12: Clement.

God, she’s beautiful when she sleeps. Her long, blonde hair is in disarray on the pillows, her mouth in a pouting bow. Nicholas’s fingers are still curled around some strands of her hair, as if he passed out in the process of bringing it toward his nose for a sniff. The swells of her sweet, young tits rest on my chest, her nipples lost in my chest hair. I’ve got a hard-on to beat the fucking band. It’s pressed in between Dasha’s belly and my own, begging for her pussy, but no way I’m taking her again tonight. She’s worn out, still covered in our come and definitely sore.

I told myself I’d take her with more care. Didn’t happen that way, though. She gives me feverlust, this girl. When she’s in that take-me-take-me state, like earlier tonight, control is futile. Lord, she accepted me so good in that tight body, milking me dry until I fucking collapsed. She’s more incredible than anything I could have imagined—and while I’m still not fucking happy about sharing her with another man, I’m