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“In my desk.”
“Can you hold on while I get one? I don’t want you to die on me.”
Now she’s laughing, patting my shoulder where it’s got to be red, she hit me so hard. “Hurry.”
I’m already up and moving, yanking at the boot laces I’ve managed to tangle up so bad, but there’s no hope for them so I just pull the fucking thing until it comes off, nearly dislocating my ankle in the process.
I take off my socks, and I can feel the music in my bare feet.
The condom’s where she said, where I keep mine in my own desk at the apartment, and it strikes me in the chest like it means something, but I don’t stop to think about what that might be. I sit down on the edge of the bed, condom in hand, looking at her spread out on top of the covers like every fantasy I ever had.
I jerk myself a few times because it hurts and I can’t not.
She sits up, replaces my hand with hers, pulls on me fast and tight so that I lose whatever I had left of a brain and turn into an animal.
“Lie down,” I tell her, and it’s an order, my voice so low, so violent I barely recognize it. She doesn’t object. She seems to know what it means, which is just that I want her so bad I can’t talk or think or do anything but roll that condom on fast, get my hands under her ass, push inside her and yank her onto me at the same time, graceless and fast, hard enough to shut her mouth with a snap of teeth.
“Get your arms up,” I tell her. “Hold on.”
She scoots back, and I keep moving after her, moving my knees up as she’s coming to a half-reclined position so she can find a grip on the top of the headboard behind her. Then she’s got a hold and I’ve got her, my arms braced and gripping oak, her legs around me and squeezing into my hips, her pussy clenching, her tits bouncing with every thrust.
I’ve got her moaning under me, got the smell of her, the sounds of her, like nothing else.
Like no other woman I’ve known, nothing I’ve had, no one like Caroline.
I’ve got her, but I can’t stop chasing after her. We fuck fast and rough, and I don’t know if it’s what she needs, but I can’t do it any other way. If I slow down, stop to savor it, stop to think—I can’t.
There’s no way but this way.
There’s no one in the world but me and her, her pink nipples, her pussy, her lips and her eyes and her hair, the creaking bed and her bucking hips.
I’m fixated on her white knuckles lined up next to mine, clenching and releasing in rhythm. That’s where I’m looking when she tightens up, and I’m surprised by the sound she makes, the way it breaks over her face.
That’s all it takes to push me over—Caroline coming, the most erotic sight I know. Fluttering hot pleasure rushes through me everywhere, wrings me out, wrecks me for anything but her warm, soft body and my forehead against her temple, my mouth on her cheek, on her shoulder, resting on her neck.
Then we’re breathing.
Our hearts are racing, bodies cooling, the music pounding into the floorboards but its urgency pointless now, because we’re here.
Finally.
Here is where we were going—naked and touching each other everywhere, soft, vulnerable, together.
I’m smiling into her neck, thinking this is the best monumentally stupid thing I’ve ever done while drunk, when I hear another noise out of Caroline that doesn’t sound like laughter.
Sounds like crying.
I don’t move. Not until I feel her hands at my shoulders, pushing me.
Shoving me away.
“Get off, okay?” Her eyes are swimming. She shoves me again. “Please, get off, I can’t …”
“I will, I swear, baby, hold up,” I say, because I’ve got to grab the condom or we’ll have a mess on our hands. When I’ve got it secured, I pull out, sit up.
She turns her back to me.
I can see every bump in her spine.
