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Manson
When I woke up and saw long blonde hair splayed across my chest, I thought I was still dreaming.
Jess was nestled under my arm, with her back against my side and her hand resting on my bicep. She was wearing Jason’s shirt, her bare legs curled up slightly so her feet were pressed against my calf. The sun had just risen, a reddish orange glow peeking through her curtains.
I didn’t usually wake up this early, but I didn’t usually sleep away from home either. That familiar ache of anxiety bloomed in my chest, growing like a mass that pressed on my lungs.
I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t supposed to sleep here.
The last time I’d slept by her side, we’d been in my old bedroom in the Peters’ family home. I’d laid awake for hours that night just looking at her, at how soft her face was while she slept, how her lips twitched and her nose wrinkled as she dreamed. A simple dare had brought her into my arms, and it had seemed too good to be true.
Because it was. She left in the morning with one of the sweetest goodbyes I’d ever heard and then — nothing. Gone. Ghosted.
I was left feeling like I’d made the biggest mistake of my life and had no idea how to remedy it other than to simply let her go. That was the choice she’d made, and I had to respect it.
But now, if she made that decision again…whenshe did…
I didn’t know if I could respect it this time.
I was able to get a better look at her room in daylight. I hadn’t been paying much attention when Lucas and I broke in here, too distracted with the game to bother examining my surroundings. Her walls were painted crisp white, and there were still a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, taped shut and labeled with a sharpie. She hadn’t finished unpacking yet; maybe she didn’t intend to, especially if she planned to move in a few months anyway.
Her blankets were covered in a sunflower print. Glass figurines lined one of her shelves, and they caught the light and refracted it in prisms across the wall. The three shelves below were covered in trophies, medals, and sparkling crowns.
There was a stack of books on her desk, open notebooks and sticky notes spread across its messy surface. I tipped my head so I could read the spines, my eyes feeling too dry after having slept in my contacts. A book titledForm, Space, and Orderhad numerous multi-colored tabs sticking out from its pages, and most of the other titles looked like similar non-fiction. She had jars full of pencils and pens, and a small potted plant that looked like it was struggling to survive.
She sighed softly, squirming into a more comfortable position that pushed her closer against me. I curled around her, nuzzling my face against the back of her neck. She moved with me, her body shifting to twine with mine. She stretched her legs, her butt moving back to press right against me. My cock predictably twitched, swelling as she moved and slowly blinked her eyes.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. She sounded so sexy like that.
Kissing her neck, I moved slowly along her skin. She made little sounds, soft whimpers and gentle sighs, her body utterly limp as I turned her onto her back and slid under the covers.
I moved between her thighs and slid her panties down, tossing them out from under the blankets. She giggled sleepily as they flew across the room, then gasped when I trailed kisses up her thigh.
I loved the smell of her, the warmth, the softness of her skin as I closed my mouth over her. Her thighs tensed, squeezing around my head as I sucked on her clit. I took my time, savoring her, stroking my tongue over every fold. My cock was achingly hard, and I knew she was sore, but I also knew she liked the pain.
“Ah, Manson…” She fisted the sheets and shuddered as I focused on her clit. I pressed two fingers inside her, humming in appreciation when she cried out. I curled my fingers, her muscles contracting around me, throbbing as her sounds grew more desperate.
When she came, it was with a groan that made my entire body tingle. I lifted my head from her, pushing back the covers to kneel over her.
Her pupils were swollen, her eyes half-lidded. I reached down and grasped her beautiful face in my hands, relishing how pliant she felt. I was used to her fighting back, passionately resisting, relishing being overcome. But having her like this — soft and submissive, quiet and accepting — was an instant head rush.
“Are you sore?” I said, leaning over her to bring my mouth temptingly close. Her lips were parted, and I couldn’t help myself — I stroked my fingers over her lower lip, then pressed two fingers into her mouth. She opened for me, lips and tongue so tender as I explored her.
When I withdrew my fingers and rubbed her clit, her back arched up off the mattress.
“I’m sore,” she gasped. “But I don’t care.” She grasped my hips, tugging at the elastic band on my underwear. “Fuck me. Please.”
Those words stunned me into silence for a moment. Goddamn it all, I was done for. If she tried to ghost again, I was certain I’dbecome one myself. I hurriedly tugged my briefs off, discarding them on the floor and crawling closer to her mouth.
“Get it wet for me,” I said. My cock was rigidly hard as she opened her mouth, gazing up at me as her tongue stroked over me. I pressed into her throat, knotting my hand in her hair, holding myself there until she gagged, her eyes watering.
“Fuck, that’s right. Choke on it.” She didn’t pull away, despite struggling to keep me so deep in her throat. I released her head after several long seconds, the tight pulsations of her throat feeling so damn good. But I repositioned myself between her thighs, knowing that her pussy would feel even better. “You sure you want it, angel? You must be aching.”
Jason had been merciless, and I loved the thought of sinking into that sore cunt, fucking her until she came again despite the pain. But I needed her to want it. I needed her to crave suffering for me just as much as I craved her in return.
She lifted her hips, pressing toward me as she whispered, “Fuck me like you hate me, Manson. Make it hurt.”
I had to pause, closing my eyes and inhaling slowly. When I opened them again, she was looking at me like she was on the verge of begging, nudging herself against me, her wide eyes pleading.
