Page 25 of After Care

“And I bet you had beautiful breasts before,” he said, letting his voice lower. “But I don’t give two shits if those are fake or real, as long as what we’re about to do is real to you.”

I sniffed, blinking rapidly, but a tear slipped from my eye and slid to my hair. He released one wrist and swiped at it, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

“Want to stop?” he asked, while his tone begged me to continue.

I rolled my head back and forth on the pillow.

“Thank fuck,” he muttered, drowning out the k sound as his mouth covered mine again. His hips rolled, and I moaned against his lips. Releasing me, he sat back to look at my underwear. Low-cut cotton again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said.

“Where you expecting someone else?” he grumbled, tugging down my underwear.

“No,” I laughed. “But I bet you’re used to leather and lace, and I’m one-hundred percent cotton.”

He flipped the material to the side of the bed and then pounced back, two strong arms caging me in.

“Don’t bring other women into bed with me, darlin’,” he warned, his eyes darkening as he glared down at me. My euphoria slipped down the meter scale. I nodded to agree with him, and his mouth found mine again. While we kissed, his hand roamed, tucking up under my breast and smoothing over my stomach to tease the coarse hair at the apex of my legs. I was soft in the center, and as he palmed a hunk of skin, my hand gripped his wrist to halt him.

He stopped kissing me and pulled back again.

“Don’t play with my fat,” I warned, trying to tease him but slightly serious. Squeezing me there was only going to remind me again that I wasn’t groupie material.

“Fishing for compliments isn’t flatterin’, beautiful.”

“I’m not fishing. I’m stating the obvious.” My voice rose an octave, irritation filling it. A forced compliment was the worst kind of compliment—the obligatory one said after a negative comment. It was so disingenuous.

“What’s obvious to me,” he started as he slipped to my side and let a finger trail down the middle of my stomach, which I sucked in. “is you don’t see yourself clearly.”

I wanted clarification, but I didn’t want to ask. Anything he said to me was within the realm of the heat of the moment. I needed to get out of that realm and back into thoughts of having sex with him, because I wanted that. I wanted to have sex with him again and again. There was no room for my emotions.

His finger travelled lower, combing through crisp curls before diving in deep. My back arched off the bed at the intrusion, loving every bit of pressure within me. He twisted and released me before torturously entering me again. I gripped the bedsheets in a fist when his thumb hit that spot, the one that triggered all my pleasure.

“You’re sweet, darlin’,” he whispered as he watched me, my body rolling without control, drawing his finger into me and begging for the friction on that nub. The orgasm crawled up my thighs and crept down my belly, and when the two ends met I detonated, my knees collapsing and pressing together to hold his hand between my thighs. I moaned as my back curled off the bed, and my head fell back. The sensation wasn’t ending, but curling and crashing like the waves off in the distance, and I let the tide roll.

“Now that’s a sight I want to see again,” he said, releasing his fingers slowly and climbing over me for his nightstand.

Foil ripped. Lightning struck again, flashing behind him. The world was dark and murky around us as the storm outside continued, but all I sensed was him. He was thunder, and I anxiously awaited the strike. He held himself outside my entrance, teasing me with the tip, as he parted me.

“This might be quick, darlin’. Morning sex usually is.” If he didn’t want other women in this bed, he just brought them here, but I quickly forgot them when he rushed into me. I bowed off the bed again as he swiftly filled me to my depths. The missionary position was different from the other day. Some might think it mundane, but something felt strangely intimate about him over me, looking down at me as he filled me. He must have felt it too, because he slipped his knees forward and pulled himself upright. Taking my hips with him, keeping us attached, he lifted me by my backside. I used my feet to help balance myself as he held my hips and pummeled into me repeatedly. Each thrust hit a spot deep inside me that I didn’t know existed, tapping it over and over and over until I couldn’t take anymore. My body wanted another orgasm, although I’d never had two in a row before.

When his thumb hit my center, stroking me rapidly as he thrust deep inside, tears filled my eyes again. Frustration. I wanted this, this release, this pleasure, this painful tapping deep within me.

“You right there again, darlin’?” He questioned, and I was reminded that we hardly knew one another. There were signs, sighs, sounds people too comfortable with one another expressed if the other is paying attention. Sometimes when you are with the same person for so long, you forget. I’d forgotten the joy in discovery, and I loved that Tommy didn’t recognize yet that I was about to come a second time, and it was going to be huge.

I tipped my hips, clenched within and released so large my toes curled. Moisture seeped from my core, and I heard the slapping of our bodies against one another in the wet heat I’d produced. He stilled, and with my hips raised, I felt the sharp jolt of him inside me, pulsing and jerking. My head rolled to the side. I was sweaty and lazy, depleted of all energy.

He lowered my hips, slipping out of me, and removing the condom. It disappeared off the side of the bed and he stretched out next to me. His hand scaled over my stomach as my chest rose and fell with the exertion of what we just did. Propped on an elbow next to me, he looked like he’d barely broken a sweat.

I chuckled, and his hand jiggled on my belly.

“I love that you’re like opening a bottle of fine wine,” he said. My laughter died, and his finger traced circles on my soft abs. “You’re refreshing,” he said, swiping his other hand through his hair, but not looking at me.

“Something different for the palate,” I suggested. His lips curled as I played along with his metaphor.

“Something different, darlin’, definitely.”

He rolled away from me after that and picked up the condom from the floor. I still hadn’t moved. I didn’t know what to do next. Did I dress? Did I ask for a shower? Did I just leave? I sat up as he returned from the bathroom, a towel in hand.