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I’ve never said it but as I do, I realize it’s not just dirty talk. I really do want to rub it in, wear him like a badge of honor. His spine goes rigid in the chair, his hefty thighs flex, and I stop moving my hands.
The first shot of release streaks up my chest, curling my shoulder. I feel the warm slide of cum down my back as the next shot jets over my breast, this time coating my nipple, dripping down between us. He moans my name as his cock pulses in my hands, spewing rope after rope of thick release. His cum is everywhere when he’s done; on both of my breasts, my chin and lips, my belly, the floor, his legs—literally everywhere.
I fucking love it. I lick my lips as his lazy gaze takes me in, a slaked expression on his handsome face. I rock back onto my calves, sitting between his legs, still holding his softening cock in both hands.
“I have to tell you something,” I say before either of us has even caught our breath yet. I don’t even give him the chance to acknowledge that information is incoming. “I’m ready. I’m ready to have sex with you.” Nervously I remove my hands from him, the stickiness drying.
His voice is thin and hoarse as he breathes, “Untie me.”
I do, and both of us move to the bathroom together, slowly, so as to not make a mess of the floor more than we already have. I wash my hands and wet a washcloth, turning to bring it to his groin, but he stops me.
He begins wiping my orgasm from him in small swipes, all while still looking at me. Still paying attention to me. “I want you to be sure, because I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I realized I wasn’t afraid of what I thought I was.”
He grins. “Dr. Evans?”
I smile, because he knows therapy, too, and I like that. We can be broken together, but we can heal together too. “Yeah.” I breathe, wiping most of my body free of his cum. Leaving some around my nipple. Even post orgasm, I really do want to rub some of him into me, and wear his cum proudly. A badge of love I wear proudly.
“I think I was worried you’d get tired of me. You’d change your mind. You’d have some epiphany that didn’t include a future with me.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his chest. I find his heart to be racing. “I have no future without you.”
We haven’t shared those words or made promises to each other, so I rock to my toes and seal his words with a kiss. Back on my feet, I rub the drying cum into my hardened nipple and look up at him. “I want you on me for the rest of the day.”
His groan tells me he approves. We redress, with Cohen kneeling at my feet to help me get into my jeans. There’s something about the calluses of his working hands on my feet, the way he tenderly touches me and looks up at me for direction, it makes my insides all melty and mushy.
But I think that’s just what real love feels like.
“Cohen,” I start, watching him toe into his boots, bent over to lace them up. He strains his head, still tying, while looking up at me.I love you. I’m in love with you. I…“I just want you to know, you’re so worthy of happiness. You deserve everything. And I hope when you’re with me, you realize that. That you don’t punish yourself anymore.”
He rises, one boot tied, the other not. Blinking at me, the air between us heavy from the weight of my words, he swallows. I hear it go down, I hear my own heart thudding in my ear drums. Reaching out, his calloused palm cups my face. “Thank you.”
I watch as he bends over again, returning to his boot. My eyes fill but I blink away the sting, and just watch him. What he’s been through is horrendous and unimaginable, and while going through my shit, he’s seemingly shelved his trauma. And before I say those words, before we commit physically, I have to know he realizes I’m right. That he does deserve, despite the lies his grief told him before, everything good.
“You know that, right?” I ask, my voice quiet and unsure. We had a great time on lunch. My body did things—for him—that it’s never done for any person or camera before. We shared orgasms yet again, and this one was just as powerful, if not more, than the last. Each experience with him becomes more binding and intense.
“I’m working toward accepting that.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, the scruff of his unshaved face sending bumps up my arm.
The conversation settles there as we flit between the apartments, making sure both are locked up. As we take the stairs down to the car, I hear my phone ring in my purse but I don’t check it.
I’m with the only person I want to talk to right now. But Cohen glances at my ringing purse a few times, stroking a hand down his chin, then pulling at the back of his neck, elbow out.
I drape my hand on his thigh the entire way back, and his demeanor shifts back to calm, and he even smiles at me as we pull into the same parking spot we abandoned earlier.
We’re going to be okay. We may look different than other couples, but low in my belly, I feel it—we’re going to heal. We’re going to make it.
Together.
twenty-two
cohen
I miss her, too.
Tonight, Lucy Lovegood is hosting a mixer for investors at the Crave & Cure studios. I could be there, hell, she begged me to stay.
But I had therapy tonight, and going to a drink mixer after a therapy session isn’t something I’m looking to do.
