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When she can take no more, I release her, placing her back down onto the bed. I lean back on my heels and use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. “Fuck, baby.”
She continues to writhe on the bed, coming down from her high. I could get lost in the angles and planes of her body, so fucking young, so soft, and made just for me.
As if someone cut imaginary ties that bound her wrists to the bed, she launches forward, her mouth landing on mine, devouring me as she pulls the shirt from my body and pushes my jeans down as I crawl across the bed, pulling her body with mine. In a hurry, I reach over and grab a condom from my nightstand.
She cocks an eyebrow at me accusatorially.
“I hate to break it to you, Ms. Leone, but I was not a virgin when we first met.”
Laughing, she watches with rapt attention, her eyes heavy with lust, as I roll it over my hard cock. My heart aches just looking at her, so beautiful, and all mine.
“Which one am I?” she asks breathlessly, and I push inside of her. All of the tension leading up to this melts away, and she feels like a prize at the end of a race.
“Ah, God,” she tosses her head, hair splayed against my sheets, mouth open, and I pick up my speed, chasing the high.
I hitch her legs further around me, fucking her hard and fast, the headboard knocking noisily into the wall, not able to take my time because she feels so fucking good. I know I won’t be able to keep this pace up for long, but I can already tell she’s close again. Moving my hand between us, I use my thumb to bring her further along, her hips instinctively pushing against me. Every moan is pure adrenaline, and my balls pull tight until I feel her clench around me.
This woman has turned me inside out, exposed all the vulnerable parts of me, and left me in ruins.
“You’re a fuckingStratocaster, baby.”
34
PINK
SASHA
Dream On by blessthefall
Islip out of the bed and throw Cash’s t-shirt over my head, careful not to wake him. I bring the material to my nose and discover it smells like him. Heat creeps up my neck just thinking of last night. I have no underwear to slip on because he tore them off me; the lace lays shredded on the floor next to the bed.
This man has a way with my body, knowing exactly how to turn me to ashes. I told him to sign his name across my body and ruin me for all other men, and that’s exactly what he did.
How will I ever be able to give this up?
The sun has just come up, and light filters through the window as I walk into the small kitchen looking for a coffee maker. On the counter is a French press. It makes me smile because it’s nothing fancy; it’s simple, just like him. I open the fridge and grab the coffee grounds, putting a kettle of water on the stove to heat.
Cash’s loft is an extension of him, decorated nicely in blues and greys, plush pillows, and modern lamps. It has a small living area with a couple of oversized chairs in the corner. The walls are slanted, making part of the loft inaccessible, but the one that is straight, has a few personal photos of him with his old band hanging haphazardly. One of them is a picture of him when he was around my age. His blonde hair spiked into a Mohawk, and he looks so young, so different from the man slumbering soundly in the bed only a few feet away.
I look over at him as he sleeps; the sheet pooled at his waist with one leg sticking out. He is perfect, a work of art, and I itch to take his picture, the light making his hard lines more defined.
I didn’t want to snoop last night before he came home, but while I wait for the water to boil, I look through the bookcase more closely. Some titles I expected to see, like biographies of famous musicians, but other’s surprised me, likeKerouac,Heller,Hemingway,Krakauer, and a book titledZen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I had pulled that one off the shelf and started reading when Cash came home. It still sits on the table where I left it.
I move over to his personal record collection. An old record player sits on a table next to it. I pull ablessthefallalbum from the stack and turn it over to look at the list of songs. I’ve never heard of this band before, much like a lot of the bands Cash listens to. I place it on the record player and drop the needle, turning the volume low.
His personal collection is a mixture of punk, classic rock, and grunge. They don’t seem to be organized alphabetically, much like his books, as if he plays them often and puts them back wherever he feels like it.
The water boils on the stove so I make way over to turn it off. Pouring the water over the coffee grounds, I leave it to brew. The process of the French Press is slow and tedious, but I like that it keeps my hands busy, giving me something to do. While wiping the mess of the coffee grounds from the counter, hands circle around my waist from behind and Cash plants a kiss on my neck.
I turn around, letting him cage me in.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I frown as I run my hands up his bare chest and circle his shoulders.
His skin is hot, and his eyes still look sleepy.
“I like waking up to you in my place,” he says against my neck, planting kisses along my jaw.
His hands move down my back, cupping my bare ass. “Mmm, no panties?” He raises an eyebrow, a wicked smirk curving his lips.
