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His voice is raw. “You need to eat, Scarlett. You worked 14 hours today.”
“I need you to eat first.” I point to the center of his bed. “Get in the center, please. And lose the boxers.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, though he asks while positioning himself in the middle of the tufted, buoyant mattress.
“Lie on your hands,” I reply, ignoring his question. “And remember, Cohen, if you want to stop, we can stop at any time.”
He nods but I need to hear his understanding. I need him to verbally acknowledge that I’m not pushing his boundaries, or taking advantage of him because I know how much he likes to please me. As he slips his boxers off, I tell him, “Say it, please, I need to hear you say that you know I would never go further than you’re comfortable with.”
“Let me be clear right now Scarlett,” he growls, his cock leaving a smear of arousal on his belly as he slips his hands beneath his lower back, obeying me. “I want you in ways I’ve never wanted anyone. I want to fuck you and fill you and absolutely fucking devour you. I want to know what every inch of you tastes like, and I want you every day. But I respect you and what you do, and I want you to lead. I want you to show mewhatyou’re ready for andwhen. So know this, if I say red, it’s because I wantyouto consider what we’re doing, not because I don’t want it.” His nostrils flare with his passion. “I haven’t made love in four years. I haven’twanted tofor four years. But now I have you, and all I want to do is make up for lost time.” He inhales slowly and exhales heavily. “But only when the time is right.”
I nod, biting back the sting of tears. Who knew consideration and kindness could be an aphrodisiac. When this thought came to me in the tub, I wondered if I should move faster, take it further. But as I stare at the meaty length of his hard cock and the red hue of his swollen, shimmering head, I realize moving slowly doesn’t have to be just a way to respect my trauma.
Teasing and edging one another until we’re ready for the next step can also be the best foreplay and so much fun.
I climb onto the bed, straddling his hips, my knees dipping into the mattress. I drag my nails down his chest, admiring how his muscles stay defined and knotted even while lying.
“You have such a beautiful body,” I breathe, admiring him. I find his face, and my hands still when I see him turned away from me, eyes hovering on the wall. “Cohen,” I breathe, but he doesn’t look. With my palms flat on his pecs, I slide my groin over his, calling for his focus again.
“Cohen.”
Why doesn’t he want to look at me? “Look at me, Cohen.” Slowly, he faces me, pain is his eyes. Immediately, I know I’m in deep. Because his pained expression sears through me, leaving angst and sadness in its wake. I lay one hand to his cheek, pressing my thumb to his lips. “Tell me how you’re feeling, or say red.”
His swallow is slow, and he takes his time with his words. And in his lap, his hard cock notched at my bare core, I wait.
“I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this,” he finally breathes, emotion thick in his voice, making it weak and unsteady.
Oh.In my journey of self-awareness to honor and respect my trauma, I selfishly forgot to consider that Cohen’s celibacy wasn’t necessarily intentional or by choice. What happened in Michigan, the tremendous loss he’s suffered, he’s still battling blame and the belief that because of what happened, he doesn’t deserve happiness. A new life.
A second chance.
“You are my deserving, sweet, most beautiful man, do you hear me?” I ask now, gripping him by the chin, piercing his eyes with mine. “You deserve every happiness this world has to offer. What happened to you was awful. Terrible. Horrendous,” I gasp, my chest heaving as anger and frustration course through me, strengthening my grip on his chin. “You had no control over what happened, and it wasn’t your fault, and you deserve this Cohen.” I slam my lips to his and do my very best to absorb his sadness. When I pull back, my eyes fall to his cock, beautiful, thick, weeping for us.
I swipe through what pools on his belly, and suck his essence into my mouth. “Ready?” I ask, my eyes flitting between his.
He looks down at my cunt splayed over his groin, groaning at the sight of his cock head, fiery red with need. “Sit on my face and fucking smother me,now.”
Jesus Christ. Those filthy pleas coming from my loyal and courageous protector… my pussy clenches in eager anticipation. “If you need to safeword out, free your hands then give two taps on my ass,” I warn as I shimmy over him, letting my knees slide along the fabric until his mouth is smothered.
Warm lips and a hot tongue surround my clit, and his moans vibrate through me, making my entire core rattle with need. With his hands still beneath him, I rock my hips as he licks and kisses, my orgasm builds urgently, toe-curling need sweeping through me.
I rock and sway over his face, loving the way he nestles into my wetness, lapping at everything I have for him. And it is for him, and so I tell him as much.
“I’m so wet for you, wet because of you. God, I need you, I need you so much it hurts,” I moan, dropping my hands to his hair, tugging as he sucks my clit between his teeth.
He nibbles softly as my hips slowly sway, riding out a slow, sweet orgasm.
As the clenching and tightening subsides, while my breathing is still hectic, I slide down on Cohen, only slightly. Exposing his swollen lips and red nose, colored from the friction, I lock eyes with him.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as I reach behind me, between his thighs, and take him in my hand. I stroke him, and praise him. “Sweet man,” I whisper, our eyes idling, my hand stroking. “Taking care of me in all ways,” I tell him, swiping my thumb over the rounded tip of his cock. He’s sticky and slick, and I want more than anything to notch him at my entrance and sink down on him, and fuck him until he believes he deserves it.
But he’s not wrong in his caution.
I love what we just did, but his hands were behind his back. Had his hands been free and discovering my body as I writhed on his face, would I have been completely okay? Would I have freaked out? I want to believe because of the connection I feel, I wouldn’t be triggered and that my ability to orgasm wouldn’t just evaporate. But I don’t know, and I’m scared to risk it.
“Now it’s time to take care of you.”
He doesn’t protest, but I can see in his timid expression that he’s not sure he deserves it, but the way he’s made me see I deserve more, I’m determined to do the same.
