In this moment, she wanted me.
And I couldn’t pull away from that.
I rocked my hips into her. Her wet pussy willingly accepted all of me.
She kissed me, and I tasted a concoction of alcohol on her tongue as it rovedover mine. A second later, she was on my throat. . .
And it scared the shit out of me.
But I was still me.
Still trusting that she wasn’t going in for the kill.
My fingers splayed the wall, energy slipping from me as I struggled to catch my breath.
Her legs stayed barricaded around my waist. Her body stayed pressed against mine, and for the seconds I couldn’t breathe, a pacifying rub between my shoulder blades tried to calm me—she couldn’t help it, kindness was in her blood, as much of it as the scum that surfed through mine.
Perfect counterparts.
She was still sweet, still loving, even while trying to teach herself the language of hatred.
“You’re okay. You’re okay, Woodrow,” she soothed, knowing I’d switched. Her gentle rubbing decreased as my breaths came in. I swallowed my nerves, and she kissed my throat again, so tenderly, I barely felt it.
Again, I began rocking into her. I adjusted her position, wanting to enjoy this as much as possible. Wanting her to enjoy this more than anything she’d ever experienced. . .wanting our first time to be special.
My lips were on her neck, my fingers searching for the nub between her legs when she asked, “Why. . . why do you always have to torture me, even in nice ways?”
I found the nub, rubbing with a single finger. I enjoyed how wet that made her, so I wouldn’t dare move, even as I whispered back, “You’ve tortured me since the day I met you.” I kissed her cheek, nothing like my other kisses, no tongue, no eagerness. Just love. Safety.
And, as her eyes found mine, something happened. She got wetter and wetter and wetter. Her hand’s grip, tighter and tighter and tighter on my shoulders, and her pussy’s grip, tighter and tighter on my cock.
I continued playing with her clit; my cock continued sliding in and out of her wet folds. I pressed my lips to hers, and my tongue invaded her mouth, stealing all the whispers she was about to give me.
And then I was soaked.
Her shuddering body set me off, and I felt nothing more than a twitch before my eyes rolled, and I squirted inside her, filling her warm pussy with my cum.
Jolie
It felt different this time.
Different to every other time.
I felt him come, that wasn’t new. But I didn’t feel the vacant feeling of being used.
Because it was Woodrow.
But even before that, I didn’t feel that emptiness.
I felt wanted. . . maybe that was the alcohol convincing me lies were truths, but I couldn’t face that theory right now, because it was still in my system, still convincing me crazy things.
Woodrow kept me in his arms, kept me close, even as he lowered me to the ground.
He turned instantly, as if he needed a distraction. He clutched a hand full of tissues and turned back to me, rolling my dress back up into my waiting fingers.
He stayed low to the ground. My fingers were on his shoulders again, using a hand to steady myself as he brushed the tissues against my skin, cleaning the mess between my legs. His fingers were shaky in his comedown, my knees the same. . . almost buckling.
I dug my fingers into his jacket, trying to find a little more support, but he granted it, and not through his clothes.
