And that, out of everything that had happened since I showed up here last night, was the scariest thing of all. Because it was so deeply, particularly, exactly what I needed, and he just fucking knew.
I felt him slow. Release. Heard him snore.
Still holding me, still curled around me, his body between the whole world and me.
I turned, wriggled, twisted, and, accepted my place in this warm strange frightening little world—the little spoon. Accepted my place…
And hated both how right it felt, and how much I loved it and craved it, and hated how scared I was of feeling this way, hated that I was too afraid to do anything but be utterly paralyzed with fear.
When I woke again, I knew it was several hours later, judging by how stiff I was, and how disoriented, and by how much my soreness had receded.
I became aware, gradually, of Ink, still behind me, great chest at my back rising and falling with giant huffing breaths. Hot on my spine. Reassuringly steady.
He was hard, his cock standing ramrod stiff, and tucked between my buttocks.
I giggled, but under my breath. Ohhh my.
Flushed.
How easy would it be to just…slide him inside me?
Take him where I wanted him—deep. And how I wanted him—hard.
The urge to do exactly that was overpowering.
And that more than anything made me remember last night—how close he’d been to pouring all that hot wet cum inside me.
I’d wanted it.
But prudence had won—and he’d managed to control himself. I wasn’t sure anyone else could have, not with how close he’d been.
Finishing him the way I had—that’d been instinct. A need to give him the release he deserved, after all those mind-altering, drug-like, body-shattering orgasms.
He even tasted different. Better. More.
I would take him that away again in a heartbeat.
Considered it, right then.
But he stirred.
And I panicked. Couldn’t breathe for the sudden panic.
He’d want to talk. And if he talked, he’d get things out of me that I didn’t want to talk about.
I felt so conflicted at that moment. I wanted him desperately, hungrily, needily inside me, but I didn’t want to talk about the tears, the grief, the upset.
Thinking back on the past twelve hours I knew a few things for sure:
World? Rocked.
Pussy? Shattered.
Orgasms? Unforgettable.
Heart?
Ruined.
Fuck.
Fuck!
I wriggled out of his arms, carefully, silently. His breathing didn’t change. He didn’t move.
I stole down out of the loft. Found my clothes, strewn everywhere. Yanked my thong out of the tangled mess of my leggings, righted both, stuffed one leg and then the other into my underwear, tripped with them halfway on, because my leg was giving me hell.
“Fuck it,” I whispered, and kicked the stupid thong off, sat down bare ass on the floor and put my leggings on sitting down like a little girl. Shrugged the shirt on hastily, braless, and shoved my thong and bra into my purse. Which was a tiny little clutch only big enough for a credit card wallet and phone, so needless to say the undergarments didn’t really fit.
With one last glance up at the loft, my heart aching, I let myself out.
I wasn’t even sure why I was running, only that it was an instinctual, gut-deep urge. I knew it was wrong. I knew I would regret it. I knew I was hurting Ink.
But the panic and the confusion and the aching emptiness left in the wake of finally crying out all my residual shit, coupled with the need for Ink, the clinging clenching wringing gutting churning blossoming swelling heart-bursting EVERYTHINGNESS—all the hurricane-wild confusion of feelings I had for and because of and about Ink… was just too much.
So, like a foolish, self-sabotaging, tail-between-the-still-very-sore legs puppy, I ran away.
Ink
I’d known the moment she woke up the second time. The instant her breathing changed, I’d woken up. I kept my breathing even, and hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even opened my eyes. She’d frozen, lying stock-still, not even breathing.
My erection had been painful, more painful than any hard-on I’d ever had in my life, and it had been stuffed between her butt cheeks. For a moment, she’d feathered back against me, and I’d thought for a heady, dizzy moment that she would slide me inside her.
But she hadn’t.
She’d wriggled away.
My heart had dropped out of my chest, stupidly disappointed. I mean, if she hadn’t let me come inside her in the heat of a mutual orgasm, she wasn’t going to in the light of day, having just woken up, and completely lucid.
Clearly, she wasn’t on birth control, which was a little odd to me, but none of my business, clearly.
I had been meaning to ask about it when we woke up. I’d been intending to make coffee and eggs for us, and talk on my porch, wrapped up in blankets.
Maybe go out for condoms.
I hadn’t expected her to run.
When she was off the ladder, I’d silently angled over to peer down, one eye open, watching. She’d fallen over, and then just sat down, visibly struggling, frustrated. In pain—her leg was bothering her.
She got dressed, sort of.
Then she stood there, at my door, hand on the latch. Struggling.
Shoulders heaving.
Conflicted—the war of emotions written in every line, angle, and curve of her lithe, athletic body. Run, stay, run, stay.
She ran.
And it fucking hurt.
I mean, I got it, to a degree, why she chose to run. But it fucking cut me open like a razor blade slicing open the tender inner skin of my wrist.
God. I could see how conflicted she was. Shit, the way she’d cried last night had been gut-wrenching to hear. She’d cried for so long, and for so many things. Cried herself hoarse, and empty. Cried herself to sleep. The pain in her leg was part of it—but I wasn’t sure how it fit in.
Dance, and the absence of it?
Lack of purpose, perhaps. She’d been a dancer her whole life, it had been her singular goal. To dance.
Now it was gone. She’d said so, and had made it clear she had no clue what the fuck she was going to do with her life.
So there was that.
Then there was us—the Cassie and Ink combo.
Such a beautiful thing, her and me.
The way we’d been together last night had been utterly glorious. We’d understood each other perfectly, without needing to be told.
She had fit around me as if the earth mother and sky father had formed us to be one, always.
God, the feel of her, bare around me, gasping, panting, needing, it was burned into my memory.
I still had a hard-on of utterly agonizing magnitude.
Despite my emotional turmoil, I let myself think of Cassie. She’d given me permission to do this, so I gave myself permission. Thought of her, last night. On her knees in front of me, ass lifted as I buried into her. Writhing, mewling as I pierced her, penetrating deep.
In my imagination, though, she begged me for more. Begged me to let go. To fuck her harder.
But I couldn’t even imagine that, and it somehow morphed into her mouth around me, like she’d done last night after I’d wrenched myself away from her. Unexpected, and incredible. Sudden wet hot suction around me, and I’d just lost it.