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“Where were we?” His tongue peeked out to moisten his lips.
“I think we were talking about masturbation,” I whisper-replied, “and since you wanted to know, I'm left handed. And my thoughts are very, very dirty.”
* * *
We end up paying the babysitter with practically all the cash Alex earned from the gig. I walk into the bedroom and check on Max, who has managed to wriggle out of all his blankets and is curled in a ball right at the bottom of the cot, hands gripping the slats as if he’s a prisoner desperate to escape. His eyelids flutter, and his mouth makes an 'o', moving rhythmically as if he's dreaming of food. Or breasts. Maybe both, if he's a typical male.
“Is he asleep?” I don't hear Alex approach, so when he whispers in my ear it makes me jump. His hands curl around my shoulders, fingers pushing under the straps of my black, cotton tank.
“Yeah,” I reply in a whisper. “He's probably got a couple of hours until his next feed.” Though we’re trying to wean him onto bottles during the day, at night he still feeds from me. It beats mucking about with sterilisers and bottles in the early hours of the morning, and I love the closeness it gives us. Alex always jokes it's good to know I'll get my tits out at least once a night.
At least, I think it's a joke.
“A couple of hours.” Alex presses his lips to the back of my neck. His fingers travel lower, pushing past the neckline, tips dragging along the top of my bra. “Whatever will we do?”
“Sleep?” I'm only half-kidding. These past six months of parenthood have been one long fight to get enough rest, and I've been losing spectacularly.
“I'll let you sleep afterwards, baby.” His lips slide down my neck to my shoulder, teeth gently nipping where the two meet.
“After what?” I shiver as his fingers dip inside my bra.
“After I've fucked you hard like I promised.” He scoops my breasts from my bra, cupping them in his hands. Thumbs graze my nipples, making them tight. “Or was it a threat?”
As I recall, it was both.
“What about the baby?” I've never been the quiet sort. If Max is in the room we’ll have to be silent, like teenagers having a quickie while their parents are doing the washing up. “We'll wake him up.”
Alex doesn't say a word, but I know from the slant of his lips he has something planned. So I'm not surprised when he wraps his hands around my upper arms and steers me out of the bedroom, into the bathroom on the opposite side of the hall. The only sound is the slapping of my bare feet on the floorboards, and our fast breaths.
Our bathroom is big in comparison to the rest of the flat. The Victorian fittings reflect the age of the building, the brass—elegant and delicate; the porcelain—pale and shiny. In the corner of the room is a claw-foot tub—my pride and joy.
I don't get to admire it for long, however. Alex presses into my back, his teeth grazing my earlobe and he spins me around until I'm in front of the sink.
He pushes me forward until I'm leaning on the sink, my fingers clinging to the cool, white rim. When I look up I can see us in the ornate mirror hanging above. Alex stares right back at me, his eyes hooded and dark, teeth biting into his plump bottom lip.
Blinking twice, he encircles me with his arms, and I marvel at the contrast of his vibrant tattoos on the paleness of his chest. The tendons in his forearms tense when he pushes down the straps of my vest, and the fabric bunches around my waist, leaving me only in my bra, until he pushes down the cups. The underwire pushes my breasts up, making my pale, pink-tipped skin look full and swollen. Slowly, tantalisingly, he runs his fingers in circles around my tender flesh, closer to my nipples, which tighten and peak.
“You're so fucking sexy.” His voice is a growl. Thick eyelashes sweep down as he stares at my chest. “I want you so much.”
His fingers pinch hard, sending a shock through my body. I clench as the pain mixes with pleasure. Then he's rubbing gently, his thumb barely grazing the peaks. I push myself to him, desperate for pressure. My back arches and I feel him against my behind, his long, thick length hard as steel. The sensation makes me moan.
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back to his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss my neck, teeth pressuring my throat, lips sucking, tongue flickering, the sensual overload driving me crazy. The feeling is achingly sweet, and I turn my head to find his lips, pressing my mouth to his with a desperate kiss.
“Can you feel how hard my cock is, baby?” he whispers in my mouth. “I want to fuck you until my come drips out of you.”
God, I love my dirty boy. The way he touches me, fingers demanding then soft, scraping and caressing as they move down my stomach. Then he pushes his hand inside my knickers, middle finger gliding, covered in my excitement. It slips easily inside, dragging against me, making all the muscles in my thighs contract.
“Christ, you're wet.” His breath is warm on my neck. He pushes a second finger inside, moving just right until I'm begging him for more. I can never get enough of him, the way he touches me, treats me, as if I'm a cross between a princess and a whore. I hook my arm around his neck, holding on as my legs start to tremble, and he wraps his free arm around my waist to steady me. My sighs increase as the sensations layer and build, my breath shortening with every touch.
His thumb flicks me, once, then twice. It's as if my whole universe has shrunk down to the smallest dot, my only focus his fingers and thumb. When his free hand moves up to cup my breasts, pulling at my nipples, the pressure inside me explodes.
Pink, purple, bright yellow; a spectrum of colours flash across my vision. They blind me as I orgasm, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, my body shuddering as Alex holds me up. The sensation shoots through my thighs and I hardly notice as he unclasps his belt, pulling down his jeans and his boxers. Vaguely, I register his hot, hard erection, pressing into my lower back, the tip dragging down as he lifts me and lines himself up.
There's that moment of intense anticipation, as he grazes me. I savour it, keeping still, letting him slip and slide. Then a gentle push and he opens me up, my body enveloping him as he slides deeper inside.
It takes my breath away.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, leaning forward until my fingers are grasping the sink, my knuckles bleached and tight. When I look at the mirror he's staring at me, eyes clouded with need, lips set and mean. And I know him, this dirty Alex—the man who fucks strong and deep, with a passion that stings. I know him and I love him, because even at his most violent, he still holds me as if I'm china.
