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“My only solace is that I don’t give in. When the thought of you becomes too much and I want to touch you or see you or jack myself off, I don’t. I run. I work out. I fix that house. But I don’t give in.” His breaths are choppy, coming in short bursts, waves. “I can’t give in. I can’t fail.”
Lightning streaks across the sky again, illuminating his severe features and mussed up hair. Illuminating Simon. My Simon.
He’s telling this to himself, reminding himself that he can’t fail. Why? Why is it so important for him not to fail?
Why is it a failure to begin with? Wanting me? Wanting this?
“But I do,” I whisper, my eyes on the verge of leaking water, trying to tell him that he isn’t alone.
He focuses on me then, like he’s seeing me after quite a while. “You do what?”
“Touch myself.” I lick my lips and he homes in on the tiny movement, as I continue, “At night, when I can’t sleep, I touch myself. My breasts, they become so heavy and they hurt me so much. And my nipples poke through my t-shirt and I have to pinch them. A-and I imagine that you’re doing it to me. But your hands are so big and large, and I always end up being disappointed with my own fingers. So, then I…”
“You what?”
I flinch at his words and without meaning to, I rub up against him, going up and down. My breasts scraping against his chest and my pelvis hitting his stomach. His dick.
It’s hard and lodged between us. In fact, it’s lodged right where it should be. Between the lips of my pussy.
“You what, Willow?” he asks again, and I bite my lip, watching him through my lashes as I writhe against his hard pole.
He shudders – shakes – at my movements and his eyes turn even darker, if possible.
“So then, I-I put my hand under my shirt and cup them. I try to… I try to push them together, and then I close my eyes and I think about you sliding your dick in between them, like you’re – you’re fucking me. But then, I get so self-conscious, you know. I d-don’t know if my breasts are big enough for you. If you’ll be able to fuck them. I…”
He pushes back, his cock almost bursting out of his pants, poking into my tiny hole. “You what? What do you do?”
My neck can’t support the weight of my head anymore. So it drops down against the wall. The dark ceiling is flashing in and out of my vision; I’m so turned on. “I play with myself, then. I touch my clit and put my finger inside me. But j-just one finger.”
I feel him grazing the column of my throat with his nose as he grinds his erection into my core.
“Yeah? Why just one?” he growls.
His question coats me in embarrassment and I shut my eyes, biting my lip and shaking my head. Simon doesn’t let me escape though. His hand in my hair moves to my chin and he forces me to look at him.
“Why?” he asks, again.
Swallowing, I tell him, a flush covering every inch of my body. “B-because I don’t want to stretch it out. I want to keep it tight and small for you.”
In this moment, I’m so aware of him and how old he is. How experienced and mature and commanding. Whereas me? I’m so young. Hardly been kissed once or twice.
I wonder if he thinks I’m too childish.
It’s the truth though. I’ve never put more than one finger inside me. I’ve been terrified to. Maybe this is why. For him.
Maybe it wasn’t random. Nothing about me and nothing about him is random.
“Have you been…” I clutch the collar of his shirt. “With a lot of women?”
His jaw ticks. “Why?”
“I know you said you don’t have anyone special but…” I shake my head, wanting to look away from him, but I can’t. Wanting to sound more mature than this, but I’m so wracked by jealousy, all of a sudden. So wracked with the unfairness of the fact that I met him so late in his life.
“But what?”
“Did you go on a date with her? With Josie?”
He studies me, his lips parted like mine. Maybe he’s remembering that day like I am. When I told him to not go. When I asked him out. It seems so long ago right now.
“No,” he replies.
It makes me smile but it makes him angry, my smile, and his grip on my chin tightens. An expression flashes like lightning across his face and he asks, “Is it? All nice and tight?”
I blush at his words. “Y-yes.”
“Fuck.” His hips jerk, his shaft hitting my clit. “Fuck…”
His curses make me moan, make me move against him, against that hard part of him.
