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I hold him tight, wanting to feel him again. To taste him. To convince myself that this will work. I don’t know what I really want. I don’t know if my heart can take loving him again. Loving him for all his flaws.
I stroke his back. Tangling my hands in his hair, I kiss him, my lips lingering on his, breathing him in. Our mouths meet, our tongues pulling and tasting, clashing together in a relentless rhythm. Still, he sits back, giving me the reins. He never used to give me control when I kissed him. It’s like he is scared to touch me, scared to hurt me again.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, tugging on his hair.
He opens his eyes and smiles.
I need to convince myself that this is only sex. Not somehow leading to a happily ever after. Sometimes loving someone also means letting them go.
“Fuck, babe, don’t do this to me,” he whispers, grinding his crotch against mine, making me gasp and squirm in his lap.
I pull my shirt over my head, and he looks at the black lace bra I’m wearing. I take his hand in mine, laying it on my breast. He strokes his thumb over the cups, up to my puckered nipples. He feels how hard they are, and he massages one breast in his palm. He pinches harder and I moan, remembering how he made me come with his mouth alone.
He leans forward and pulls the cup back, exposing me. The hard tip is pointing at him. I pant, watching him close his eyes when I push my chest against his.
I reach behind me and open the clasp of my bra, letting it fall on the floor. He hisses when he sees the piercings: the metal bar in my left and the ring in my right nipple. His eyes roam over my body. His shaking fingers trace a map, following the black ink of my tattoos.
“You’re fucking beautiful.” His voice sounds hoarser than normal.
He moans, his hot mouth covering the cold tip, and a sharp sting of pleasure explodes between my thighs. As I squirm in his lap, his hardness rubs against my wet center, going right through my panties and jeans.
I pull his head back, my fingers disappearing in his hair. After moving them down to his throat, I open the buttons of his white shirt, exposing his chest, skimming the coarse dark hairs there. I push the fabric farther aside, licking and sucking his right nipple into my mouth. He groans, humming my name. I bite a little and he growls before opening his eyes.
We stare at each other, panting hard. He brushes my mess of black hair behind my ears. His fingers tug on the metal bar at my breast. The muscles in my pussy throb from the pain.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, my head falling against his body.
Opening the button of my jeans, his hand moves down and into my panties before rubbing over the wetness. It’s hot seeing his finger disappear inside of me. He starts moving slowly, pushing in a second one, I moan when he finds my sweet spot and applies pressure with his thumb on my throbbing clit.
Picking me up like I weigh nothing, his devilish lopsided pirate smile is back in place. Holding me tight against his chest, my legs crossed above his hard ass, he carries me to the fireplace. With the flames dancing in his eyes, he drops to his knees with me still in his arms, and slowly presses me against the soft rug. His hair falls forward. Reaching up, I brush the strands behind his ear. My fingers linger on his cheek, the stubble around his mouth, the coarse hairs tickling my palm.
I trace the red mark next to his eye. He lets me. And he holds his breath when I reach up and kiss the line of his scar, ending with a kiss to the side of his upturned mouth.
We keep looking at each other. It’s like some sort of understanding passes between us. Like he is starting to believe he deserves my forgiveness.
And I do. I forgive him.
He fists my hair, pushing his crotch against mine. The shot of pleasure coursing through my body leaves me gasping.
“Fuck me. I can’t,” he whispers, his nose against mine. Curling his big hand around the back of my head, he makes me look at him. “Is that why you kissed me? You knew I would make love to you one last time. Because this feels like goodbye,” he says, his face inches away from mine.
The look in his eyes has an edge to it that I can’t quite place. It scares and arouses me at the same time.
“You know I can’t if it means hurting you again,” he says, shaking his head from side to side, looking torn. “I wouldn’t cope if I knew I’d caused you more pain.” His forehead creases. “But I want to touch you. I know I’m a selfish fuck. God, I need to touch you like I need to breathe.” Resting his head against mine, he says softly, “I didn’t bring you here for this.”
“You didn’t?” My voice breaks, my sex still throbbing because I want him inside of me. I need him.
“What do you want from me, Al? If it’s sex you want, I can’t give it to you. I gave it to you when you asked and when I woke up, you were gone for good.” He sits back on his knees.
“Fuck,” I say, the anger ringing through my voice. I grab my shirt before pulling it back over my head.
“Stay. Let’s talk without fucking first.” Groaning, he adjusts the front of his pants.
Pushing him away from me, I ask, “Why? Sometimes I wonder if that was the only thing we ever did well: fucked each other over.”
He stands with an angry scowl on his face. “I can’t,” he says, hanging his head, his jaw twitching. He closes the button of his jeans, and I need to swallow hard when I see the bulge straining against his zipper.
“Why not?” I ask again, pushing him until he looks at me. “Why not?” I grit out, combing both my hands through my undone hair.
