Ican still taste her on my lips.
After she locks me out of the guest room, I retreat to my own bedroom and collapse back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as I run my tongue over my mouth and taste the sweetness of her arousal.
It tastes like absolution. Like proof that everything I've done, every line I've crossed, every boundary I've violated, was leading to this moment.
She kissed me first. When challenged with confronting her own desires,shechose to kiss me.
No matter how she feels about it afterward, she can’t take that back.
And now I’ve had her. She’s mine.
My dick twitches, half-hard just from the memory of being inside of her. So fucking tight, so hot, so fuckingwet. I never want to wash her off of me, want to keep the scent and slickness of her arousal on my skin forever.
The only way to do that is to ensure that I’m inside her again. As soon, and as often, as possible.
I’d have fucked her tonight until we both passed out if I could. I reach down, adjusting myself, and I can’t stop myself from sliding my hand beneath the waist of my pants, running my fingers over the hardening length. I can still feel her arousal on my skin. I wrap my hand around myself, stroking slowly, groaning at the sensation of jerking myself off with Mara’s arousal still slick and all over me. I lean my head back into the pillow, jaw tight, eyes closed, running my tongue over my lips and tasting her pussy on my tongue as I remember the way she tensed for me, the way she cried out. How it felt when she squeezed my cock, pulling me deeper into her. How her nails clawed at the leather of the couch as she came for me, how she rode my tongue and my length while they were inside of her.
She feels it too. This connection that's been pulling us together since that first moment in Boston. This inevitability. But she ran from me.
She realized what she’d done, what she’d chosen, and she ran.
That lock clicking between us was a rejection of it, but I know it won’t hold. I know what I felt, and what she felt too, even if she's not ready to admit it yet. The kiss wasn't a mistake—it was the first honest thing that's happened between us. Everything else has been pretense and distance, the careful dance of predator and prey. But in that moment, when her mouth was on mine and her fingers were clutching my shirt, there was only truth.
She wants me as much as I want her.
The thought sends heat through my body, makes my hands clench in the sheets. I want to go to her. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to get up, walk down the hall, break that flimsy lock and slip into her room. I want to climb into bed beside her, pull her against me, feel her body curve into mine. I want to fuckher raw and then hold her while she sleeps, show her that she's safe now. That she'll always be safe with me.
I want to fill her with my cum; keep her dripping with it, every moment of the day.
The thought has my cock throbbing and my balls aching from being aroused too much, for too long.
I’d never fucked a woman without protection before tonight. Never felt the hot, wet, velvet clutch of a pussy around my cock without a thin barrier between us. I’ve never given a woman my cum before.
I saved all that for her. And it was so fucking exquisite. I want to feel it again with a need that borders on a fervor. I want to feel her sliding over my hard length again, want to pump her full of my release, hear her moans, feel her clutch around me…
But I don't move.
She needs space. She needs time to process what happened, to understand that this isn't something to fear. Tomorrow I'll make her see. Tomorrow I'll find the words to explain that what's between us isn't wrong, isn't sick, isn't the violation she thinks it is. It's just... inevitable.
Some things are simply meant to be.
I keep stroking, my hand running over my length, so close to coming again. I’m insatiable; I’ll never be able to get enough of her. This is all that’s keeping me from going downstairs and fucking her again. This—the feeling of her arousal on my palm and the memory of her orgasms in my mind, remembering how it felt to sink into her, to feel her coming on me right before I…
My cock throbs and erupts, spurting cum, and I keep stroking, mingling my release with hers, until my length is slick with both of us. My hips jerk upward, fucking my fist as I groan her name, pleasure arcing through me that can’t begin to compare to what it felt like to be inside of her.
I turn my head and look at the clock. 2:34 a.m. She's been locked in that room for hours now. Is she sleeping? Or is she lying awake like me, replaying the kiss, the feeling of me inside of her, trying to make sense of what she's feeling?
I imagine her in the guest bed, curled on her side, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Did she find the sleepwear I bought her, or is she sleeping in her underwear? Sleeping naked? Is my cum still smeared across her thighs and slick inside her pussy, or did she wash me off? The thought makes my pulse quicken. I've imagined her in my home so many times, but the reality is so much better than the fantasy. She's here. Under my roof. In my space.
Mine.
If she did wash away my cum, she’ll be full of it again very soon.
The possessiveness that surges through me should probably concern me, but I’m past that, past the point where I can worry about whether or not I should stop. There’s no stopping now. I've never been good at denying what I want, and I've never wanted anything the way I want Mara. Not the empire I've built, not the power I've accumulated, not the respect I've commanded. None of it means anything compared to the woman sleeping down the hall.
I get up and go to the shower to clean up. I stand under the hot spray for a while, reluctantly washing her off of me, and then change into loose pants, going back to lie on the bed in hopes of getting some sleep. I have no idea how successful that will be; lying here with her so close and still so far away feels like a new form of torture.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. I reach for it, already knowing who it is.
