I groan, this time not with pleasure.
“Pleasedon’t call me that.” Why on earth is my face flushing hot in the dark? Like what even is the point of blushing when no one can see?
“Sorry.” He’s clearly not. The jerk.
But, hey, at least I’m smiling now.
“Go ahead.”
“Anything…off limits?” he asks, as if he’s not already balls deep inside me.
“What?”
“Can I touch your clit?”
And then everything goes still as I remember the thing I’ve tried over and over again to forget. The time I got pregnant, earlyon in our relationship, before Clark insisted he wasn’t ready. In a waterfall of images, the last ten years of my life rush down on me, taking me, for a handful of seconds, from this room and throwing me back into the hospital, the house, the baby’s room, then finally, by myself. As alone as a human can be.
“Stop!”
He pulls out. “You okay?”
“I need you to…” I gulp back a mess of emotions I’ve spent a decade dealing with in the safe confines of my therapist’s office, and concentrate hard on speaking. “Just…jerk off, okay? And then…put it in.”
He huffs out a sound. “Seriously?”
“Listen,” I start to turn. “You can go if you want, this was a terrible ide?—”
“Fine.” His hand’s back on my ass, spreading me open again for a second. And then those erotic skin to skin sounds. “I’ll do it. I’ll finish.”
There’s something ominous about those words. Half threat, half return to that clinical setting I’d hoped for. At the same time, the emotion’s still whirling inside of me, along with a fresh dose of something that feels a lot like guilt. For leaving him in the lurch, I suppose.
He’s working himself hard, the sound a dull clap, his breathing a rhythmic panting. I tamp down all desire to look and touch and smell, and concentrate hard on thinking about my ovaries. My uterus.
Cold and clinical. That’s the goal. I can do that.
Or I could, if he didn’t grunt occasionally, or mutterfuckunder his breath or reach out with the lightest touch against my butt, as if to make sure I’m still here. Not even a stroke or a caress, just a feather light landing, just checking.
My ass moves, the hard curve of my back entirely unintentional. I go still, tamping it down. But then I noticehow my inhalations coincide with his, how my pussy’s suddenly almost painfully empty, how I’m spreading wider, my insides needy and wanting, how I’m straining to catch every little sound.
It’s physiological, I decide. Like seeing porn, like rough fabric against my nipple.
“Fuck, Kit. It’s coming.”
I bite back a moan and arch deeper, presenting myself to be mounted like an animal.
“Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming.”
The backs of my thighs go warm as he moves in, splits me open again and, without ceremony, shoves that monster cock inside me.
Oh, god.
My eyes screw shut. It’s big. Huge. I’m so full. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to move with him.
“Fuck, yes. Here it is.”
A sound escapes me. I bottle it up.
He pulls halfway out to stroke his erection with only his tip lodged inside me.
