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I don’t stand up either. I crawl toward him, nodding as I approach. I’m bone-tired, my soul aches for the little boy who was abandoned by his mother, and the mother who reached the end of her rope enough to leave her little boy. It’s so sad and heart-aching that I almost can’t breathe around the tightening in my chest.
He scowls at my face before tipping my head back, examining me under the soft light. “What happened?”
“It was an accident.”
“I know.” He knows as well as I do that Matthew’s outbursts don’t hold malice. “But I’d like to know what happened.” He dots a kiss on the still-throbbing bruise on my face, and I crumple against his chest.
Between cries and sniffles I tell him about my day. I haven’t seen much of him this week. When he’s working during the day, I’m doing things like groceries and the occasional household chore—by choice, not because Thor makes me. But because I like to be useful and stay busy—and seeing my friends. And when he’s working in the evenings, I’m driving Matthew around the neighborhood, or trying to fold him into bed, just so.
“What can I do for you, Adi? What do you need?”
I know before I ask that he’s going to say no, but I want him to acquiesce so badly it aches in my core. “Make me feel good.”
Shaking his head, his features soften. “That’s a hard request, you know.”
Sighing, I nod. “I know.”
“I can’t make the pain go away. I could distract you for a minute. Maybe an hour or two, or more. But your mind isn’t going to let that last. It’s going to come back.” It’s his turn to sigh. “My instinct is to give you what you’ve asked for, but my training tells me that it might not be the best idea. Can I trust you to be honest with me about whether or not you’re up to what you’re asking me for?”
My stomach lets out a ferocious grumble, and I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed in front of this man. I don’t think I’ve eaten today. His face flinches as his gaze flickers to my stomach. And for a split second, I’m almost sure he’s going to haul my ass downstairs and feed me spoonfuls of Nutella and peanut butter—which I’m not averse to.
But I really want something else from him, something deeper, something physical, somethinggood.
Spreading my legs as far apart as the closed space on the top stair allows, he doesn’t wait for me to move his hand where I ache for it to be. His fingers skim the inside skin of my thigh, quickly reaching the hem of my denim shorts.
When they slide under the fabric and sweep back and forward, I tip my head back on a sigh. “Please, Thor. I’m okay. I just want to feel good.”
He drags his tongue along the length of my exposed neck, from the hollow of my throat all the way up to my jaw before nipping at the line of my chin with his teeth. This man is a maestro, and my body reacts to him from the moment he’s in my space.
My nipples pebble under my tank top, I’m not wearing a bra because we had an incident with orange juice that resulted in a pool of sticky syrupy liquid in my bra and it’s in the laundry pile. I also haven’t been able to find the energy to pull another one out of my cases.
I don’t know why I haven’t unpacked, but living out of two suitcases for the past two weeks has been less than ideal. It’s not like Thor’s guestrooms don’t have furniture. He has everything I need, drawers, a closet, hangers, but I can’t bring myself to settle all the way into his space. This is temporary, and the more I remind myself of that, the less chance I have of getting hurt. Because despite the fact that today was hard for Matthew and I, we’ve all fallen into an almost comfortable routine that neither Thor or me have spoken about, but we’ve both felt.
Thor pops open the button and zipper on my jean shorts. As his hand splays out over my stomach, traveling toward my panties, I bite down on my lip. We’re right outside Matthew’s room, and while my head knows I should encourage him to move elsewhere in the house, my pussy is hot and demanding.
When he doesn’t settle his fingers between my lips and instead tugs my shorts down my legs leaving me bare from the middle down, I lean back. Thor said himself that he wants me to lie back and enjoy it, to take what he’s giving and he really enjoys feedback, particularly if it’s not working or I don’t like it.
Spoiler alert: I most definitely like it.
He hasn’t yet done something to me where I’ve said, “Nope. Stop please, that’s not nice.” If anything, it’s always left me a pile of warm boneless goo that barely knows my own name.
He slides down the stairs in front of me, hooking his fingers behind my knees and pulling my ass to the very edge of the step. He glances at Matthew’s door, shakes his head, and slides me down the first flight onto the small landing space at the turn of the staircase.
He grins at me before jerking his head. I lie back on the soft carpeted floor with a dreamy sigh. I know what’s coming, I trust what’s coming, I can’t wait for what’s coming.
The first slurp of his tongue through my folds should probably make me cringe. I’m so wet and ready for him. Part of me wishes he had to work harder, but the other part is just so damn relieved at his touch.
The tip of his tongue scalds a trail around my clit, burning, blistering, scorching my slick heat, only serving to make me wetter. When he hums, I arch my back, pressing myself against him, shamelessly, silently pleading with him to give me what I need.
His index finger presses against my back entrance, and I tense up. I know it’s just a finger, but the tightness that courses through my body as he puts the slightest amount of pressure on my ass is tangible.
“Shhhhhh, easy.” At least I think that’s what he’s saying against my pussy. I can’t quite hear him. His noises are contented, but I’m so wet and squelchy that I’m pretty sure he’s going to drown.
Using the flat of his tongue, he sweeps against my clit, sending shudders through my limbs, and sparks of pleasure skittering over my skin. I’m a lightning rod, poised to intercept the flashes from his tongue, but instead of protecting me from damage, the building orgasm rumbling deep within me, threatens to break me apart.
The more he laps, the more I pant, quietly whispering his name, pleading with him not to stop. When I reach to brace his head where I need him, he snaps his head up, eyes shining, and tells me to put them above my head.
Temptation tickles my fingertips. I want to arch my hips, dig my fingers into his hair and hold his face against me until I come enough times that my muscles turn to jelly, or he drowns from my cum.
