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My mouth tips as I grab the ruffly fabric across her lower back in my fist. I jerk it over the mound, my knuckles skimming against plush skin. The string comes out of her crack as I do, and then I leave the fabric at the bottom of her ass. Her body rocks forward and a moan flies out of her mouth when I slam inside of her.
Pelvis against ass, there’s nothing between us. I look down as I take a cheek in each hand, squeezing and spreading for a better view. The second she clenches the bedding in her hands and her back arches, I take it to pound town, not letting up until she grabs one hand and pulls it around to her front, hinting what she wants.
I lean forward, my front aligning with her back and my cheek next to hers as my finger presses between her lips to rub her clit. I strum it like she likes it. “Is this what you want?”
Instead of answering, she reaches back and grabs the back of my neck, sealing our mouths. Things slow down naturally from the position change, and all I can do is feel through it. Her heat, how wet she is, the way she sounds when she’s turned on and feeling good, it’s all sensory overload for me, and that’s never been the case for me with anyone but her.
Sex for me was just part of being a young, healthy guy. It felt good, which kept me from wanting to stop, but sometimes it wasn’t worth the drama that came along with it, like getting the girl out of my house when it was over because I just wanted to be alone, or the attachment from the other party when it happened more than once. I was content by my-miserable-self. That’s what made it somewhat easy to go lengthy periods without it, but I’ve learned that when you care about the person you’re doing it with, it’s an experience, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I never want to go back.
She moans into my mouth and the kissing becomes one-sided, confirming she’s coming, but she starts back moving her lips when her orgasm subsides. I continue to buck into her, staying relaxed this time when I feel the need to come. I still when my cum starts releasing inside her, my hand slowly feeling up her torso until it’s brushing over her breasts and grazing the cleavage.
My lips pull back and my forehead presses against her temple. “I love you,” comes out of me like vomit as I pull out. I don’t say it a lot, and neither does she. I like to think that it means more that it’s not over-said, but there are times when telling her feels overwhelming, like I just need her to know in a way I can get it across that she has me, hook, line, and sinker, to make up for all the bullshit things I did to her like not calling in the beginning.
What a fuck-up I was. It’s a miracle she didn’t tell me to fuck off during Christmas in Tahoe when I came into her room that first night, or when I showed up in California at her house party on New Year’s Eve after she saw those texts to Maddox. I shouldn’t have sent it. I made it seem like she was my cheap whore when she’s been the polar opposite since I met her. In hindsight, I should have just owned up to the way I felt about her to my friends. We’ve been like brothers since we were kids.
But I have an underlying fear of going through exactly what happened to my parents, of loving a girl with everything I am and then she step out on me like what we have is nothing. I think it’s because deep down I know I’m loyal to a fault, and commitment has always meant a lot to me, which is why I’ve been against leading girls on, even if it comes down to me being a grade-A dick.
I’d never step out on my girl. If I wanted to sling my dick, then I wouldn’t have a girl. I also don’t want to experience it. I know how I was over my parents. God knows what I’d be like if it happened to me. You can’t bounce back from that kind of mistrust, and the damage when it’s done is permanent, in that relationship and future ones.
She pulls her panties back in place and turns around, taking my face in her hands. She starts massaging my earlobes with her thumbs. “What’s on your mind?”
I love that she’s as tuned in to me as I am to her.
“Why do you want to stay in Miami all summer? One hitch here and there is fine, but an entire summer vacation makes zero sense. You and Presley are too different to ever be like you and Navy. You aren’t the type of person to want to hang out in a house with babies all day versus doing fun shit with your friends either, which I’m game for. It won’t be the same with Gabby as it was when y’all first met. Madden takes up her attention now, and she’s about to have another one while he’s out of school too. My friends and I are becoming worlds apart. They’re domesticated and settling down, which they all have in common. Being together all the time works for them. We don’t have kids. We’re still a long way away from a ring. I wanted you to come to my place some to help me move. I’m only in two weeks at a time. That house is going to be nothing but chaos, and I selfishly want you to myself.”
Her eyes well up; probably because she still gets shocked that someone pays attention to her in ways that matter, which is mind-boggling to me. Sex and a body image are great, but it only takes you so far. A bangable body is everywhere you turn. It can get old. If I’m going to commit to one girl, spend my time with her, I want the other shit too, like brains and personality. “I’m sacrificing for the greater good,” she says.
I huff out in frustration, all the shit that’s been in my head since my last hitch home when Presley asked her to stay for the whole summer coming to the surface now that I’ve opened my damn mouth. “What does that even mean, Paxtyn?”
She drops her hands. “I’m doing it for the band.”
I narrow my eyes at her, making it obvious how irritated I’m getting over her vague answers. “The band? What about it? I still think it’d be best to quit and let them find another bass player, maybe that Kaysen guy. That’s not my focus anymore. It hasn’t been in a long damn time, and that has nothing to do with you.”
“Nooooo,” she says in a degrading tone like I’m an idiot. “You’re not wasting your talent. I’ve told you this, specifically when you mentioned moving. You’re finally composing again, and you’re really damn good at it. Don’t even try to lie. I saw it when I first stayed at your house, and you haven’t hidden it since. If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t have gotten as far as you did. I called myself the “band bitch” for a reason, so you’re going to give this band and music your all this summer if I have to withhold sex from you and babysit you to do it.”
My mouth tips before I notice the movement. “You think you can hold out, huh?” I reach behind her and feel around until my hand is on the small zipper at the top of the corset, inching it down slowly. Thank God it’s not those little hook and eye clasps running all the way down her back. Her breathing turns ragged. “I have ways of getting what I want. After that fucking fantastic day in the basement, you should know this.”
The fabric falls from her body when I take the zipper off the track at the bottom, freeing her amazing tits. “Your plan only works when it was my plan first.Youshould know that.”
The memory returns of how she brought up the bet for the bed, how she climbed on top of me, how she went for a condom and then sat down on it after rolling it on. “Your plan is usually the same as my plan. It’s why this works.”
She smiles when I palm a tit, kneading it. “As amazing as your dick is, I can do without when there is something I want. I went seventeen years before I started doing it. I go two weeks between every hitch since. Holding out is my superpower.
Thank God for that.
On that note, I cave. Games can wait. “Why is this important to you?”
“Financial security, baby. Looking at the big picture.”
My head tilts slightly as I absorb her lie. Fake, just like how she used to act. I grab her neck and shove her down on the bed, then come over her. “I told you, no bitch will ever have my money,” I bite out.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’mthe bitchthen,” she throws right back at me.
She’s right about that. That phrase used to have so much bitterness backing it. It doesn’t aimed at her. I’d give her every dime to my name because she doesn’t want it. “Cut the shit. Why do you care about the band when I don’t even care? I’d rather a summer with you than putting all my faith in a dream that likely won’t come true. We were given a chance. We turned it down. Then we disappeared for years after spending so much time building an audience. Game over. There were plenty lined up to take our spot.”
“Sounds like your mom isn’t the only subject you have bitterness over,” she sneers at me.
Maybe not. The bitch gets me, and is brave enough to call me on my shit.
