Of course he’s as efficient at wanking as he is at everything else. He’s back in the bedroom in just a few minutes. His breath is even. Through my slitted eyelids, I can’t catch a hint of flush on his bristled cheeks.
I listen to him undress, and I feel the mattress shift as he climbs in on his side. He draws a deep breath, and I think he might be about to speak, but instead he lowers his head to his pillow.
I wait an hour before I stir, using the time to plot my motions. I want everything to be simple, easy, as natural as the sun setting outside our curtained windows. I want to make things right.
I murmur a little as I shift beneath the sheet. I stretch slowly, as if I’m just waking up. I roll over, taking care to catch the belt of my robe, to let it fall open, to slip off my shoulders.
My thighs throb as I move. Each red scar feels dipped in acid. I want to scrape them with the heel of my hand, force them to fade to white, even though I know the crimson marks will just come rushing back once the pressure is released.
Instead, I let my arm fall across Cole’s bare belly. The steady up and down of his breathing doesn’t change when I touch him. I wait, starting to count to one hundred, pretending I’ve drifted back to sleep.
I only make it to thirty-seven before the fire in my scars makes me shift again. This time I allow myself to open my eyes. I sit up and shove away the tangle of my robe.
When I turn back to Cole, his eyes glitter in the dark. The faint light of dusk catches one of his eyeteeth, making it gleam like it’s lit from within. He catches my hand as I reach toward the shadows between his legs.
“What are we doing, my dear?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Finishing what we started downstairs.”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
He’ll smell a lie if I try one. “I’m awake now,” I say, which has the benefit of being true.
He’s awake, too, all of him. Whatever service he gave his cock behind closed doors, he’s made it back to half-mast easily enough. It only takes a minute—one hand wrapped around the base of him, the other tickling his bollocks—and he’s hard enough to ride.
He groans as I straddle him. His hands are hot as he grips my hips. Shifting his weight, he helps me settle on top of him. We both suck in sharp breaths as he slides home.
Our bodies move like they’ve been programmed to do this forever. I know how to balance, spreading my hands across the muscles of his chest. He knows how to thrust up, driving deeper inside me. I clench my inner muscles like I’m demonstrating some secret dance.
“Sweet Christ,” he moans, shifting his grip and pulling me close.
Before I know what he’s doing, he’s rolled us over. He slips his hands behind my knees, easing my feet toward my arse. The position opens me even more, and he sighs as he fills me. His hips brush the insides of my thighs, heating my scars to the brink of combustion.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers, planting his wrists by my ears. “You feel so good.”
I’m supposed to say something, to let him know he drives me wild. This is how men and women fuck every night of the year—they don’t need hooks and they don’t need spreaders. They don’t need a newly rebuilt basement turned into the world’s most decadent dungeon.
A cock and a pussy, that should be enough. As if to agree, Cole reaches between us to tap the slick knot of my clit.
My toes should curl. My breath should catch. I should be on the very edge of exploding.
But none of that happens. My body feels like a science experiment, laid out on a counter in some sterile lab. Fill a beaker. Light a burner. Watch the temperature rise, closer and closer to the boiling point.
I can’t let him know this isn’t working—not after I initiated it. Especially not after I used my safeword downstairs. This is supposed to be simple. Easy.
I turn my lungs into bellows, pumping at a darkened forge. I rake his back, wondering if I’m leaving marks he’ll see tomorrow. I whimper, whimper, moan, choosing the moment I’ll pretend to come. I’ll count in my head—one, two, three, four, fi— Five is when I’ll scream his name.
I get to one, and Cole freezes above me.
Two, and he pulls out.
Three, and he shifts his weight, leaning on an elbow, breaking all contact with my body.
Four, and I murmur, “Fuck me now. You drive me crazy.”
Five, and he says, “Stop.”
“What?”
