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“Wait,” she says as she slides over and pats the bed. “Lie down next to me.”
I don’t want to fucking wait. I’m afraid if we stop, she’ll disappear. But I lay my body next to hers and look over, and she’s still there. She’s still real.
“Swear you’ll tell me if it gets to be too much,” she says.
“It won’t be,” I clip out.
She smiles because she knows I’m full of shit, which means she’s aware of my injuries somehow. She helps me take off the last of my clothes before she does the same. When she’s naked, everything else around us blurs as she becomes my singular focus. The seconds slow to a crawl as she climbs over me, straddling my hips with her body. There’s familiarity in this. The feeling of her as she rocks against me, warm and wet. The softness of her curves, the roundness of her breasts. Her scent. Her hair. The sense that every heartbeat is a shotgun blast in my chest. I know it’s not possible, but right now I feel alive again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I palm her hips, squeezing her to make sure she’s still here. That this isn’t some figment of my imagination.
“So are you,” she whispers.
Warmth blooms across her chest as she watches me watch her. I could stay here all night, content to soak in her every detail. But Bianca has other plans. She reaches for my cock, and it’s fucking torture to have her fingers wrapped around me again, but she doesn’t make me wait. She leans up and tilts her hips and then slides down my shaft until she bottoms out.
Air hisses between my teeth, and the war between pleasure and pain almost makes me pass the fuck out. I ride the wave, breathing deep as Bianca gives me a minute to just exist. She kisses me until my body relaxes beneath her, and then she grabs my hands and settles them on her tits, dishing out orders.
“Touch me.”
I brush my fingers over her nipples, and her head falls back as she rolls her hips against me. My eyes drift down to our connection, her body swallowing my cock, and it snares all my attention. She’s fucking me raw, and I can feel every inch of her wrapped around me. Already, my dick throbs inside her. I just want to bury myself deep and blow. But I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by the sight of her using me to get herself off.
“You feel so fucking good, peaches,” I rasp.
“This belongs to you.” She cradles my face between her palms. “You own me, Madden. Every inch of me, heart and soul. Don’t ever doubt it.”
Her declaration sends a current of electricity straight down my chest, making my balls contract. I want to fucking own her.
She watches me as she gains momentum, and there’s no coming back from it. I want to slow her down, and I want to fuck her faster. I want it all. Her mouth, her tits, her ass. I want to devour her, and I make a silent vow that I will. By the time I’m finished with her, she’ll feel me everywhere.
Bianca chokes back a strangled sound as her orgasm tears through her. Her pussy contracts around me, squeezing me so fucking tight it pushes me past the point of no return.
“Fuckkkk,” I growl.
“Come inside me.” She leans down and breathes the words against my lips. “Give me everything.”
My dick jerks and explodes deep inside her, unloading what feels like ten years of agony. Bianca rides it out, milking every last drop from me. It feels so good that I watch her with heavy eyes, content to let her keep going forever. That is until a second later when a spasm in my back hijacks the moment, grabbing hold of me and refusing to let go.
“Motherfuck,” I hiss.
“What can I do?” Bianca helps me sit up and stretch it out. “Should I massage it?”
“I just need to grab a muscle relaxer,” I grit out. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t make a big deal about helping me as I release the stiffness from my joints. It’s a small thing, but I appreciate that she’s not treating me like I’m helpless. When I reach the adjoining door to the bathroom, I glance back at her, wondering if she’ll disappear again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she tells me. “I’ll be right here when you come back.”
I nod and force my legs to move, closing myself inside the bathroom, where I clean myself up and wash down a small handful of pills with a big gulp of water. I grab my prescription and a clean cloth for Bianca too and work my way back out to her. But I stop when I find her sitting on the edge of the bed, peering into the nightstand drawer where I keep my pistol. Right beside it are the letters she sent. The letters I’ve read hundreds of times over the last few weeks while I considered ending it all.
