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He helps me fold my legs tightly, lifting them around his hips as he slowly eases his erection inside me. We both groan at the penetration. Then he starts to thrust, slow and deep and rhythmic.
He fucks me for a long time, the whole time focused down on me. I’m shocked when I feel another orgasm rising inside me, but like before I don’t push it. I let it come slowly, and I breathe around the rising tension.
He’s too far gone to talk much now, but I know he’s completely with me. He gazes down like I’m everything, the whole of his existence. Eventually his hips accelerate, his motion intensifies. He’s shaking my body now, and the slow-building orgasm breaks in waves of deep pleasure, making me cry out raggedly and arch up my back.
As I clamp down around him, he freezes for a moment and then falls into climax too with a series of hard, jerky thrusts. His lasts a long time, and he doesn’t stifle it or hold back.
Nothing has ever been better than watching him come like that, knowing it’s because of me that he’s able to let go, feel something so deep and real.
He collapses on top of me afterward, and I wrap him in my arms. He gasps against the crook of my neck, completely spent.
He’s softening and the condom is loosening when he finally pulls it together, rolling off and taking care of the condom.
We lie together afterward. I reach for his hand, and he holds mine even as he’s trying to pull himself together.
The clasp of his hand tells me everything I need to know.
AFTER OUR MORNING IN bed, the rest of the day is busy and enjoyable. We spend the middle part of the day hitting as many of the places we were supposed to do yesterday as we can, and then we head to Biltmore by midafternoon and stay for the holiday festivities in the evening.
Since we’re both tired by the time we return to the hotel, we have some quick, satisfying missionary sex under the covers before we go to sleep.
The next morning, we sleep in, have a late breakfast, and head home.
It’s Christmas Eve day. The last day of our road trip. And we’ve planned to get back to Green Valley by early afternoon so we can have time to rest before spending the evening with our families.
I’m in a good mood as we start off. Chase is driving, we’ve got peppermint mochas, and I turn on Christmas music for the ride. Everything should be perfect, but as the miles go by and the closer we get to home, the mood between us shifts.
I have no idea why or how it happens.
It’s coming from Chase. That much I’m sure of. There’s nothing visibly wrong with him. His posture is relaxed. His attention is on his driving, but he listens and responds to anything I say. But as the time passes, he gets quieter. More inward.
Like he’s tense and pretending not to be.
I thought everything was good between us. Me, I’ve never been happier. But something is wrong with Chase, and my occasional attempts to ask are answered with vague, unconvincing assurances.
He says he’s fine. He says nothing is wrong. He says everything is great between us.
But it doesn’t feel that way anymore. I was absolutely secure yesterday. I felt safe and loved and needed.
I felt like all of me was wanted, and I didn’t have to hold back.
I don’t feel that way anymore. It feels like everything I want is about to slip through my fingers, so I’m left clutching at threads again, trying desperately to hold my world together.
We’re about a half hour from Green Valley when I try one more time. “You sure everything is okay?”
He turns his head, his forehead drawn into those four horizontal lines. “Yes. Of course. Why?”
“I don’t know. You just seem kind of quiet.” I swallow hard. “I’m probably imagining things.”
He gives a slight shrug and a half smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “It’s fine, Paige. I’m kind of tired.”
“Oh. Yeah. Me too.”
He says he’s fine. He must be fine. He’s never lied to me.
Naturally he’s tired. I’m tired too. Exhausted really. But I’ve been too happy to care.
Now the fatigue starts to wear on me, intensified by the weight of growing anxiety.
