Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

feeling. He’s stretching me wide, filling me one beautiful inch at a time. And this angle makes it feel incredible. His hands grip my ass and he spreads my cheeks apart, letting out a long breath.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Fuck, you feel good, Ivy. So good.”

I throw the pillow aside and press my face against the mattress as he takes me slowly, his fingers prodding at my other hole. He adds that pressure again, the medium pressure that sent me over the edge the last time he did it. I make a sound at the feeling, and he knows what it does to me.

“I’m going to fuck this hole,” he promises. “When you’re ready, Ivy, there’s nothing I won’t do to you.”

Chills break out along my body at his words.

Aidan’s bare chest presses against my back now. He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs it sharply as he moves. He kisses along my shoulder, such an affectionate touch despite the dominating position.

It’s too much, the sensation, the pressure of him inside me, the angle that reaches impossibly far, but I hate when he’s not inside me. I hate the feeling of not having his skin touching mine. I’m growing dangerously addicted to Aidan West, even while that hidden part of me is screaming to slow down, to calm down, to focus on myself and my emotions before it all gets too much.

I don’t listen.

I shut my eyes and push against his cock, loving that he needs me as desperately as I do him.

His other hand moves under me and cups my breast, swallowing it whole. He holds it tight as he slams into me, his breaths coming out in fast, hard pants.

He whispers my name, “Ivy,” and it sounds so loving, so filled with emotion as he comes hard inside me.

*

“I want to know what your tattoos mean,” I say groggily, my head resting against his chest. He’s sort of sitting up against the headboard, but not quite. He’s in a lazy position and I’m lazing over him.

The bathroom light is on, offering a light glow in the room. I can see him clearly. We’re both shattered, sweaty despite the cool temperature. We’ve taken each other nonstop and I don’t see an end in sight.

His heart beats steadily in my ears as he asks, “Which one do you want to know about, baby?”

I tap on the beautiful one my face is pressed against. “This one. The gears and the clock, it’s beautiful.”

“I can’t remember most of them,” he explains. “I got them when I was high as fuck, but…I know this one. I’m racing against the clock here. I’m sending a message to myself. I’m saying that time is running out and I have to change before it’s too late.”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “What exactly got you into such a hole, Aidan? Drugs just bury a pain that’s already there, right?”

“Just a rough childhood, Ivy. I’ve been fucked up for as long as I can remember.” He sighs slowly. “My parents were always in trouble. Prison was a revolving door for them. Our house had nothing. I remember stealing an old television set from a garbage tip, thinking if I could somehow make it work maybe Alex would stop crying.” He let out a dry laugh. “I was nine.”

“How old was Alex?”

“A baby.”

“Did the television work?”

“Yeah, I got it working for a solid five minutes before my old man found me hooking it up and sold it at a pawn shop for ten dollars. But before he did he looked at me like, ‘okay, this fucker can be useful after all.’ Sent me out to look through scraps every day when I came home from school.”

“Jesus, Aidan.”

He shrugs. “I’m not trying to feed you a sob story, Ivy –”

“No, I know that.”

“But that’s the kind of shit I grew up around. You know, they drank their lives away, snorted their shit. My dad overdosed when I was twelve, and my mom was sick with lung cancer. Was a shitty, shitty end for her. Thankfully by then we were with Ruth anyways. They lost their custody of us for a long time.”

“Your grandmother was there early on then.”

“Yeah.”

“She helped?”

“She did what she could, Ivy, but I was way lost by then.”

“Got into the wrong crowd, you mean?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I was the filthy garbage boy. I had no social circle, except Steven, but only because he was from the same shitty neighborhood as me. We coasted together. He’s Polish, family were fresh immigrants, but they were good to him, and they were good to me. We got buried in technology because his dad was right into it. Got acquainted with programming and that’s how it all started, us fucking around in his dad’s shitty basement man-cave. When I say it was too late, I mean I closed myself off from an early age. I didn't allow anyone to get through to me, as awkward and pathetic as I was.”

I listen intently, trying to envision him as a kid. “You weren't pathetic, Aidan. I’d like to see pictures of you that young.”

“I looked like a scrawny nerd.”

“Oh, please.”

“Well, I was.” He smiles faintly as he reminisces. “I loved my comic books, loved to read and game and fuck around anywhere that wasn’t out there in the real world. Was easier to bury my head in something than have to integrate in a social scene around a bunch of snobby little shits who took great joy in making me miserable. Growing up was fucking rough.”

I draw circles on his chest, curious. “How the hell did that awkward boy become the Asshole of the East, the arrogant man with a slew of women under his belt –”

“I fake it,” he interrupts quickly, peering down at me now with solemn eyes. “It’s a mask, Ivy. I pretend. It’s all I know.”

I move my hand to his face and brush my fingers over him. “Take it off,” I urge