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I love it.
I love him more now than I ever have. And that’s saying something. I didn’t think it was possible to want someone more than I wanted Abel. To admire a man, and fantasize about him, as much as I admired Abel.
But here I am, falling deeper in love. As Abel pushes my physical limits, the pressure almost unbearable, he’s pushing the limits of my capacity to contain the things that I’m feeling.
I am bursting at the seams. The fullness between my legs—that’s pleasure on a whole different plane. It’s like the sex I’ve been having is two-dimensional, but this is 3D, ripples of pleasure coursing through every inch of my body.
And my chest feels like it’s being pried open, the pressure in my heart too much to bear. Nothing about my old self—her misbeliefs, her disappointments, her hesitations—fits inside me anymore.
There is enormous relief in that.
Abel continues to sink inside me slowly. The pain is still there, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did the first time. Pleasure quickly overtakes the discomfort as he begins to rock his hips.
I rock the vibrator in time to him. White spots dot my vision.
“Look at you, fucking yourself.” He reaches inside my shirt and cups my breast through my bra. “Giving yourself what you want. I’m so proud of you, baby.”
“I’m—proud of us.”
His smile retreats into his eyes. “Me too.”
A beat later, my orgasm rockets through me, my hips punching off the bed.
I can’t breathe.
“I love you,” I manage.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
Abel makes a guttural sound and he comes too, falling on top of me as we ride out the wave together.
“I love you too, baby,” he whispers against my lips.
I really can’t believe Abel is really, truly in love with me. The way I’ve been in love with him. Both of us hurting.
I don’t want to hurt anymore.
Abel, being the secret sweetheart he is, cleans us up in the shower. When I reach for my pajamas, he tosses one of his clean T-shirts at me.
“I want you to wear this to bed from now on.”
I bring it to my nose. Smells like detergent. And him. “I don’t hate it, Abel.”
“No panties.”
“Obviously.”
He’s drying off his crotch as I say this. When he drops the towel, I see that he’s getting hard again.
“I love you, but I think I need a minute,” I say.
Another movie star smile. “I love you, but does your mouth need a minute?”
“Does yours?”
“It doesn’t, no.”
