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But before I could completely shake out my orgasm, he had pulled back both his hand and mouth, and entered me suddenly with one rough thrust. He filled me completely, one rough hand grasping the flesh of my thigh, the other sliding behind my back to lift my tensed body up so he could crash his lips to mine as he moved. The effect simply drew my orgasm out longer, causing me to shake uncontrollably in his arms while his hips thrust furiously toward his own release.
"That's it, Skylar," he growled as he bit into my neck. "Keep coming for me. Keep squeezing me, baby. Just. Like. That!"
My fingers wove into his hair, clutching the damp curls for dear life as he plunged into me, thrust after unforgiving thrust. My cries filled the room as he pounded once, twice, three more times, until finally he found his release with a long, low shout. My heels, hooked around his waist, squeezed and shook, and I held on for dear life as both of our bodies trembled together.
"You okay?" Brandon said a few seconds later.
He pulled back, releasing me from the vise-hold against his chest. He slid a hand over my cheek, brushing lightly over the spot where a few slight remnants of my injuries still showed. I winced a little, but his touch was light enough that it didn't hurt.
His eyes were still wide, still a little bit afraid. But they were tender too, and for the first time in a while, warm.
I smiled and nuzzled into his chest.
"I'm fine," I said. "I love you."
Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around me and sighed, although he didn't respond in kind. The omission hurt, but I was okay with that for now. I couldn't expect to get all of him back in one night.
A few moments later, he released me with a kiss to my forehead, then hopped up onto the ledge and padded to the stack of courtesy towels on a shelf by the door.
"Come on, Red," he said as he wrapped one around his waist, covering himself up just enough to make it down the hall to the elevators. "Let's go home. It's late, and we still have some more making up to do."
~
"No! Stop!"
Just as my eyes were starting to get used to the pitch-black room, I was rammed off the mattress onto the carpeted floor with a thud.
"Ow!" I yelped, rubbing my head as I pushed myself up.
Brandon was asleep, writhing, muttering pained gibberish while the sheets twisted around his body.
"No!" he cried out, bracing himself against the mattress like he was defending a blow. "Skylar!"
He stared out at some invisible phantom, his blue irises dilated and the color of a night sky, glassy and crazed. His chest rose and fell, the muscles in his neck ticked.
"Brandon?" I asked in a small voice.
At the noise, he jerked his face in my direction, but saw without seeing.
"Skylar?" he asked in a low, slight voice that was terrifying for the fear in it.
"Brandon?" I asked again. "I'm here. I'm safe."
It was like a veil was lifted. He blinked, once, twice, and his pupils shrank to their normal size as he regained full consciousness. He found me on the floor where I was peeking over the mattress edge, and then confusion, followed by shock, registered on his face.
"Shit," he said, lumbering across the bed to help me up. "Did I push you off?"
"It's okay."
I climbed back on, and the bed sank slightly under our combined weight. The comforter was dark gray, like most of the other furnishings in the apartment. I was reminded once again of how much I hated this place–-how cold it was, how unfriendly. Brandon sat up and leaned back against the headboard, his hands thrust into his hair, elbows balanced on his knees.
"Shit," he muttered, the voice muffled through his forearms. "I'm so sorry." He looked up. "Are you okay? Your ribs, your ankle––"
"I'm fine," I cut in, laying a hand on his arm.
He looked down at it and laid his head on my fingers for a moment.
"Brandon," I said quietly. "What is going on? You never did this before. Is it––is it because of...what I did? Is it because of the abortion?"
