“Mina, it’s okay,” he says and he bends down and kisses the corner of one eye and then the other. “I’m here.”
His words are so soft and light, like bubbles floating up into the sky, but they crush me. They weigh down on me with such force I lose my breath. He doesn’t get it. And honestly, neither do I.
“Just relax,” he says and his strokes slow to a stop. I can tell he’s waiting for me to look at him, so even though it feels dangerous, I do. “Please just relax. Just let go.”
“I don’t… I don’t know how,” I say honestly holding his eyes.
We stay like that for a long moment. Our eyes searching each other, challenging and seeking.
“Hey Google,” Charlie suddenly says looking across at the other bedside table where, out of the corner of my eye, I see something light up. “PlayFly Awayby Lenny Kravitz.”
“What are you doing?”
“A week ago, I was listening to Lenny Kravitz on repeat, thinking about us head-banging toAre You Going to Go My Wayand when this song came on, I imagined us fucking to it,” he says.
“Okay,” I say slowly, not quite connecting the dots although I have to agree it’s a great song to fuck to.
“Because even though I understand that you don’t want to let go, to hand over control, I think part of you needs to. You’re safe, Mina. You’re safe here with me.”
“I’m never completely safe, Charlie. I’m not at home. I don’t have my drugs with me, and—“
“Is that what you’re worried about? A migraine attack?”
“I’m always worried about a migraine,” I scoff, because of course he doesn’t get it. Nobody gets it.
If I offend him or annoy him with my petulance, he doesn’t let it show. In fact, his expression only deepens with more concern.
“But is that what’s making you feel emotional right now?” he asks and on one level I can’t believe he’s asking me these questions. Or rather, I can’t believe I’m letting him.
“No,” I answer honestly because the thought hadn’t crossed my mind all day, in fact. “I’m not afraid of getting a flare.”
But I don’t give him the full truth. I don’t tell him that I’m afraid of how much I like this. I’m afraid of how much I like him.
“Then what is it?”
I wriggle underneath him, wanting to squirm away from his question. “Please, Charlie, please don’t do this… just forget it. Please, Charlie, please, just… Please.”
“Oh, now you’re begging me to fuck you?”
And yes, I can see how that’s exactly what this looks like. Me grinding up against him, and muttering incoherent gibberish. And I do want him to fuck me. I want him to stroke those sensitive places inside me again. I want him to make all this angst go away with his slow, steady thrusts.
“Please, Charlie,” I say again and it comes much easier than I expect, and that in itself unravels another knot somewhere inside me. “Please fuck me.”
“Will you let go with me?” he asks. “Will you fly away?”
It should sound cheesy, the way he quotes the song, but it doesn’t, and I don’t have the heart to even pretend it does.
Instead, I nod. “Yes,” I whisper, but I know he hears because his smile turns devilish as he brings one hand down to my hip to hold me still. That’s my only warning that Charlie is not going to fuck me like before.
Because he doesn’t. Gone are the measured strokes. Gone is the steady rhythm, despite the slow rhythmic bass of the music. Gone is the restraint that I now see he was exercising as he slams into me so hard and so deep, it takes my breath away. His next strokes are just as brutal and unforgiving and I gasp out for air, for help, and for more. And then he stays sunken inside me, our hip bones scraping against each other as he angles his hips and grinds into me, onto my clit. Just as that triggers a happy crescendo into a quick, easy, light orgasm that stuns me, he goes back to slamming into me, his inhales and exhales rough and ragged, and I’m shoved onto a very different if just as delectable path.
“Fuck, Charlie.” I pant.
“If it’s too much, just say,” he grits out but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t alter his relentless rhythm.
“No, give me more. More,” I say as my hands squeeze his butt cheeks and press him deeper inside me.
“God, Mina, I can’t fucking get enough,” he mumbles into my hair. “I can’t get enough of you.”
