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He slides his lips onto my cheek, brushing against them softly, causing my eyes to close and my breathing to quicken.
My fingers ache to reach for his cock, to slide up and down, to feel how hard he is… how big.
He doesn’t kiss my skin, but traces tracks across it so tenderly that I feel myself dissolving into him.
As if reading my thoughts, he whispers, “Do you want to touch me?”
When I refuse to answer, he weaves his fingers into my hair at the back, pulling back and causing a whimper to flee from my throat.
“Do you?”
I glare back at him, hating how desperate I feel to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, to wrap my fingers around it, my lips around it, the clenching walls of my pussy around it.
When I remain mute, he says, “I’m hard, Indigo. Very very hard. For you. In fact, I get hard every time I think of you. Tell me you’re not wet. Tell me you don’t want to feel me inside you…”
“You think the fact that we get turned on by each other overrides all other considerations? You don’t care if I’m hurt, do you?”
“Of course I care.”
“Well, then, if you cared, you’d leave. I can’t just sleep with someone and feel nothing. I’ll end up in pain. But then, I doubt you’d give a shit about that, would you?”
His fingers release from my hair, finding the wall behind me, and I hate that they do, for what I really want is for him to spend the night fucking me, holding me. I want to use his body as therapy. To replace every bad memory I have of someone else with the memory of his, the imprint of his.
Sure, maybe I’d end up hurt, but the constant ache of the absence of him has plagued me since the island anyway and the pain of memories of my ex was soothed by the touch of him.
Maybe he could be useful to me.
Maybe we could be useful to each other.
“You think I don’t care,” he growls. “You think I haven’t spent night after night worried about how you are, desperate to find out for myself. You think I pay to have security stationed on the other women I've fucked. It’s never happened before.”
“I didn’t ask for that. And anyone with money can throw it at a problem.”
His strong heartbeat pounds beneath my palms as his thumb brushes against the shell of my ear.
“You’re right. It’s cowardly to do that. I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m here, facing the mess I made. I want to make this feel better… for both of us.”
As his finger caresses the skin of my cheek just next to my ear, my body moves internally, as if drawn to his light, or whatever the hell it is about him that makes every cell of mine suddenly ravenous.
My lips part as the large pad of his strong thumb sweeps down my face, inching closer to my lips, taunting me with the need to take it in my mouth and suck… just as I want to suck something else of his for the first time—or rather, have the right to take him all the way into my throat after the deprivation he subjected me to last time.
I want to lick and suck and taste his cum on my tongue if only to remove the feel and taste of someone else, the memory of which has haunted me at times, leaving me pacing, or unable to sit still, unable to enjoy yoga, reaching for alcohol to sanitize myself of the phantom taste that unexpectedly floods my mouth.
His eyes tunnel into mine as the digit approaches my lips, pushing into the flesh of them, and I fight the urge to bring out my tongue and lick the thing, to draw it into my mouth and suck on it as I stare into his eyes.
What’s more, he knows full well what he’s doing to me.
I bet he loves every minute of it.
As his thumb presses into my lip, in a sudden loss of self-control, he growls as he lifts me in the air, shoving my dress up to the tops of my thighs so that I can straddle his hips, my feet locking into each other around the hard curve of his ass.
“Wait,” I whimper as my back hits the wall and he begins to breathe heavily into my ear, the sound low but shaky.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” he growls, his lips scraping against my ear. “Ever.”
The words feel like a thousand years’ worth of therapy.
My fingers curl around his shoulders as he presses his wooden erection between my legs. I inhale audibly, moaning a little as he begins to pulse it into my clit, separated only by the fabric of his charcoal gray dress pants and the increasingly wet cotton of my black panties.
