In Love With My Bully-Chapter 119: Let’s Make It Count

"That gives us twenty-nine minutes to fuck," he said, breathless, letting her push him down onto the cushions.

Drake’s back hit the plush sofa with a soft thud, the wind barely knocked out of him, though he didn’t mind one bit. His shirt was halfway off, his hair slightly disheveled from Queen’s impatient fingers. The countdown had begun—not just on the clock, but on his sanity.

She climbed onto his lap. "Let’s make it count," she said.

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, trailing over his abs. Drake reached for her hips.

But then—just as their mouths were about to crash into each other, he froze.

"Wait!" he said, hands halting her movement mid-grind. "I just remembered something. So, coming outside you sucks—really—and for some reason, I never get around to getting protection. So..." His words trailed off awkwardly as he watched her reaction.

Queen smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. His brows pulled together as if they were trying to build a bridge to understanding.

"I’m on the pill. My mum put me on it since she found out I was active," she said with a shrug, as casual as one might talk about dinner plans.

Drake sat up straighter. "Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?"

Queen bit her lip, fighting back a grin that only made her look guiltier. "It’s kinda hot when you do it," she confessed, trailing her fingers slowly down his chest. "I love to see your frustration and that grunt just before you pull out? Sexy. Turns me on all over again."

He stared at her, aghast. "You... you... you’re a witch," he said, but there was no real heat behind the accusation—just resignation.

Queen leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I’m your witch."

He growled—an actual, feral sound—and pulled her into him. But in his rush to reclaim dominance, he miscalculated.

With one swift motion and an embarrassing lack of spatial awareness, he flipped them both off the couch. They tumbled to the ground. Legs flailed.

Drake lay half-crushed beneath her, groaning in pain and pleasure. "This was not how I imagined seducing you. I was going for sleek and dominant."

Queen snorted, her head resting against his shoulder. "You landed on me. Very dominant."

They dissolved into giggles, tangled in each other, surrounded by fallen cushions.

Drake entered inside her. His body stiffened as pleasure surged through him, and he shut his eyes tightly to mentally hold onto the feeling before the world came crashing back. His hands gripped her waist.

Queen didn’t waste time. She wrapped her legs around his hips and grabbed his buttocks with a firm, greedy grip. Her nails bit into his skin, and she pulled him in deeper, driving him to the hilt with a breathy moan. He slid effortlessly, her arousal making every stroke a sinful glide.

She bit her lip, suppressing the noises bubbling in her throat, but her body betrayed her—it writhed, rolled, moved. She met his thrusts with rhythmic defiance. "Harder, Drake..."

That single plea snapped the last string of control he had. He drove into her with a newfound intensity, his body jerking with every desperate, delicious movement.

"Fuck! I love you!" freewёbnoνel.com

The words tumbled out of his mouth. The second they slipped out, he realized what he’d done.

They both stilled.

Queen blinked at him, eyes wide. "What?" she said.

Drake sighed. "Well, shit."

There it was—the cat, the bag, the mess. Out. Sprawled on the floor. Since the moment this marriage farce had begun, since they entered into holy matrimony with zero holiness and lots of champagne, he knew something would eventually crack. The sex had only made it worse—or better, depending on the angle. Honeymooning had turned into a honeymoon of moans, and somewhere between hotel bedposts and fake wedding smiles, he’d realized the truth was boiling.

"I do," he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her flushed face. "I always have."

Queen stared at him.

The ice that usually encased her heart cracked. "I didn’t know that," she whispered, as though afraid the truth might vanish if she spoke too loudly.

"Well," Drake smirked, trying to lighten the mood before she emotionally combusted. "Emotions were never your forte."

Queen snorted, which was her version of melting. Her hands were still tangled in his hair, her legs still wrapped around him. "It’s nice to hear," she said, soft and steady.

Drake began to move again. He moved harder, deeper, pivoting.

Their bodies tangled again in movement, but now, every thrust carried a heartbeat. Every sigh meant something.

Maybe later they’d talk.

But right now?

They had thirteen minutes left.

Queen cried out, the sound ripping from her throat. Her body convulsed under him, every nerve sparking, her toes curling, her thighs trembling. It was overwhelming, soul-shaking.

Drake felt her walls tighten around him and nearly lost it. But instead of riding the edge with her, he reached between their sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding the tender spot where they were joined. He rubbed slow circles, drawing out her release.

Queen whimpered, her nails raking down his back as another ripple of pleasure caught her off guard, dragging her back up before she’d even fully come down. Her body bucked beneath him, her eyes glazed. "Drake... please... oh god."

His answer came in the form of a wicked grin and a low, gravelly grunt as he continued his deep, relentless rhythm. "You like that dick, babe?" he asked.

"Fuck, yes! Fuck me!" she begged.

He shifted position, grabbing her legs and pulling them up in front of him. Her thighs trembled as he got on his knees, adjusting her so he could go even deeper. Her eyes rolled back at the first thrust. He held her ankles, her legs spread wide, exposed and open for him, and he gave her exactly what she asked for—hard, deep, deliberate thrusts that had them both on the brink.

The sound of skin slapping, the raw moans, the heat, the confessions—all of it reached a fever pitch.

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