I was hooked

I couldn’t stop.

Even as I drove home that night, I knew I was in too deep. The smart thing would have been to create some distance — especially after she dropped the “I’m moving closer” bomb and I’d encouraged it like an idiot.

But I was hooked.

The sex was too good. The way she let me fuck her raw, the way she moaned when I talked about breeding her, the way she’d looked lying there with a pillow under her ass after I came in her… it was addictive. Every time I thought about pulling back, I’d remember how she felt wrapped around my cock or how shameless she was on that beach, and I’d cave.

We started seeing each other even more after that.

Almost every weekend. Sometimes during the week too. She’d send me photos or voice notes during the day and I’d end up at her place (or she’d come to mine once she got the keys to the new rental). We fucked constantly — in her bed, on her couch, in the shower, against the kitchen counter. I came inside her every single time.

The overdue implant conversation never really went away. It hung between us like an unspoken thrill. Every time I filled her up, we both knew there was a real chance something could happen.

And I still didn’t stop.

If anything, it made me want her more.

One night, after I’d just cum deep inside her for the third time that evening, she looked at me with that lazy, satisfied smile and said:

“You’re not getting tired of me yet?”

I should have said something smart. Something that protected me.

Instead I kissed her and answered honestly.

“Not even close.”