She screams, her head flying back, her hair along with it. I smack her once more and set a punishing rhythm, holding on to her hips as I slice in and out, faster and faster, harder and harder. Our hips move as one, our skin tacky.
“This ass.”
“Smack it again.”
Holy hell. I smack her ass with each plunge in, rubbing it as I pull out, listening as she whimpers and moans and calls out to me and God. My dirty vixen is oblivious to what she’s unleashing inside me. My cock strokes in and out, the friction of taking her like this shooting explosions of pleasure up my spine. My breath is choppy, and I grip her hair, turning her face so I can capture her lips.
We’re sloppy, but she tastes so good, and I need more. Just more. I’ll never get enough of her. Not of the way she feels or the sounds she makes or how incredible she tastes. None of it. She’s my beginning, and she’ll be my end.
Unable to hold off much longer, I reach around, finding her slick clit and rubbing her in time with our thrusts. That’s when she loses it. Her body writhing, screaming, swearing. Her hands scraping down the door she’s barely clinging to. My other hand releases her hair and wraps around her stomach, holding her up, pressing her against me as she comes over and over, her pussy clenching my cock so tight I wheeze.
And when I can’t take it anymore, when her body sags, I come with a roar, my forehead dropping between her shoulder blades. Whole body shakes ripple through me as I still my hips and spill myself inside her, unable to care about the repercussions of that when I absolutely should. I already got one woman pregnant before I meant to, but this is different. I’m not a twenty-year-old boy. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man who wants to mark this woman with my cum.
Who wants to watch as it drips out of her.
I’m claiming her, no going back now.
I flip her around, press her into the door, and kiss her good, long, and hard. We’re both still breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, but I can’t get enough of her.
My forehead drops to hers. “How did this happen?”
“Are you asking about you storming into my house like a possessed demon, the mess we created, or the insanely hot sex we just had?”
I grin against her lips. “Yes. Come with me.” I lead her through her house, searching for the powder room. Her house is smaller than mine, and the powder room is easy to find just off the kitchen. I grab a clean hand towel and turn on the warm water, watching her reflection in the mirror, same as she’s doing with me.
Her face is red, her hair wild with tangles, but there’s a softness to her hazel eyes. A vulnerability I’m all too familiar with. I ring out the towel and then wipe between her legs, cleaning her up. She gives me a slightly embarrassed look, but I don’t care. I have to go soon, and I want to make sure she’s okay before I do that.
My lips meet the crook of her shoulder, and I tug her back against me. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” she retorts, and I nip at her flesh.
“No. But I think I will be.” I hope. I watch as her eyes close, her head falling back against me.
“Me too.”
“Can I draw you a bath before I clean up the glass and leave?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t.”
“It’s late. I’ll just shower after you leave.”
I drop the towel in the sink and wrap my arms around her, holding her against me. Feeling like I can do this. Feeling hope for the first time in so long. I thought about everything my father and Luca said. All through dinner. The entire ride home. While waiting for Elle’s date to return her home.
I’m saying fuck it, rolling the dice, and taking a chance. It’s terrifying, and the guilt I can’t help but feel threatens to overcome me, drag me down, and suffocate me. It feels impossible, but I won’t know if it truly is until I try.
And I want to do that with her.
“Are you upset I can’t stay?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I know you can’t, but I don’t know what this is and I’m honestly afraid not only to ask but of what the answer will be.”
“Because you want this to happen or because you enjoyed the sex but aren’t ready for more than that?”
“Yes,” she says, throwing my non-answer back at me.
I kiss a trail up her neck and hold her tighter to me. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at this. And if I said I wasn’t struggling, I’d be lying to you. So how about that’s the promise we make? No lying. We take each day as it comes, and we see how it goes.”
She breathes out a sigh. “I can do that.”
“Good.” I reach up and squeeze her tit that’s still out of her bra.
She laughs. “I was wondering when you’d notice that.”
“I never stopped noticing. I was just trying to be a gentleman and clean you up.”
“I think breaking furniture, slapping my ass, and screwing me against my closet door doesn’t quite speak to you being a gentleman.”
“A gentleman on the streets and a freak in the sheets, then?”
She laughs, spinning in my arms. “You’re getting cute with the jokes.” She reaches up and pecks my lips. “How about we go clean up that mess so you can get home to Stella.”
“She’s asleep. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Incidentally, I’d rather her not know what we’re up to.”
I get a small, jerky nod for that. The kind that tells me she has a lot on her mind. I do too, but I don’t leave her until I’ve cleaned up the mess we made, making sure every last piece of the broken mirror—thankfully most of it was in big pieces—is gone. She kisses me goodbye at the door, but it’s quiet and brief. And as I walk across the lawn back to my house, step inside, and lock the door behind me, setting the alarm and heading upstairs, I wonder if anything will ever feel normal again.
Elle feels right in a way I wasn’t prepared for. From the second I saw her, everything with her has been a struggle and a fight to resist. To the point where what happened tonight almost feels inevitable.
I’m hoping it’s the same for her.
That even though we’re a disaster in the making, we don’t end like one.
I stop in at Stella’s door, listening against the wood. It’s quiet, and I open it a crack, peeking in on her. Stella is on her side, sound asleep, tucked tightly under her mountain of blankets. I open the door wider and step inside, looking around.
I don’t come in here often. It’s Stella’s room, and she’s a thirteen-year-old girl who values her space and privacy. Her rainbow nightlight Layla bought her after Stella came out to her glows through the room, casting a warm, comforting light. I love that she has that. People who love her no matter what.
Stella’s walls are almost bare. In fact, other than her bookshelf filled with books, there isn’t much here. I bought this home because Reese loved it, loved how close to town it is, but I’ve always had dreams of building something for us. A fresh start I was never able to comprehend but have found myself sketching more and more of this dream house in the last few weeks.
Would that make Stella happy?
If I bought a big plot of land she can grow whatever she wants on? Help design and decorate her room however she likes? I cross the large bedroom, running my fingers over her hair.