk over to the door and try my best at not looking like an arrogant asshole, like Monica had said. But once I open the door I'm rushed by a large, burly man. "Fuck!" I gasped when I'm plowed into the desk in the right corner of the room. I knee the man in the gut and shove him off of me only to have another man right on top of me.

"You having a hard time with those sheets?" Monica's voice hollered loudly from the bathroom, making time stand still. "What is it with men and sheets? They can never figure out the fitted sheets. My father never can." I eye the bathroom and see a large man, syringe in hand, standing right outside the door. When I go to shout out to Monica a rough, calloused hand slams down over my mouth, cutting off whatever warning I was about to give her.

The shower shuts off and she calls out for me again, "Boston?"

Knowing she's about to come out of the bathroom makes me thrash around, trying to get out of the man's hold on me. I kick back into his shins and almost get him to let go of me until the other man intervenes. It's not much of a fight for me at this point. My heart is beating erratically inside my chest and I know that's not a good thing. It's an odd thing trying to calm yourself and fight for your life all at the same time.

Monica exits the bathroom with a satisfied expression that soon turns into one of horror when she sees the situation. I don't care if I die now, I don't want them to touch her.

Oh God what if they do more than that?

I start really fighting the two men now. Trying to scream for her to watch out, there's a man behind her. Before she can even properly react there's a syringe stuck in her neck. I bite down on the man's hand, making him pull it away.