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But thank God,thank God, he came back.
Thank God, he came back in time. Thank God,Irealized things in time.
Thank fucking God, he’s lifting me in his arms now. He’s getting between my thighs. He’s pressing his body, his pelvis into mine.
Oh Jesus, yes.
And it’s like I’ve finally come awake.
All day I’ve been in this foggy state, the edges of the world dulled out and unclear.
Everything is clear now though.
With him between my legs, filling that empty space, I’m aware of everything around me.
The scratchy bark behind my back. The hot summer air. The dark night. The fact that he’s rubbing me right there. He’s rocking and gyrating against me right where my clit is.
And holy God, there’s his dick.
I can feel it through the layers and layers of our clothing.
And it feels big.Huge.
As big as it was last night, stretching me out, invading me, and I want that again. I so want it.
I moan into his mouth, pulling at his hair.
“Thought I was too late,” he says hoarsely. “Thought you’d gone back to him.”
I shake my head, panting against his lips. “N-no. I couldn’t. I —”
He presses open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat. “I would’ve taken you from him. Would’ve torn you away from his arms, if I had to. Fucking kidnapped you.”
I tilt my neck to the side, giving him all the access, giving him all my skin, my veins to suck on. “I would’ve gone with you. I would’ve gone wherever you wanted.”
“I would’ve fucking killed him,” he continues. “I would’ve fucking killed anybody who tried to stop me. I —”
“Shh,” I whisper, rocking against him, humping that tent in his pants. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m with you.”
He growls.
Hard and deep.
As he licks and sucks and bites. “I’mnotletting you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He growls again and tugs at the straps of my dress, the neck of it. I arch my back to unzip my dress in the back and help him out. He yanks at it, along with my bra, baring my breast, and then latches onto a nipple.
I almost cry out and dance in his arms as he sucks and sucks and sucks.
As if drinking from me.
Sucking on his medicine.
Slurping on what will make him better, and so I thread my fingers through his rich, dark hair and press his face into my tits. Willing him to drink more. Willing him to take everything from me, all the relief, all the ambrosia.
In between sucks though, he asks, “You feel okay?”
