“I get your anger, because just the thought of you with someone else hurts and pisses me off. I wish there was some way for me to ease it all for you. Seeing you in pain has always been hard for me. Being the one to cause it keeps me up at night.”
“You don’t sleep?” I ask.
“I can manage three hours at a time before I’m up. I still find it difficult to sleep by myself after sleeping beside you for so many years.”
I don’t tell him I also miss sleeping with him all snuggled up against his broad, massive, tattooed chest. I’ve always felt safe and precious in his arms. I also miss waking up a hot, sweaty mess because we’ve become so tangled in each other that we don’t know where I start or he ends. I also remember the nights when I woke to his hands wandering over my body. We’d come together, and it was always the best sex we had. It was wild and reckless. We never could get enough of each other, even in our sleep. “Have you tried taking a supplement?”
“Yeah. It makes me groggy the next day. I can’t be groggy. I could get hit and injured.”
“Problematic.” An idea that drives me mad with jealousy pops into my mind, and I ask before I can stop myself. “Have you tried sex?”
“Wehaven’t had sex in two months,” he says ensuring I pick up the fact that he hasn’t slept with anyone else. “I haven’t slept with anyone else in eight years.”
I close my eyes and swallow past the painful reminder of his infidelity. He didn’t sleep with the woman, but she put him in her mouth, and he finished. I don’t know why him finishing makes it worse, but it does.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he sincerely says. “I’ll go.”
And he stands to go with his shoulders slumped and an expression of pure agony on his face. He hurt me and I keep hurting him back, even when I don’t mean to. I reach up and grab his hand and tug him toward the couch. “Stay. Please.”
“Are you sure?” I gently tug at his hand, and I’m relieved when he sits. Except, I don’t let go of his big, rough hand. He squeezes. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Chicken shit.”
He smirks and two beautiful dimples make an appearance.God. I realize how long it’s been since I’ve seen him smile. And it’s been longer even since I’ve been the one to make him smile. How has the world been deprived of such a wonderful thing? “You’ve always scared me, Zhanna. You have a lot of power over me.” If he knew he had the same power over me, I’d already be in Vegas again getting married at another chapel by an Elvis impersonator.
I lay my head against the back of the couch and take him in. He gets better with age. He’s sexier now than when we were first met. Instead of verbally responding to him, I leave my seat and crawl over his lap until I’m straddling him with the sudden urge to be close to him. “I don’t want to be angry with you. I’ve lived with it for a while now, and it’s exhausting.”
“What are you saying?” I lean forward and press my lips to his. He freezes against me for a moment before he kisses me back. His hands come to cradle the back of my head as his tongue slips into my mouth and dances with mine. He breaks the kiss enough to whisper against my lips, “We can’t.”
“We can.” I’m so turned on by his touch, smell, and prowess. God. The man can kiss. The hardness underneath me makes me clench and rub against him.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans.
I unzip and unbutton his jeans and work to pull him out. As soon as I wrap my hand around his length, he bucks, and I nearly combust on the spot. I’ve always been aroused by his pleasure. The mere thought of him losing control makes me want to do the same. So I maneuver around as I pull my pants off like I’m doing a weird interpretive dance. When I’m straddling him again, he reaches underneath my shirt and pulls it up and over my head.
“Baby,” he says. “You’re fucking perfect.” I ease down on him as he hisses. I start to ride him and buck uncontrollably as I’m filled with the need to release around him. “Slow down, beautiful.”
But I don’t. I feel whole again, like I can breathe for the first time in months. I need more air, and I’m desperate for it.
“No,” he argues and grabs my hips to stop me from moving. “This isn’t going to be a quick fuck this time.” His hands move to cradle my face and bring my forehead down to his. His pale green eyes have a hint of moisture in them as he pleads with a whisper, “Just be with me.” He searches my eyes for understanding.
He’s asking me to lay myself open raw for him. He wants more than a quick romp. I know him when he needs an emotional connection, but I also know me. And I’ll open myself and give him everything. What will be left of me and us when we’re done? It’s why I prefer the less intimate fucks. I don’t have to connect with him and stare the facts in the face–I still love him, and I think I always will. And yet, what can be done about it when he’s torn my heart out once already? How do I possibly make the leap again after what he’s done? How do I trust that it won’t happen again?
I close my eyes and disconnect as I begin to move again, but this time at a much slower pace. My forehead remains on his as he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. A moan escapes me at the sensation of his teeth touching my skin.
“Open your eyes, baby.” I ignore his request and continue moving, leaving my eyes closed and my soul shut to him. Except, he creeps underneath my skin anyway and sinks into the very fiber of me with his mere presence inside and around me. “God damn it,” his deep voice cracks with emotion. “Open your eyes and look at me, Zhanna.” When I hear the sound of his desperation, my lids fly open and a single tear escapes. Upon seeing it, he swipes it away with his thumb. “There she is.”
I look away, feeling too exposed, and try to also pull away to escape the urge to drown myself in him. I want to dive into the deep end of Bryant Hudson and drink him in one mouthful at a time. But I don’t ever again want to feel the heartache he served me. The fear keeps me from letting him get too close.
“Please,” he whispers against the skin of my neck. “Just be with me.”
“I can’t.” A sob escapes me. I can’t do this with him. I can’t let him in again.
“When are you going to stop running from me?” He presses another kiss to my shoulder and thrusts up. “And let me make love to you?” His hands come to my hips as he moves me on top of him. “So I can come home to you.” He peppers kisses all over my neck, chest, and shoulder as I grind against him.
Our mouths fuse together as our tongues dance with one another, and our hands wander every inch of skin we can touch. Both of our bodies move together in that familiar way only lovers do–two people who have shared not only their bodies but their souls as well. And my heart beats in rhythm with his. Bryant’s fingers tangle in my hair as his teeth graze my chin. He takes over the reins beneath me and moves in circles until the motion takes me closer to the edge of bliss.
“Hold onto me, baby,” he says warning me I’m close before I feel the first quake of an orgasm.
