“No, it’s going away,” I whisper back, looking up at him and meeting his molten eyes.
His thick frown ripples. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Just kiss me.”
He studies my face for a beat, maybe to see if I mean my words, and when he’s satisfied, he gives me what I want.
He kisses me.
In the exact opposite way of how he entered my body, breached my virgin hole.
He kisses me softly and tenderly and wetly. And hungrily too.
And I shiver in his arms, suddenly all achy.
All restless and hungry, just like him, and I’m the one who makes the next move then. I’m the one who shifts on his lap because I want more. Because I want him, and of course he senses that.
He gets that my pain is slowly receding and to help me along, he brings his fingers back to my clit. He rubs it in slow circles, all the while kissing me as he moves under me as well.
He starts with slow, gentle pumps, languid and lazy. They heat up my blood and my skin. They fog up the windows with my gasps and moans.
They make my pussy leak too.
She cries for him like he told me she would and eases the way for his cock.
Suddenly his pumps have become shorter. His thrusts have become faster and so freaking good that I push back against him.
I moan into his mouth, fist his hair and twist my hips, rock them in time with his pounding cock.
I can feel the air growing hot, growing musky and thick. I can feel his abdomen bunching up and tightening under me, feel the muscles of his thighs.
I can even hear them slapping against my butt as he kisses me and plays with my clit.
And the fact that we’re moving so fast, that I’m humping him and he’s giving it to me, is causing his Mustang to shake, to move as well, puts me on the edge.
It actually pushes me over the edge.
The shaking car, the foggy windows, the rain, his kisses and him.
And I come.
My pussy convulses around his cock and a feeling the likes of which I’ve never experienced washes over me. I arch my back and throw back my neck as I grab hold of the roof and moan so loudly.
Even in this mindless moment, I know what it is.
I know what this feeling is as I rock my hips in his lap. It’s relief.
It’s more than relief. It’s euphoria.
It’s the feeling of being in his arms as I burst, after two long years, and I whisper, “God, Reed.”
The moment I say his name proves to be his tipping point.
That proves to be the push he needed to jump off the cliff and he comes as well.
But instead of being all relieved like I was, he grows even more alert. He jerks away from me. He even pushes me up and over him so he can whip his dick out.
As soon as he does, I feel lashes of his warm cum on my trembling pussy and my thighs. I feel his entire body shuddering and trembling around me and I hug him like he hugged me when I needed his warmth.
I hug him tightly.
I hug him goodbye as he finishes what he started two years ago.
And he kisses me. On the forehead, tenderly, gently as he comes down from his high.
Like he also did two years ago.
There’s blood on my thighs. On my dick.
Dried and brownish.
Only a few small spots, nothing big. Nothing that would draw my eyes to them.
But I’m looking at them now.
Back at my hotel room, as I step into the shower, I’m looking at these spots as the water washes them away. As the water swallows the dark red color. As it goes down the drain.
For a second I don’t get it.
I don’t fucking get it.
But then I know.
Like a jolt to my system, I fucking know. I fucking remember.
Her impossible tightness, the struggle to get in, her shocked breaths and jerks. Her tears.
That burned my skin when they fell on me.
She lied.
She lied to me tonight. She lied.
And that burning, that pain I’d felt when she cried because of me, because I’d physically hurt her with my callousness, comes back.
A severe, massive pain. The likes of which I’ve never experienced before.
And I’m quite adept at dealing with it.
It comes with the territory of being an athlete. You spend most of your life hurting, nursing one injury after another. Icing, bandaging, elevating, walking it off.
Just because I don’t play soccer anymore doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.
But there’s not just pain, there’s anger too, and I’ve never felt this kind of an anger before either.
Anger at my own fucking self for not figuring it out sooner, for not figuring it out in the moment, and I’m quite an expert in handling anger as well.
Asshole father, remember?
I wasn’t lying to her when I told her that yes, it hurt like a mother when he asked me to give up soccer in exchange for her freedom and come work for him. It made me angry too, furious, that I was so close to winning, so close to showing him once and for all that he wouldn’t control me.
But it didn’t make me as angry as I was when I found out my father’d got his evil clutches into her.
And it didn’t make me as angry as I am right now.
As angry as I get when I think of something else.
I didn’t have a condom on me.
She pissed me the fuck off, made my blood burn with jealousy and I wasn’t thinking straight, all right?
I wasn’t thinking about anything other than getting inside of her body, erasing that goddamn son of a bitch, and it didn’t occur to me that I was bare. Not until I was already inside of her. Not until I was already coming and I pulled out.
I know I pulled out. I fucking know that but…
But what if that wasn’t enough?
What if…
Jesus Christ.
The whole drive back from St. Mary’s, I kept thinking that that was it. That tonight would be the last time. That I’d give her what she wanted. It didn’t even make sense, me going there. The video is done.
If she wants to fall for someone, she can fucking fall for someone.
And she better pray that I don’t ever find out who he is.
Because if I do, I will murder him. I will kill him just for breathing the same air as her.
That’s what I do in my thoughts. When I picture her with someone. When I torture myself with the possibility that she might’ve moved on. That she’s giving her sweet smiles to someone else. That she’s fucking dancing for someone else.
But fuck it all now.
Fuck what she wants.
If she wanted me to stay away, she shouldn’t have lied. She shouldn’t have angered me, made me furious enough to hurt her like that. To make her bleed over my dick, my thighs.
To not only hurt her but to get inside her all bare, all thoughtless.
So fuck what she wants.
I’m seeing her again.
There’s something wrong with me.
For the first few days I try to deny it.
I try to deny that I’m sad. I try to deny that I cry in my pillow at night. That I can’t sleep or focus. And that I’m just bone tired.