Then inside her. Christ, being inside her.
My fist flies over my cock as I remember. She was so fucking tight. When I first pushed in, even with how wet she was, I had togo slow. Watched her face as I stretched her, filled her, claimed her inch by inch. Her pussy gripped me like a vice, hot and perfect, and I had to stop when I bottomed out or I would have come right then.
"You're so big," she gasped, nails digging into my shoulders. "So fucking thick."
I wanted to lose it. Wanted to grab her hips and fuck her into the mattress. Wanted to flip her over and take her from behind, pull her hair while I pounded into her. Wanted to watch my cock disappear into her pussy over and over while she screamed for me.
Instead, I fucked her with perfect control. Measured thrusts hitting just the right angle. My thumb on her clit in precise circles. Making her come around my cock while I stayed locked in my cage, counting backward from one thousand, thinking about anything except how badly I wanted to fill her with my cum.
Four times. I made her come four times, felt her pussy clench and pulse around me, felt her soak my cock with her release. The last time, she was sobbing my name, tears streaming down her face from the intensity, and still I held back. Still I couldn't let go.
"You didn't…" she said, confused and hurt when I pulled out, the condom empty.
Because if I came inside you, even with the condom, I'd never be able to let you go.
My orgasm builds now, pressure at the base of my spine, balls drawing up tight. I'm close, so fucking close, my cock throbbing in my fist as I remember her face when she came, the way her pussy clenched, the way she said my name like a prayer.
Her name tears from my throat, raw and desperate. My cock pulses violently as I come, thick ropes of cum painting the shower wall, more and more until my knees buckle. The orgasmrips through me, devastating, everything I held back exploding out of me at once, spilling over my fist.
The shame hits immediately. I clean up, dry off, pull on sweatpants with hands that won't stop shaking.
I should go to her and tell her… something.
But I'm a coward who can only come alone in the shower, so I stay in my bed, imagining her breaths through the wall, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Morning arrives with arctic distance. Marisol emerges looking flawless. Hair sleek, makeup subtle but perfect, wearing jeans that hug her ass and a silk blouse that hints at the body I've now tasted.
She won't look at me. Pours coffee without commenting on how terrible it is. No jokes about Horse Man or tactical bananas. Just polite, professional distance that makes my chest ache.
"Morning," she says, voice carefully neutral.
"Morning."
The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. I watch her move around the kitchen, notice how she unconsciously touches the spots I kissed. Her neck, her collarbone. Each time she catches herself and drops her hand quickly.
"I have meetings at La Sirena today."
"I'll drive you."
She grabs her purse, yanking the zipper closed with a sharp snap. "Fine."
I try to bridge the distance, stepping toward her until she flinches back. "Marisol."
"What?" She busies herself arranging things in her bag, not looking up.
"About last night…" My hand reaches for her arm but stops mid-air, hovering in the space between us.
"What about it?" Her voice is flat, defensive. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement quick and agitated.
"I…"
What can I say? That I wanted her so badly I had to lock myself in the bathroom to come? That the thought of being vulnerable with her terrifies me more than any combat zone?
She shoulders her bag and exhales sharply through her nose. "It's fine, Nico. We both got what we needed. Let's move on."
The words cut deep. She got orgasms. She wanted intimacy. She got technique. She wanted connection. And I'm too fucked up to give her what she actually needs.
At La Sirena, she pauses at the entrance, finally breaking the silence that's suffocated us all morning.
