“Lando!” He shouts like he’s scolding me. He’s frowning so much his face is turning pink. “You’ve been faking enjoyment?”
“Not with you.”
Fuck, I want to cry so badly.
“Do you want this, yes or no? Because I can’t bear you lying to me any longer. I’ll leave right now, no more questions, if you say you don’t want it.”
“No, don’t go. Please. Fuck me, just once. Please stay,” I beg. I use those magic words. “I need you.”
Because I do. I really fucking need him, but I don’t know how to make it work where we’re both happy . . . and satisfied.
I wish it could be different—wish I could be different. Harry deserves someone who can give him everything he needs.
Harry watches me for a few moments, evidently deciding something. He’s still hard, absently stroking his cock as he rakes his gaze over me. The firm set of his jaw returns, and he rolls a condom on and throws the rest to the carpet. He lubes up, and I scoot up along the bed to the headboard.
And then he’s above me, his cock nudging my entrance. He brings his lips down to my neck, and traces the lines of my throat, my Adam’s apple. “I’m still leaving after this,” he says.
“I know,” I reply, arching into him.
“You’re so fucking frustrating.” He pushes inside me.
“I know.” I don’t stop the tears as they roll back into my hairline.
I love him. In ways I shouldn’t be able to love him. I want to hoard him, like a bottle of perfume. Want to keep him in my light- and temperature-controlled closet so nobody else can put their filthy undeserving fingers on him.
He’s leaving, and I should be happy about that. It’s what I’ve been trying to get him to do since we first met.
I don’t have to inflict “me” on him any longer.
But for just one last time, I let myself cycle through all those images I told him were too depraved to utter aloud in the beer garden of Owen’s pub. Thememory of us eating duck eggs together at my breakfast counter. Him drunk at the end of the season last year, poking me in the chest, telling me he liked me, slagging off Mathias. The way he stood up for me in front of my father, the way he looked at me in my lingerie on Halloween, the way he quietly sat beside me on Mum’s birthday.
And I imagine us two, five, ten years in the future. Maybe we’d get married, have a fabulous wedding. I’d wear a dress—black of course. Maybe we’d have kids. Loads of them, like the Ellises. A whole rugby team of offspring, and we could go on picnics and Disney World holidays, and be surrounded by love all the fucking time.
And every single day Harry would tell me that I am enough. That I am wanted. And loved. Just the way I am.
“Babygirl,” he whispers, one arm bracing him up as he thrusts, and the other hand cradling my nape, tilting my face towards him. His eyes skim over the tears tracking into my hair. “Am I really that bad at this?”
It’s such a Harry thing to say that I laugh, and then cry even more.
“Do you remember ages ago when we were talking about what we like to do?” He’s out of breath, and his words are staccato.
“Yes.”
“This is what I wanted . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Making love, that’s what he’d told me he was into. He’d wanted to make love. “Are you close? I’m really close.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say and purse my lips together to stop the tears from forming again.
Harry pulls out of me, and instead, fills me with his fingers. He brings his lips down to my cock, and I close my eyes and just try to enjoy the sensation. The first few minutes are spent worrying, panicking about how long he’ll be there, how tired his jaw is going to get, how much longer before he throws in the towel and gives up on this pointless endeavour.
After a while, I stop being so in my head. I think about all the moments in my life I’ve ever felt even the slightest bit turned on, and unsurprisingly they all feature Harry.
Harry’s left hand holds mine beside my hip, our fingers intertwined, and he’s whining these beautiful, intense moans in time to the building crescendo of pleasure.
No, wait. Those noises are coming from me. It feels good. Oh, it feels really fucking good.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna come,” I say.
Harry doesn’t let up. He tries to look at me, but the angles are off. Before my orgasm robs me of my vision, I catch him smiling to himself. He holds my hand and sucks me gently until I feel completely limp and boneless. Then he’s above me, jamming his thumb between my teeth and tilting my head back. He spits the cum into my mouth.
