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She’s panting when I finally let her breathe. When I feel between her legs, I find her wet for me, and it’s not just her period and my cum from earlier. It’s sweet, slick arousal.
Looking into her eyes, I ask the question I’ve been carrying in my heart for so long it’s branded into my soul. “Do you want me, Lina?”
The truth makes her flinch. More tears run from her eyes as she whispers, “You know I do.”
“Say it.”
“Damian.” A sob catches in her throat. “Please don’t make me.”
“Say it, Lina. Tell me the truth.”
“Yes,” she cries on a defeated whisper. “I want you.”
“Then ask me to fuck you.”
“Damian.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders. I know she needs this, the physical closeness. She wants it desperately after how I’ve treated her in the study. She needs it after her breakdown. It’s no great psychological analysis. It’s just human nature.
“You only have to ask, Lina.”
“Please, don’t.”
I nuzzle her temple with my nose. “There’s no shame in asking.”
She stares at me for so long I’m terrified I’m going to lose the gamble, but then she opens her sweet little mouth and gives me the words I want to hear.
“Make love to me.”
“Anything you want.”
Lining my cock up with her pussy, I slide in slowly, watching her face as I stretch her and her body adjusts to take me. I give her what she asked for, loving instead of fucking, slowly and gently filling her until we’re buried so deep in each other our groins are grinding together.
Our lovemaking is a languid dance of give and take. This time, I let her participate. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my ass, pulling me to her as close as I can get. She initiates the kiss, giving me the sweetest of bliss as she tangles her tongue with mine. Her tears make way for panting until her moans fill the room and my head. Her scent is in my nose and in my memory, the smell of sweet poison that will kill me, but what a happy death it will be. I’m sliding my hands everywhere there is skin, touching with a need born from six lonely years, but she’s touching, too.
She runs her hands through my hair and down my back, over my ass. I know she needs me to touch her clit to come, but when I push up on one arm, she pulls me back, not accepting the small space I put between us. Instead, her hand moves between our bodies. I take my time with her as she plays with her clit. My strokes are too lazy to stimulate another ejaculation, especially so soon after the first, but feeling her pleasing herself is all it takes. When we come, we’re looking into each other’s eyes. Hers are brimming with defeat, and I know mine will be shining with raw desire and conquest. I drink in her expression, imprinting it to my memory, the moment she submitted her body to me.
Lina
Everything Damian didn’t give me in the study, he gives me after we’ve made love in his bed. He carries me to the shower and washes me, always touching, always having a point of contact. Even when he squeezes shampoo onto my head, he does it with one hand, the other securely resting on my waist. He dries me and brushes my hair. I finally escape from his lavish attention to the bathroom with the box of tampons while he strips the bed of the mess we’ve made. When I come back, I stare at the bare mattress with longing, wishing I could crawl back under the covers to hide from myself and my significant, not to mention humiliating, loss of our war, but it’s only late afternoon.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, he watches me from the edge of the bed with crossed arms. I gingerly walk to the dressing room, pretending I don’t notice his stare. He doesn’t crowd me but gives me space to dress. I pull on jeans and a T-shirt before joining him in the room.
“Come here,” he says.
Conscious of the ache between my legs, I cross the floor and stop in front of him.
“Give me your hand.” I lift my right hand. “The other one.”
My hesitation lasts only a second, but Damian’s eyes darken. Quickly, I extend my left hand. He takes a ring from his pocket and slips it onto my finger to fit against the wedding band. The teardrop diamond has been beautifully set inside a cluster of black diamonds. It catches the light, giving off a sparkle that seems ironic, given the circumstances.
“There,” he says, twisting the ring until it fits right.
I can’t bring myself to say thank you. It would be false.
Instead of commenting on my lack of enthusiasm, he asks, “Hungry?”
