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I collapsed on Paine's shoulder with growl/whimper hybrid.
"Lift up," Paine said, his voice sex-rough. I lifted up a bit and he started thrusting upward into me, his pace quick, but not overly rough, the position limiting him. I pulled off his chest on a moan and his hand curled further into my neck. "You need me to take over, tell me baby," he told me gently as he kept his perfect, relentless pace, drawing my orgasm back out of hiding. His free hand left my ass and slid between us, finding my clit and starting to work it in slow, hard circles that made my walls tighten hard around him. "You gonna come for me?" he asked, eyes holding mine and I wanted to take that moment: him inside me, his hands on me, his eyes pinning mine, I wanted to take it and freeze it, have it forever.
"Yes," I whimpered, rocking my hips back and forth as he kept thrusting up into me, making his cock rub over my G-spot at every turn.
"Squeeze my cock. Let me feel you come," he demanded then his finger did another circle, his cock did another thrust and my hips did another rock and I did. Hard. My body jerked almost violently as I fell forward against him, my legs shaking too hard to hold my weight.
Paine grabbed my hips, pulling up, then slamming down, burying deep and I could feel his cock jerk inside me, his hot come filling me.
I turned my face into his neck, kissing him just below the ear.
"You don't like being on top, Elsie, tell me."
"I like it," I said into his skin, taking deep breaths to take in his unique spicy scent. "I just suck at it. I get too wrapped up to remember to... move," I said with a silent laugh.
"Got it," he said in a way that made me pretty sure he was cataloging that fact to remember for a later date. I liked that about him too; when I talked, he seemed to genuinely listen. Again maybe a trait he got from growing up around so many women. I actually found myself really excited to meet them all, silently thank them all for the man they helped create. I was really enjoying him after all.
"Alright, off," he said gently, squeezing my ass with both hands.
"I'm comfortable," I objected, snuggling in further for good measure.
"Like that you feel that way baby, but I'm gonna be leaking out of you."
I cringed slightly and nodded. "Right," I said, carefully climbing off of him and hastily closing my robe as I tried to rush out of the room to clean up without said leaking happening too badly.
By the time I came back out, the food was on the kitchen island. "Are we ever going to use the dining table?" I asked, realizing for the first time that I had literally never used it before.
"So I can sit three feet away from you? No thanks."
And, well, that was a good point.
At dinner, he asked me questions and I talked. He occasionally weighed in, especially when we got onto the topic of my father. In bed, both of us realizing we apparently weren't going to be using the bed for sex often, we snuggled. This time, I asked questions and he talked.
He was surprisingly open about his past, never sparing any gory details, never trying to hide the kind of man he was once, the things he had done. I liked that. It was refreshing. Most 'normal' men hid, evaded, hinted at things but didn't explain, or outright lied even though what they had to hide or evade or lie about was nothing big. Paine's history was big, but he shared. It was like it never even occurred to him to be anything other than forthright.
I fell asleep on the tail-end of a story about him and Enzo playing pranks on Enzo's mom, lulled by the smooth, quiet tone of his voice, his warm chest, his strong arm around me, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear, excited to figure out what picture notes I would wake up to in the morning.FifteenElsieThree things happened the next day.
First, I woke up to more picture notes.
Second, I had a relatively normal Wednesday at work. Meaning I worked hard for about four-point-five hours then kinda fell off and lost my steam and spent time around the metaphorical water cooler.
Third, I was kidnapped.
But back to the first thing.
I woke up like I expected to, in my blanket cocoon, smiling like a fool, feeling a warmth spreading across my chest that I knew, if things went south, was going to hurt like nothing before. On my nightstand wasn't a drawing of where he was or what he was doing; it seemed we had established that he spent his mornings at the gym then went to work. Instead, it was a drawing of... me. I wasn't sure exactly what moment he used for inspiration because the picture cut off at the neck, not showing any clothing, but it truly was an exact, perfect sketch of my face. He drew me with a smile, but not a full one, no teeth, just a turning up of lips that made the corners of my eyes crinkle the tiniest bit. My hair was a little mussed like I had just run a hand through it and it settled in slight disarray.
