The pain is receding now as his body is flush against mine. “We’ll go there together while the bar is open?”
He nods, sliding back out.
I relax. The pain part is over. “And we’ll hook up?”
“Every time you dance. I’ll do this.” He presses up inside me again.
It doesn’t hurt now. And he’s deep, so deep. “Yes, like this.”
“You’re doing all right?”
“Yes. It hurt for a second, but it’s passed.”
“Good.” He slides out, then up again. “Still good?”
The need rises in me again, different, far within me, stronger, more intense. “Yes, please keep going.”
He does, keeping the pace even and steady.
I lift my legs to wrap around his back and lock my ankles. “Faster, please, Merrick. I’m good. I want more. More.”
He does as I ask, picking up the pace.
The sensation is a mix of pleasure and an occasional pinch. But as we go along, moving together, it’s good, it’s enough. I can see where this is going. I can see how much better it will be.
I’m prepared for this to end, to reset and do more when I’ve recovered. But then Merrick reaches between us, thumb on my clit while he’s also inside me.
“Holy shit!” I cry. The two things together are way beyond either thing alone. My hips thrust up into him, the pleasure of his touch eclipsing the mix of feelings from his cock.
He moves faster, with his body and his hand, and I’m lost, more lost than any of the times before.
We’re together, joined by hand and body and skin. He’s in it, not just servicing me, but feeling what I’m feeling, too.
I can see it in his face, in the taut muscles of his arms and back. He breathes fast and hard, and I can feel him twitch inside me.
This is going to happen. He’s going to come, too. Tears squeeze from my eyes, like during the emotional breakdown I had in the bar. I never want this to end. I want to suspend time, stretch it out forever, this connection, this long-awaited moment.
But I can’t stop the rush. My body spasms around him, and I cry out, and he responds with a long, low growl of his own. Our bodies crash together, moving in rhythm, crossing this threshold.
I want to hold on to him, to clutch his neck, so I do, and as we ride out the wave, we hang on to each other. I bury my face against his skin, warm and smooth.
He holds on, still twitching, and everything recedes, the pain, the pleasure, the intensity. I want it back. I want to keep it.
But Merrick shifts me to my side and cradles my head against his chest.
We come apart, and I’m shocked at the loss I feel. I want him back in again. I want to do it again.
But I simply hold on, one arm up around his neck and the other thrown across his shoulder.
The random sounds of the clubhouse slowly filter in. Footsteps. Conversation. The slam of a door.
I long for solitude, a place away from the club.
But this will work for now. We have a room of our own.
No threats. No secrets. No longing.
We’re here. Together.
