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He gasps as my hand moves down his neck to his back, digging in and hanging on for dear life. Em may be the rock, the tower standing against the wind, but he’s not the only one standing against the storm any longer, and I can’t simply lie there any longer.
He carries me to the hotel bed and lays me down without ever slipping out of me. His hand moves to my throat, and his fingers tighten against it. Just enough so I can feel his strength. My nails move further down his back, digging in harder than I probably should.
But just as much as I’m his, he’s mine. He leaves bruises all over my body, and tonight, I’ll leave my own marks on him. The pain spurs him on, and his hand moves to my breast, squeezing hard enough to hurt at the same time that he thrusts hard and fast like before.
“Yes,” I moan as the sensations burn through me. His other hand moves between us, his fingers finding my clit. Em’s finger makes circles even as he slams into me as hard as he can.
My body is overwhelmed by the sensations. It’s impossible to give into them with how fast they rise inside me when I’m with Em. His lips finally pull away from mine, leaving me gasping, and they latch onto my neck. Hard and reckless, he sucks, and I feel the orgasm explode.
As soon as the first wave hits me, all the confusion goes away, and there’s no possibility of too much. I pull his head tighter to my neck even as I’m moaning and bucking my hips.
Em’s cock seems to swell inside me. His hand moves from my breast to my hip, and he holds me in place as he thrusts even harder.
He pulls away, gasping for air, and he spreads my legs wide, both of his hands moving to hold them in place. The first thrust rips a scream from me. He’s too deep. Too thick. My body can’t handle him.
And that somehow makes it better.
Our eyes are locked the whole time he fucks me without a care for how much I’m screaming. I’m begging him to keep going, to use me until he finishes inside me, but not a single word is spoken.
There are no smiles or laughter from him now. Just that intensity that burns into me like he can read my soul. Maybe he can, now that I’ve said the magic words.
I love you.
He’s panting when he lets go of my legs and wraps both of his hands around my breasts. It’s only a matter of seconds before he finally lets out a deep groan and slows.
I feel him finish inside me.
It’s like something changes between us. A deeper connection or a solidifying ofus. We’d talked about things at the lighthouse. We’d decided. Until this very moment, though, I’d still felt like we were separated.
But now, I finally feel like we’re more than secret lovers. We’re something different. Not just a couple, either. This is something more momentous.
As Em pulls away from me, his breath still coming out hard, his eyes haven’t lost that hunger in them. “You’re perfect,” he finally says.
That’s what it is. Those are the words. I’ve known who I wanted my entire life. I wanted someone who couldn’t be real. Someone impossible.
But he’s kneeling in front of me.
“No,” I whisper back, barely capable of saying the words that are so desperate to be brought into the world. “I’m not perfect, and you aren’t either, but you’re perfect for me, and I’m perfect for you. Our broken pieces fit.”
“You’re not broken, Madison. What are you talking about?”
If he only knew. I may not have created an entirely new person for the world to get to know, but I certainly haven’t made it through my life without the storms chipping my stones.
My mother set a path through storms for me from birth, even before she knew who I was or what I wanted. She decided I’d live in the spotlight in pageants. She decided that I’d endure criticism from strangers from my very first memory.
My mother decided I would wear a mask before I knew what a mask was.
Childhood is a blur of dresses and makeup as I competed in multiple states. My friends were the enemy. My smile and walk were my weapons. Everything was a terrible game that I had no control over.
That’s what I grew up with, and the storms never let up. They wore me down, and it wasn’t until I was thirteen that I finally told my mom that I couldn’t do another pageant.
The damage had already been done, though. The trust in people had been destroyed, and that’s why I sought refuge in books. They don’t judge you, and they don’t lie to you.
“That’s not a story for tonight, Em. Let’s just be happy.”
He stares at me for a second, and then he lets the conversation go, rolling onto his back next to me. “Let me hold you,” he whispers.
I don’t think I could ever turn down that offer. Sex with him may be fire and lightning, but afterward is like being held by an angel.
