Page 45 of The Cost of Love

As I begin to move my hips in sync with his, he throws his head back in a sound that shows how close he is to losing control again. Still, he moves in a way that is equal parts teasing and satisfying. Even the small swirls he does to my bud of nerves are light and slow.

Between his thumb, his dick, and the corset pinching on my nipples, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. The way he is saying my name, like it’s a prayer on his lips, I know that he isn’t far behind. So when I squeeze around him, my back arching as I come for the fourth time tonight, I’m not surprised when he falls forward, his own hips jerking.

He doesn’t pull out immediately, but when he does, I think this has to be the end. He isn’t actually going to continue. Only when he comes back from getting rid of the condom, there is a devilish look in his eyes.

“Open your legs.”

“You can’t be serious.” I sit up on my elbows and look at him, searching for some sort of sanity in this insane plan.

“That was one.”

“You ate me out until I came twice in the car, and now just fucked me through two more, that is actually four.”

“That means only six in total.”

I start to laugh, excitement and hysteria mixing with each other. When he pulls me to the edge of the bed and starts to pull down my panties, the laughter dies.

The seventh orgasm he promised me happens with just his fingers, fucking me with three, and a thumb on my clit. He works me until I am sliding up the bed to get away from him. He doesn’t let me go, and before the waves of the last one can subside, he is licking up another storm, using his tongue to penetrate me with his nose deep in my juices. That apparently is enough time for him to recover because nine and ten come through the prowess of his dick and various positions that my weight should have made difficult.

When I scream out for the last time, my throat is raw and my voice gone, broken by this man’s determination to please me. I fall into a useless heap, happy that at some point the lingerie came off. I am twitching, and everything feels sensitive. He pulls me into his arms, not bothering to put us under the blanket that we have soiled. I didn’t plan on staying the night, but there is no way I can go home. I don’t even know if I can walk.

“You okay?” He rubs a hand up and down my back in soothing motions. I only have the energy to nod. “You want to go to bed?” He starts to get up, but I hold onto his arm to keep him there.

With the last of my energy, I turn to face him. There is a safety between the sheets of lovers that lets truths run free. I want to talk to him.

“Do you do everything with this level of intensity?” I try to imagine what dating him would be like, if this is just us fucking. Patient, attentive, and thorough are only a few words to describe how he has handled me since this all began. If I give him the chance, he will likely add new words to my vocabulary, and new feelings that I have never felt before.

“I told you I am passionate in almost everything I do.”

“Including loving?” I don’t know why I am broaching this subject, but curiosity has me asking.

“Yes, including that.”

“So, you have been in love before?” I slide a little further out of his arms so that I can really look at him. He is still a little sweaty from his effort, and his lips are pouty and swollen from kissing. He looks like the sex god that he proved to me he is. I push his hair out of his face and kiss him again.

He sits up on one elbow and brings his other hand to stroke my arm from shoulder to wrist. The feel of his touch is intoxicating, and it’s bringing me back to that place of satisfaction, but a different kind.

“Once.” His eyebrows furrow, and an indent appears between them.

“What happened?”

“Well, we had different visions for the future. We met when I was living in France. The person I was there is not who I was always going to be. I knew at some point I needed to come back and work for my family, and she loved the person that she met.”

But he is not that person, he is this one. And I don’t know what he was like before, but I would like to know about this version. I’m about to ask him to tell me more, but he beats me to speaking.

“Have you had any relationships of significance?” Pulling on one of my frayed coils, he watches as it bounces back into place.

“No, well, um, it’s complicated. I thought I loved someone once, but it was just desperation. I wanted someone to love me, and I accepted whatever he could give. When my life changed drastically, I realized that I didn’t actually even like him as a person. I just liked having someone pay attention to me.”

I was an affection-starved little girl, lost and alone at the age of eighteen. I didn’t know any better. When the kids came back into my life, they reminded me what it actually feels like to be cared about.

They are my true first loves, and they are the only reason I may one day be able to accept something real.

He runs a hand down my face, cupping my cheek. I expect pity to be in his eyes, but all that is looking back is a want. It’s different from the normal hungry stare he gives me, but this one seems to contain a desire that I’m too scared to name.

“So this person you are now, do you want to be them?” I pull back and lay my head on the pillow. He does the same, and we are just looking at each other for a moment. Then he laughs, and it is dark and humorless. It makes me reach for his hand.

“I don’t know if that matters.”