Chapter 59 I Want to Pee

There was too much flowing down her below, wetting a large area of the bedsheet. Abby had arranged for the sex room, and Maggie didn't think much of it at the time, nor did she feel comfortable asking too many questions afterward. Now she caught her breath and, with a dry mouth, said, "Aren't you going to take it out?"
Harold's muscular body was fully exposed, closely pressed against hers. His fingers ventured between her legs, parting the delicate flesh, exploring and probing deeper into her entrance. His fingertips stirred and scraped against the sticky liquid inside. There was a hot breath in his laughter, so fiery that it made Maggie's ears tingle. "You've been eating so much."
"Did I willingly do it?"
The moist and pliable passage felt comfortable from the friction. Harold had been to military academy, had operated firearms for four years, and at the peak of physical fitness, had won two consecutive championships in the decathlon. He had spent day after day holding cigarettes with his fingertips, grinding out tough calluses that were rough, coarse, and solid. Maggie felt heat, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She gently twisted her hips, accommodating him.
"Go deeper, make it all come out..."
She held a pure and intense face, which was the unconscious intoxicated state of tasting desire after being satisfied.
With tiny red marks on his chest, his nipples shimmered with water, swollen and captivating. Harold's member, still partially erect and discolored, stood beneath his thick pubic hair, soaked in fluids and outlined by the light, still fierce and savage.
Squinting her eyes, Maggie felt the thick essence flowing from her body to the base of her legs as Harold pressed his powerful shaft into her recklessly once again.
Caught off guard, the magnificent tingling sensation made Maggie's bones feel like jelly. She screamed, clinging to his hot and solid chest, whimpering and crying. Being fucked by him was delightful. Her tender, soft, and tight hole tightly wrapped around him, sealing them up like airtight packaging. It was so wonderful that it felt like her internal organs were melting.
Harold's iron-like body turned into dry wood, easy to get fired. He lifted Maggie's slim, white legs and hanging them in his arms; she was afraid of falling, so her arms tightly wrapped around his neck, pressed against a large mirror embedded in the wall.
The mirror was cold, sending shivers down her spine, while the naked and strong man on top of her, robust and unexpected, burned into her lungs and bones.
Maggie felt like she was in heaven and hell at the same time, with her legs wide open, being ravished by a gusty storm. His scrotum slapped against her buttocks, making a loud and crashing sound.
Her voice was hoarse, and her bones were numb. The numbness felt endless. Her breasts rubbed against his chest from top to bottom, itching and stimulating, creating a bright and fiery color. Maggie's lower abdomen convulsed and twitched, crying, her face flushed, and her intimate area soaked, becoming even more delicate and pink.
Harold, being squeezed by her contracting hole, made his veins bulge one by one. He bit her shoulder and let out a muffled roar, "Do you want to squirt?"
"I want to pee..." Her voice trembled from enduring so much. Not only were their intimate parts tightly pressed together, but the sensitive pearl on her flesh was continuously rubbed and swollen. The pleasure from her cerebral cortex was more intense than an electric shock. Urine gushed out, hitting the ground, flowing over Harold's groin area, and creating a hot and wet sensation on the inside of his thighs.
Harold froze, his eyes filled with the burning and excited fierceness of a predator. The scent of a female's lust mixed with the full fragrance of the room stimulated the male, doubling its aphrodisiac effect.
Harold's big palm hooked into her wet buttock crease, his spine arched, his sweaty muscles congested and swollen, thrusting like a battle, his sturdy thigh muscles tensing and flexing.
In a dazed state, Maggie's mind had become blank. The overwhelming waves crashed over her, splashes flying, her whole body disintegrating, surrendering, crushed, and forgetting everything. She almost drowned in this ultimate wave of desire, with the scorching hot thick essence spraying onto her face like blossoming white flowers. Unable to catch her breath, she didn't even have the strength to wipe it away.
When she woke up, the sun was high in the sky, and the window displayed a pristine blue sky, as if the sea had turned upside down.
Maggie got up and realized that the intimate room had been transformed into a spacious and bright suite, decorated in black, white, and gray.
The wooden floor was spotless, and Harold was on the phone, entering through the hallway, holding a drink from the hotel's special supply.
He shaved his stubble, wearing a black shirt and black trousers, while the bright sunlight enveloped his deep eyebrows and eyes, radiating a sense of vigor. Maggie finished washing up, and he finished his phone call as well.
"Was it the State that urged you to go back?"
There was mushroom soup in the breakfast, with a mild flavor that suited her taste. Last night was exhilarating, exhausting all her energy. Maggie was hungry, but her mind was not focused on the soup at all.
Harold checked the messages, making sure he didn't miss any replies, before raising his gaze, "There are no instructions from the State, so where do you plan to go today?"
"Can we go take pictures at the beach?"
Harold had no objections. He had agreed to come to V City with her, but was delayed by work, leaving her hanging for a day. He said, "It is up to you."
Maggie smiled and dragged out her suitcase, starting to change clothes and put on makeup. He sat on the sofa and moved to the dining table to find a cigarette. The cigarette box was buried among the bottles and jars she brought, and under various sizes of makeup boxes. Once he found it, he resisted the urge to light it. He lazily leaned against the back of the chair and said, "Let's go later."
Maggie, who was focused on doing her eyebrows, paused her movements and asked, "Why?"
"It's too sunny." Harold glanced outside where the bright sun was shining down. "White pearls might turn into black pearls under this sun."
Maggie couldn't help but chuckle. "I used to be tan too. As a journalist, I had to report on scenes rain or shine. Two years ago, there was a flood in a county town and I had to do an interview standing in water. I soaked for two hours and my skin was all wrinkled and swollen from an allergic reaction for a month."
Harold held her and sat her on his lap. "Is that so?"
She thought he didn't believe her. She held onto his neck. "I wrote that article, it was published in the city newspaper. Sir, haven't you read the newspaper?"
"What did you call me?" Harold squinted his eyes, lifted her skirt, and slapped her buttocks hard, so hard that it made her tailbone tingle.
Maggie's eyes became watery. "Secretary of Williams..."
These few words represented his power and status, to his superiors, colleagues, subordinates. They made it serious and rigid. But none of them had the flavor that she said the words.
Harold felt heat, and greedily kissed her brows, eyes, and corners of her mouth. Under his lips and tongue, it felt like there was a hidden flame, igniting with just a touch, burning her half to death. Even her breathing carried the scent of smoke and aftershave. It was intense, mesmerizing, and unforgettable.
Maggie couldn't resist, so she jumped out of his arms. "I'm hungry and craving seafood."
Without a second word, Harold took her to an oceanfront restaurant, and after dinner, they even planned to watch a movie. They didn't finish watching it. Maggie could tell that he wasn't interested in this kind of thing. She quietly whispered a discussion about a few well-known young actors, but he bluntly admitted that he didn't know them, being old-fashioned. He left halfway through the movie.
The sun set on the beach, casting Harold's long shadow. Maggie hid behind him to avoid the sun. Harold had a tall and sturdy build, rarely seen among the men Maggie had met before. He made some concessions and didn't walk too fast. She didn't bother looking at the road and simply followed him to the left or the right, stepping on his shadow as she walked.
The sand dunes were soft, and Maggie took a step into the air and bumped her forehead against his back. She held her head in pain. Harold threw the flip-flops he was holding at her feet and reprimanded, "Put on your shoes and walk properly."
She didn't pay attention to his scolding, instead looking towards the coastline. "How much longer until we get there? My legs are sore."
He bent down and patted her sand-covered knees, repeating what he had said, "Put on your shoes and walk faster. If you fall, you'll cry."
She retorted, "I didn't cry since I graduated from high school."
"Nonsense," Harold frowned, "You cried fiercely every time in bed."
Maggie felt defeated, her face blushing. "It's for you."
"Hmm."
She was wearing a white dress with a neckline that accentuated her elegant figure, with a few barely noticeable crisscrossed straps on her back. Every inch of exposed fair skin was perfectly displayed, appealing to his liking.
A tulip was no longer in her ear. Harold reached out and flicked it, "Where did this come from?"
"A lady passing by gave it to me, fake flowers. Do I look tacky?"
Harold wiped off a few beads of sweat on her forehead, still not satisfied, he pinched her chin and observed, "No, it's beautiful."
Being complimented, she felt happy. Her eyes curved, and the sunlight made her fair skin glow, with a halo surrounding her. A charming mole adorned her face, making her more radiant than any flower.
Maggie looked up and asked, "Could we find an opportunity to take a photo together?"
Most men didn't like to take photos, especially Harold, who was rigid and formal. Their relationship, from inception to blossoming, was sensitive to him. As he excelled in his career and had a reputation to maintain, he had to be cautious of countless people trying to hinder and surround him.
Maggie had seen an old photo of him in the study of Villa No. 2, taken in front of Havenport Building.
It was a bitterly cold winter day with the road covered in white snow.
He was in his early twenties, wearing a brownish-yellow flight jacket with a fur collar, leaning against a red flag sedan.
His skin was darker than it was now, his features more mature, with white teeth shining when he smiled and deeper eye sockets with fine lines at the corners.