“Bugger,” Eliza says, jumping at the sound of the smashing porcelain.
“I am, my dear,” I say, letting go of her hair and slapping her ass with the back of my hand. She shrieks and slams her ass back into me, causing me to drive further inside her than I thought was possible. The muscles of her asshole clench my shaft as she attempts to hold me in place, lock me down, pressed against her. I draw back, slowly, wrenching myself from within as she tightens and resists. She hisses.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks.
I don’t answer. Just keep playing this tug of war between her ass and my cock until I’m almost out of her completely. Then, just as the tip is almost entirely free, I slam myself back inside her, pushing her forward and causing her to release. Her arms shake the bed, more plaster cakes off the wall, and I can hear the creak from the ancient bed frame as it struggles to maintain its structural integrity.
“Fuck! You!” she screams, full Essex emitting from her mouth in accordance with my full sex entering the other part of her. “Come now!” she shouts. “Come inside me, you right bastard!”
No demands made during sex sound as sexy as demands made in a rough, grimy British accent. And I can’t deny the influence it has over me.
“All right. As the lady asks,” I grunt out in the moment before I relax the muscles in my dick and allow a hot stream of passionate reward to gush inside her.
She moans and throws her head back, the long, blonde hair cascading down almost to the point where I am attached to her insides. She yells at the ceiling. Not in a cry of ecstasy, or a wail of pleasure, but in a roar. Anger is sewn into the fabric of her howl.
I reach up to her shoulders and rip her hold free from the bedposts. Drawing her arms back and handcuffing her at the waist, I force myself whatever remaining millimeters I can into her and mimic her screeching yawp. The manor echoes with our mingled voices bellowing in tortured joy. I imagine the sound escapes out into the vast acreage of the British countryside beyond these walls. I feel the devilish grin on my lips as I think of us scaring sheep.
Once I release her wrists, she throws herself forward on the bed, collapsing on the mattress with a plompf. The sudden exposure of my cock to the brisk air in our drafty haven makes me shiver all over. It’s Spring, but in true British, vernal form, it’s been raining every day, leaving us to explore the interior of our safehouse. And the interiors of each other.
I find myself hypnotized by the sight of Eliza now sprawled on the bed. Taut, lean muscles—all relaxed. This is the only occasion where I ever see her relax. The rest of the time, she is a helix of energy. A potential of action ready to erupt at a moment’s notice, springing her into motion and sending her bounding into the world to fight or flee.
Her brothers are the same way. All wiry and anxious and alert. My devilish grin turns even more devilish when I think of her siblings and how, if they could see what I see now—my sticky come leaking from their sister’s batty—they would lose their fokken minds.
It makes sense, them being the way they are. The childhoods they had. The lives they’ve led. In that regard, they remind me of Danny and Christine. It makes sense why they all are the way they are. In fact, the only one for whom the life he leads don’t make sense—is me. But that’s why I am who I am. I am the unique progeny of this universe, the lone creature on this planet who can live as I live and do as I do.
And whether or not that’s true… I choose to believe it.
Eliza rolls over on the bed, props herself on her elbows, and looks at me.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asks, her proper British accent having returned. It’s the voice that allows her access to all the fancy galas, and high-end homes she gets into. The ones that, once inside, she and her brothers rob blind like they was in some goddamn Tom Cruise movie. Five scruffy kids from just off the M25 who learned early on that the best way to get something you want in this life is, as they might say, “to fuckin’ nick it.”
“Thinking that I might just buy this place,” I tell her, looking around.
“Yeah?” she says, lifting her leg out to touch my cock with her toes. “Why’s that?”
I shrug. “Seems like a nice place to have. Quiet. Remote. Secluded. A good spot to lie low and recuperate.”