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"Roman-"
"Veronica, please," I said. She looked down, shaking her head. "I fucked up and I made a bad decision, which lost me the woman I love. I'm not going to make that mistake twice." More tears flowed down her cheeks.
"I really want that to be true," she whispered.
"It is, baby." I kissed her softly. I just wanted to comfort her, stop her crying because I hated making her upset. It was all my fault, so it was my job to fix it. She pressed her full lips into mine again, wrapping her arms around my neck. I hugged her close. One of her hands ran down my chest, all the way down my abs to the waist of my pants.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked.
"Of course. Whatever you want." Her other hand ran over my shoulder. Our eyes locked again.
"I want you," she said simply. Her hands were at the waist of my pants, pulling the belt free. She unsnapped the button, and her hand was closing around my cock through my underwear.
"Fuck," I groaned. She dropped to the ground, tugging my pants and underwear on her way down. She gripped my semi and jerked the tip, slowly. Those clear green eyes stared up at me. It had been a fucking year since I’d had my dick sucked. I hoped I could last long enough to enjoy this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Veronica
Roman's head fell back. A long string of expletives streamed from his clenched teeth, making me giggle. He loved having his balls sucked, more than other guys I'd been with. I kept my hand on his cock, jerking the head while I took his balls into my mouth in turn, gently. They were sensitive, after all.
I rolled them in my cupped hand and turned my attention to his cock again. After our conversation, I sort of liked being in charge, owning his pleasure and having him at my mercy. It made me feel like he was mine. Owning a person's body mattered less to me than emotional connection, but I’d had all of him once and I wanted it back.
I ran my tongue over the tip before sucking the head into my mouth. Little by little, I took him into my mouth. I swallowed around his length, doing my best to take as much of him as I could without gagging. Either he was bigger than the last time I had done this or I had gotten rusty.
I took the hand fisting in my hair as encouragement. I bobbed up and down, feeding him into my throat on every down stroke. My hand jerked the root, which I couldn't get my lips around.
"Godammit, Ronnie," I heard him whisper. He was groaning, deep, sexy sounds from his throat, cussing under his breath and gently tugging at my hair.
"Slow down," he said, breathlessly. "You don't stop, I'm gonna come." I gave him a few, last good sucks, hollowing my cheeks out on my way back up, then let him pop free of my mouth. I looked up at him, and he offered me a hand to help me back up. Before I knew it, he had scooped me up in his arms. My back pressed into the wall and then he kissed me. He was clawing at my panties to get them off. I slid them down, afraid he'd rip them.
He hoisted me up against the wall once my panties were out of the way. He ground his rod against my clit, holding my legs open. I bit back my cry, self-conscious that my neighbors would hear us. I reached between us, guiding him to my lips so he slid smoothly inside. He was big, but it never hurt when he was inside me. I felt full like he fit me perfectly. I gushed when he fucked me. The pleasure at my core flowed through my whole body.
Every one of his deep thrusts hit me like a bullet. Something about the angle made me gasp every time our hips met. I bit my lip, leaning back against the wall.
"Harder," I whispered. His next thrust made me yelp, arching my back against the wall because he hit my clit. Again. Again. I felt myself quiver. I wanted the wave to crest higher, but my orgasm burst inside of me, and I would have ended up on the floor if Roman wasn't holding me up. He pushed into me, chest to chest, then fucked me with quick, short, frantic strokes. He grunted, tightening his hold on my thighs before a groan ripped from his chest. He pumped in and out of me through his orgasm, and I felt him fill me up. Our pants soon silenced, and the room became still again.
He held me to the wall with his hips, kissing me. He was still inside me, but softening now. I was barely aware of anything else but his strong arms, taking my weight again when we were in my room suddenly. My back gently hit the bed as his body took the space on top of me. I knew he wouldn't be able to go again so soon after coming, but what was happening now? His lips kissing me slowly and deeply felt incredible. The comfort of feeling him close to me after what we just did heated me through.
Lying there, I believed him. It was all true. He loved me and he was sorry and he wanted us to start again. Things would be different this time, but it didn't matter because we had both grown from the situation and we'd know how to handle ourselves. It sounded tempting. Almost too good to be true.
I couldn't hold this over him forever, but wasn't it worse if I just trusted him blindly again? It had been a great few weeks reconnecting, but a great few weeks wasn't enough to make me forget the months I had spent trying to get over him after he dumped me. He reassured me whenever we were together that I had nothing to worry about, but trust isn't built in a day. The trust I used to have in him had been built over years of love and friendship. It was coming back, slowly, the comfort that used to be there.
If what I needed was time, then I hadn't had enough.
We ended up in the shower together, you know, to save water. We did it again, him behind me as I braced myself against the tiled wall. I was tired by the time we were in my bed together. He slept behind me, one arm thrown over my side and our bodies molded together, naked. He was asleep before I was and after two orgasms, I should have been more tired. My racing thoughts wouldn't let me rest, though.
Stop it, I thought. Stop looking for reasons to keep doubting him. This, him, the two of you finally back together is what you want. Stop looking for a way to self-sabotage.
Was it self-sabotage if the goal was actually to take care of myself? Being on the defensive was an unhealthy way to get into a relationship, but could you blame me? Even if I wasn't and I was just looking at the facts, pretended I had no involvement in this at all and was just a third party bystander, what would it look like to me?
Guy and girl get back together after a year apart. The guy is on the fast track to becoming a pro football player and the girl's just trying to maintain her GPA through summer semester. He's wanted to go pro all his life. Money, fame, and a career he's always wanted can all be his except for one little problem: the girl.
Faced with the decision, what does he choose?
What would I choose if I were him?
He kept saying this stuff about working it out, talking and figuring something out that didn't have to mean that we had to break up again. Even if that happened though, what was that? Long distance? How long did those last? How long would we if we were trying it? How long before he got caught up in his new world of professional sports and eventually getting caught up in some other girl's shorts?
