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But you didn’t slap him, Kaitlyn. You didn’t run. You didn’t shove him away.
Even though it wasn’t enough for the guilty little voices in my head, I hoped that turning my head away would be enough for Ryan.
Apparently it was, because his face washed over with complete relief.
But then suspicion returned. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“It was wrong. I should have. But…”
I’m still attracted to him, and I don’t want you to know. I don’t want to hurt you.
“…I didn’t want to break up the band, and if you knew, I thought you would walk.”
But I had forgotten that Ryan had me pegged better than any person I had ever met. Like he could read my mind.
He grew somber and looked me directly in the eyes. “Do you still love him?”
“No.” I paused, because the answer was incomplete, and he knew it. “But I… I still have feelings for him. It’s only been a few months.”
He nodded somberly, like he had to concede the point. “It’s only been a few months.”
“But I love
you.
He’s done nothing but hurt me, and… I can never, ever trust him again.”
His eyes flared up, fiery and dark. “I’m not a consolation prize, Kaitlyn.”
“I know that,” I said, offended.
“And I’m not an insurance policy. I’m not something to make you feel nice and safe and that’s the only reason you’re here.”
Now I really
was
angry. “You don’t think it’s possible I could love you because you’re a wonderful person? You think I’m that shallow?”
He suddenly looked tired, and hurt, and heartbroken. “If you love him, then you need to leave me. Pure and simple.”
I started to cry. “I don’t love him – I love
you.
”
He reached out and took my hand. “If you’re afraid of hurting me… don’t be. I want you to be happy. More than I want
me
to be happy. I’ll be alright… eventually. But you should be with him if you really love him.”
My heart broke.
Derek was never this selfless. Derek didn’t care if I was happy. He was going to bulldoze back in and take what he thought was his, to hell with whether it fucked up my life – after he’d
already
fucked it up.
“I love you,” I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks – and it was true. I
did
love him.
“Come here,” he said, pulling me down to him.
I straddled him on the piano bench and we began to kiss. The salt of my tears burned our lips as he slowly moved his mouth over mine. Whiskey and wine both mingled as our tongues caressed, and we went from slow and sensual to feverish and frantic in the space of a few minutes.
I rubbed his cock through his pants, making it go from simply erect to totally rock-hard. He clutched my ass beneath my skirt, and I felt the tips of his fingers ease their way under my panties. I began to get wet, and he took advantage of that by stroking my pussy from ass to clit, slicking me down, teasing my lips, getting me even more turned on.
I fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper and unwrapped his cock as fast as I could. It strained out through the slit in his boxers, upright and swollen in my grasp.
“Let me…” he mumbled into my mouth, but I stopped him from trying to remove his clothes.
“No,” I whispered. “I want it
now.
”
I slipped my underwear to the side, exposing my pussy to his hot, velvety shaft. Then I wrapped my legs around his middle, adjusted his cock at an angle, and slowly sank down on the head. He gasped as he entered me, hot and wet and willing.
I let gravity ease me down his shaft, and moaned as his thickness filled me completely. I began half-bobbing, half-hopping on his lap, trying to get some leverage. Seeing what I was trying to accomplish, he grabbed my ass and supported my weight with his massive, strong hands. I began going up a lot further, and plunging down a lot harder.
“Jesus,” he whispered as I writhed on his lap, grinding my pussy against him, massaging myself deep inside with the swollen head of his cock.
One of his large hands still supported me, but the other fumbled inside my blouse, clutching drunkenly at my boobs. I liked it. I
liked
fucking him drunk. I liked this intense feeling of
Must fuck NOW, can’t wait one SECOND
. I liked his lustful fumbling, his need, his urgency to touch me.
Then his hand left my chest. He licked his thumb and forefinger and placed his fingers beneath the front of my skirt.
And as his cock filled me up, his thumb pulled back my hood, and his finger gently rubbed my clit – that spot where he touched me when we OM’d.
“Oh God,” I cried out as my pussy rammed down on his cock, and his fingers sent me into the stratosphere.
The first contractions were gentle, but they ramped up fast. I could feel my muscles squeezing his girth involuntarily, could feel my thighs fluttering. His finger wasn’t letting up, though, and I barreled through the first orgasm straight into another – deeper, fuller, meatier this time, as the muscles in my belly began to contract.
