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“Breathe, just breathe,” he groans as he pushes forward, pressing through my clenched muscles, every bump of metal stimulating my nerve endings on the way.
“Look at your ass baby, fuck,” he groans, kneading both of my ass cheeks in his hands as he slowly pushes in more. “You’re taking my cock so well. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Unexpectedly, his praise has me more fucked up than his degradation, and I’m a puddle for this man. Melting around him. When he’s fully seated inside of me, his pelvis hits my ass and a whimper escapes my lips.
Gripping my hip with one hand, he snakes the other around me, rubbing my clit at a torturously slow pace.
“I’m not gonna fucking last back here,” he groans as he slowly rocks in and out of me. What initially hurt is now filling me with such intense pleasure that I find myself pushing back when he’s trying to slow me down.
“Please,” I whine. “Travis, don’t stop.”
“You ready to come again?”
“Yes,” I hiss, rocking into him.
His fingers pick up the pace, playing my clit with intense precision. My toes curl and my back arches. Thrusting in and out of me faster, matching the speed of his fingers, I start to come undone. Pressing my face to the mattress as my arms give out beneath me, I whimper and whine, unable to form a coherent thought or word.
Screaming into the mattress, my eyes fill with tears, and he thrusts into me hard, one last time, pumping me full of his release. He whimpers as his head drops forward, leaning on my back, and I know he’s absolutely spent.
As he pulls back, he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me up with him. Turning my face to look back at him, he captures my lips with his as he eases out of me.
“Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” I whisper.
“She lives,” Travis smirks, walking into the bedroom with a bottle of water in one hand and a bottle of ibuprofen in the other.
Sliding up to a sitting position, I stretch and yawn, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.
“You slept like the dead,” he chuckles, sitting down on the bed next to me.
“Someone wore me out,” I smirk.
Opening the bottle of ibuprofen, he shakes a couple into his palm and sets the bottle back on the nightstand. Placing the pills in my hand, he opens the bottle of water and hands it to me.
“Take these, then I need to check out your hip.”
Placing the pills in my mouth, I bring the water to my lips and swallow them. I take another drink before I set the bottle down and slide down on the bed, lying flat. Last night he cleaned and bandaged my wound for me, and as he peels back the bandage now, my heart flutters all over again when I see the angry, red T on my flesh.
“I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab some ointment and another bandage,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back into the stack of pillows behind me and smile. Everything seems surreal right now. If anyone had asked me a year ago where I thought I’d be in a year, I couldn’t have conjured this up in my wildest dreams.
I’m still petrified. Scared of everything that’s coming. Afraid of the unknown, but for once, I don’t feel like he’s going to leave me behind. I understand now things I never would have understood back then. We’ve both clawed our way through hell and in the end, we found each other again.
It was always going to be me and him.
Him and I.
And I’m ready to fight by his side.
Turning my head to the side, I see a small silver picture frame on the nightstand. Mom and I at the lake. How did this get here?
Stepping out of the bathroom, he sees the frame in my hand and smiles, “I saw it at your place. I couldn’t let it burn.”
My eyes well up with tears, not just because of the photo, but over the memory of what’s hidden behind it. Flipping it over in my hands, I pull the back off of the frame, and retrieve the little blue post it.
Setting the frame down, I hold the scrap of paper between my fingertips as he strides toward me and sits on the bed next to me.
