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He gripped my waist and roughly slid me farther up the table, to the ominous sound of something fragile clinking. I tried to remember if we’d ever fucked in a position that actively imperiled our dinner before.
With one hand, he pinned my wrists together above my head, and with the other, he guided one of my legs around his back. He filled me with a rough thrust that almost knocked the wind out of me. I was so swollen, and he was so hard, that I knew I would feel this in the morning, but I was helpless. My body was no longer under the control of logic, common sense, or reason, and I ground against him, savoring the deep, sore burn as I stretched around his huge cock.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned against my ear, and when I rose up to meet his next thrust, I felt moisture on my back. Holy shit, is that from me? Should I go to the doctor? Then I noticed the overturned wine bottle beside us, slowly chugging its contents on the table.
I laughed so suddenly and so sharply that Neil startled and released my wrists. Through my hysterical giggling, I flung my pointed hand in the direction of the bottle. “I thought it was me, I thought I was having a medical squirting emergency.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me through our laughter, until the kissing became more important, and he moved slowly inside me again. I sighed and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tight to me, soft vocalizations purring from my throat with every one of his deep strokes.
When he withdrew from me without warning, I mewled in disappointment. He gave my vulva a light slap and growled, “On your knees.”
I flipped over, and he boosted me up so that I was on my hands and knees atop the table. In the change of position, my foot struck a dinner plate. The crash was deafenin
g in the otherwise silent room, and the casual destruction set my heart racing. Neil climbed up behind me, slid his hand into my hair and grabbed a fistful, then gently pushed my head to the table. He hauled my hips up and pushed into me slowly, just an inch or two. When I tried to move back, he slapped my ass. “You stay still.”
He rocked back and forth, nearly pulling out of me entirely, then pushing back in that maddening, delicious few inches. I wanted him to fuck me harder, to take him in all the way, but I didn’t want him to stop teasing that sensitive opening.
He adjusted his angle, and I caught my groan, too used to silencing myself so we wouldn’t be overheard.
“We’re all alone tonight, Sophie,” he reminded me. “Let it go.”
Then he drove in deep, and I shouted, “Oh, fuck yes!” and slapped my hand against the table.
“There’s my girl,” he growled, and grasped my hips to pull me faster and harder.
Okay, maybe I was slightly exaggerating my screams and moans, but damn it, it felt so good to show my unfettered appreciation for the awesomeness that was fucking my fiancé. Especially in the middle of our dining room table. It felt so naughty and exposed.
He pushed my dress up farther and licked the spilled wine off my back, as much as his tongue could reach. Curving his body over mine, he groaned, “You’ll have to give me a hand here, Sophie.”
“My pleasure, Sir,” I agreed breathlessly and reached down to rub my clit in furious circles. My climax curled my toes, tensed my shoulders and clenched my thighs before it burst over me in a wave of pleasure so intense, it left me boneless in its wake. I collapsed on the table, my cheek pressed to the cold lacquer. Neil still held my hips, and he thrust one last time with a loud, “Oh, fuck!” before he fell on top of me. The other plate crashed to the floor.
I raised my head, and he kissed my cheek, his cock still throbbing inside of me.
“So,” I gasped, wine dripping onto my face from the ends of my mussed hair. “We’re ordering pizza, then?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My fights with Holli had always been of the big blow-up, short non-talking spell variety. When March rolled in without a word, I began to feel uneasy.
“This is a bit more serious than a minor tiff over who should have done the dishes,” Neil said patiently as I whined to him over the phone one afternoon. “It may take her a while to come round. Have you called her? Emailed her?”
“No,” I admitted. “I meant to. I really did. But I didn’t know what to say.”
I was also deeply wounded; I’d been keeping a surreptitious eye on her Facebook, since she hadn’t thought to unfriend me. Three days before, she’d posted silly candids of her four bridesmaids gathered around her in various styles of dresses. Beneath the post, a mutual acquaintance from NYU had written, “Squeeeee! So honored to have been chosen as your made of honor!”
I’d thought, a bachelor’s degree, and she came up with “made” of honor? Then I’d cried for hours. When I’d tried to show Neil what had upset me, I found that Holli had finally blocked me. Sure, it was childish internet bullshit, but it still stung. She’d waited until I’d seen that I’d been replaced.
I shuffled across the kitchen in my fuzzy slippers. I’d gone to sleep with my hair in a ponytail, and now it hung limp down the back of my ugly teal v-neck t-shirt. I scrubbed my hand over my sore scalp then stood before the open fridge door, dejected.
“Darling, one of you has to make the first move toward reconciliation. Yes, she said some very hurtful things to you, but if you’re planning to have any kind of a friendship with her at all, you might need to be the one to reach out.” He sounded so sympathetic, I wondered if he was speaking from experience. Neil had a lot of acquaintances, but very few close friends. Just Rudy and Valerie, and he’d stopped spending any friend time with the latter, due to my jealous girlfriendness.
I would work on that, I really would.
“I guess you’re right. I don’t know how, though. It’s been a month. It seems like the longer I wait, the more it’ll be like, ‘what the fuck, now you feel bad?’”
Over the line, I heard a voice in the background say, “Mr. Elwood? Your four o’clock is here.”
Neil didn’t respond verbally to the pronouncement. “Do you think that aspect of the situation will improve the longer you wait?”
