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December 31, 2015
The weirdness of this night is a double-edged sword. One the one hand, it’s weird. Not cool weird—awkward weird. And no one likes awkward weird. On the other hand, it’s so weird, the weirdness occupies my mind, so I’m not thinking much about It.
I’m thinking about Barrett. And wondering what’s up with him. Why he seems so miserable.
I’m trying not to be, but I’m getting kind of worried.
I know him so well now, I can just feel it. As we dance; he’s a good dancer, but it rolls off him in waves. When our fingers brush as he hands me a glass of wine, his curl away from mine. When I sit on this little couch-like thing to take a break from dancing, he sits by me, and he sits so close. His arm around me is so heavy. And when I look up at his face, at his eyes, gray-blue orbs that peer down at me from the center of the ovals cut into his mask, they look depthless—almost pained.
At one point, as I elbow my way toward the bathroom—he’s behind me, our fingers intertwined—his hand feels so damp, so still and stiff, I whisper-hiss, “Do you feel bad?”
When he doesn’t look at me, I say his name.
“Hm?” His eyes find mine. They’re wide, slightly intense.
We’re in a long, quiet hallway now. I nudge him against the wall, then wrap myself around him. I lift our joined hands to my mouth and kiss him on the inside of his wrist. Soft, tender skin. I bite it, and his hooded eyes lose focus.
I lift my lips off his wrist, wrap my arms around his neck, and pull him down to kiss him. God, I need this. I just need to feel him right now.
His kisses feel as desperate as mine do. His mouth is hard and punishing, soft and silky, gentle, frantic. His fingers thread through my hair, tugging as our tongues and lips dance, making my scalp ache. His breath is warm and wine-sweet, puffing into my mouth on low groans. His beard is short. It stings me. I don’t care.
I rock myself against his thigh and rub him through his pants until he moans into my mouth. I nip along his upper lip, then capture it between my teeth and suck. I love it when he gets hard in my hand. I love to tease his head, to torture him through fabric.
Every time my fingers trace his bulge, he breathes a little harder. His mouth on mine is ruthless. Finally he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me toward the nearest door. He opens it and we behold a bedroom, pearly from the moonlight streaming through two windows. He tosses me over his shoulder, smacks my ass, and shuts the door.
“Gwen. I have to have you now.” His voice is hoarse, almost emotional. His body’s hard—as if we’re headed for a nameless fuck.
I’m tossed on the bed. I land with my feet hanging off the side, my legs slightly spread, the pillows vibrating around me as the mattress springs settle. Barrett stands against bedside, his cock tenting the fabric of his pants. He pulls my black boots off and quickly rids me of my pants and panties.
“Now,” he breathes, and takes his own pants down. I reach for his dick, my fingertips brushing it for a second before his hand captures my arms.
His eyes are hot behind the mask. His tongue traces along his lower lip as he trails a finger through my slit.
His head tips slightly back. “Oh, Piglet…”
“Wet for you,” I murmur.
“I can’t wait.”
“Don’t wait…”
His eyes shut as he grabs me by the hips, positioning me at the bed’s edge. He wraps a hand around his cock and spreads my lips, rubbing his head in my slickness, making circles till I’m crying out, my clit throbbing, my thighs shaking.
“Now,” I pant.
He pushes gently at my entrance, stretching me just slightly.
“God…”
I wriggle up against him, desperate to take all of him. With a low chuckle, he plunges in. He’s so damn big, I cry out. He fills me so deeply, stretches me so perfectly, I can’t help thrusting my hips at him…taking him so deeply I lose track of everything but him in me.
“Barrett…”
“God, I love you… Love you, Gwen. I love you.”
My throat is so tight, I can’t reply, so I look up at him and find his face is lifted to the ceiling. “Jesus.”
He fucks me like our lives depend on it. He fucks me like he’s marked for death and my flesh is his last supper. He fucks me so I know I’m made for this, for him, I’m made to welcome him inside me, made to breathe with him and clench around him as I sigh and he groans.
