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The bathroom goes silent, only the music sounding in the background, forgotten until now. I stare ahead at the wall, blinking in a stunned pattern. Without force, my arms wrap around him and my chin rests on top of his head, my fingers playing in the bottom of his hair. Seconds feel like hours and my mouth feels numb as the words tumble out, freaking me the fuck out. "I think I might miss you too, asshole, and your cake orgasms."
"Ty?"
"What, Bry?"
"Fuck me. This time I want you to fuck me."
I'm not sure what to even say at this point. His lack of humor and light mood is throwing me off. One thing I've noticed is he is always on top first during sex, and usually the majority of the time, or other male dominant positions. He likes control in the bedroom, even most of the times when I'm on top. He likes to fuck me, fast and hard, and now he's asking me to fuck him? His sexual aggression has gone into hibernation somewhere. He's lost in his head with whatever happened between him and Joel. The seriousness between us has me thoroughly confused and trapped in my own head. I have no idea what to say or how to get us back into a playful mood like earlier.
Then I remember something Meg said once back in college when we were talking about some guy she was dating that was suddenly giving her the cold shoulder. I'm surprised I was even listening. Usually, I tuned out guy convos unless they consisted of dick size or their rating in bed, because I just didn't give a shit about the rest. I'm starting to really sense there is something wrong with me. She said,"When a guy is dealing with stuff, the majority of them shut down. Girls like to talk about it—obviously aside from me—and guys like to close off from the world and deal with it themselves in ways they can understand. Then, when they have it figured out, they'll flip like a light switch and be back to the one they've been since you met them. When it happens between a guy and me like now, I just be what he needs and leave it alone. Pushing only makes things worse."
"Why do you want me to fuck you? You always want to fuck me."
His head pulls back and he looks at me. The flicker from the candle creates a shine across his face. My eyes hone in on the light dusting of freckles across his nose I've noticed are there, but you have to be looking to see them, because they're light, as if they've faded over the years. "I just want to know what that's like. To see if I'd still come. I like aggressive fucking. Always have. That's how it always is. Fuck me the way you would do."
My brows scrunch. "Are you sure you're okay? I like how you fuck, obviously, or I wouldn't still be seeing you."
"Just do it, Ty," he says, exasperated.
"Okay. Fuck. Fine."
He grips his hand on the side of my neck, pulling my lips close to his. "I have my own fucked up reasons," he says, back in the same tone from before. "I just need you to do it."
For some crazy reason it bothers me seeing him in such turmoil over who the hell knows what. And like a baking cake disturbed prematurely I fucking cave, my lips sealing with his when his hand cups over the middle of my ass, pulling me closer to his dick, urging me on. He leans back against the tub, bringing me with him.
Tongues already tangled, I push up, gripping his dick in my hand and aligning it, readying it for entry. Then, slowly, I sit, sinking his dick deep within my body. A deep groan erupts and his hand tightens on my ass as if he's going to control my movements, but then it releases and slowly skims up my back. Hands gripped onto the ledge of the tub by his head, I begin pumping up and down at a steady pace.
His hand falls from my neck and begins kneading my breast, his fingers pinching my nipple, the other resting between my shoulder blades. My hips rock back and forth in a steady motion on a pinpointed location, feeling all of him inside of me hitting against the sweetest spot. Seconds to minutes and my orgasm begins, every nerve ending firing, muscles spasming with every wave of pleasure consuming my body. Time slows and my movements become less frequent. My hand fists in his hair, my lips becoming needy and greedy, requesting more of his, our tongues dancing together as if they have always been partners.
As the high fades my hips change position, my thighs thrusting up and down, as the rest of my body remains stationary, my pussy stroking his cock like a tight fitted glove. As soon as I find a beautiful rhythm and everything in my consciousness starts to fade, the ecstasy taking over, his other hand rounds to my lower back and he halts my movements. I start to feel his cock pulse inside of me, his kiss picking up in aggression this time.
I pull back slightly, our lips breaking apart, our chests rising and falling against each other. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip as we stare at each other, catching our breaths. And then he says something I'll never forget. "Completely fucked."
Chapter Fifteen
Bryant
Iopen my eyes to the feel of an arm as it wraps around my waist, attempting to pull the body it belongs to closer to me. When my vision comes into focus, I see the top of a head, a mass of brown hair, and the feel of lips pressed against the center of my chest. Fingertips are lightly rubbing along the short hair at the top of my chest, not far from my neck. It kind of tickles, but at the same time feels good. I don't dare move yet; at the risk she may notice I'm awake and stop. It's not like this is a regular thing with her.
Her naked skin is flush against mine, her leg thrown over me, and the sheet is in a tangled mess from last night. I don't know what the fuck was wrong with me. The fight with Joel and the shit he kept saying had my mind in a fog, thought after thought drowning me. I couldn't sit there, and I didn't want to go out. Here seemed like the only other place I wanted to be, invitation or not. I don't need an invite when come Tuesday I may never see her again.
Then, I knocked on the door with no answer, but Saxton confirmed she was here. It wasn't locked, so I came in, instantly assaulted with music to my ears. I was lost in my head, moving robotically, but the sight I found was something I'll remember for the rest of my life. Even if I tried to forget the way she looked under candlelight, naked and buried beneath the suds, steam coming off the water, I can't. It's engrained in my mind forever. I've never stood before a woman speechless before, but getting my brain to work long enough to ask how long she was going to be in there was no easy task.
I can't remember the last time I took a bath. To the best of my knowledge I was a small kid. From the moment I wanted to be like my dad—a man—I've taken showers. And that was when I was a young little shit. Being raised with a man, you become independent early in life. Men don't have that same nurturing side that women do, because once my dad could show me how to bathe myself, I did. He was uncomfortable doing those things for me after about the age of three. Baths are like soaking in a pool of filth, just like I said. The point is to get clean, not sit in the dirt you just washed off. But something about sitting in it with her like that and I didn't have to even think twice.
Sitting there, pressed against her naked wet body, I couldn't escape some of the things Joel said no matter how hard I tried: me leaving, wanting her. Love is bullshit, and impossible at this stage with any couple, let alone a man that wants nothing to do with it, but I think there is more to the way I feel about her than I'm willing to admit. And knowing I'm about to leave, my emotions slammed against my body, trying to barrel out in my moment of vulnerability. For the first time ever I lost control of my mind.
I actually asked her to fuck me. I snapped. I haven't wanted a girl to completely control sex since around the time I lost my virginity. The reason then—I was still learning how to insert my dick into a girl. Nothing about slow, romantic sex has ever been a turn on for me. Early on, before I was even having sex, I found the appeal in dirty, hard, angry sex when I found my dad's collection of magazines and DVDs he kept hidden. Porn sex is primal, animalistic, and that's what I learned. Until then, I never knew what it was that arrived in the black packaging in the mailbox, but he was adamant about getting it before I could peek inside. It didn't stay secret for long. Boys with no mothers want to be just like their dads. Maybe that's where my preference for a nice body on a woman came from.
I watched, I studied, and I learned on myself what I liked.
By the time I got to sex it didn't take long to replicate all the things I had learned, and then, sex became a contact sport for me just like football. I played it rough, fast, and with a goal in mind the entire time, ending no other way than a body covered in sweat, and condoms made it easier to last longer.
But I letherfuckme—not hard, not fast, and I forced my hands to stay put while she did, even when in the beginning I wanted to grip her body and slam her down on my cock over and over again.
The even more fucked up part—I liked it. And I came. Fairly fucking quick at that. I blame it on watching her come as she used my dick to evoke her own orgasm—her own personal dildo. I was even more fucked up in the head when I got out of that tub than when I got in. We got out, we moved to the bed, and I turned her on all fours and pushed her face and tits into the mattress. Without consent, I ate her clean, plump, pink pussy till she writhed against me, and then I fucked all of the shit in my head out—hard and fast just like I like it.
Now, I finally feel like I'm back to normal.
