He rises to his full height and grips my chin. “On the bed. Ass in the air.”
Hearing him tell me he wants me in his favorite position has my panties dripping wet. When I go to slip out of them, he grunts, “No. Keep them on.”
I pad over to the bed and prop myself on all fours. His suit jacket finds a spot next to my dress but that’s as far as he strips. He unclasps his belt and pulls his zipper down while he stares at my ass. He licks his bottom lip, and I know for a fact it’s the reason he’s rock hard when he shifts his pants and boxers down enough to let himself spring free.
He spits into his hand and palms himself with a slow, lazy twist. Then he climbs behind me and grips the string of my thong nestled between my butt cheeks. Yanking it to the side, he exposes my slick seam and wastes no time running his thumb over it to spread me.
I moan in delight. In the way his touch always lets off an array of sparks that start deep in my belly and make my core come alive. I imagine his words of praise, the kindness he always gives me when he sees me bare but doesn’t come now.
His thumb circles me slowly. Lazily. I drop my forehead to the comforter and breathe through the delicious pull in my abdomen before I hear the rip of a condom foil. His tip nudges my entrance seconds later, and I’m so ready for him to fill me that I arch my back and press back into him.
His hand moves to my hip and bites into my flesh. “Don’t move,” he grunts.
Those two words tell me he wants full control. I don’t blame him. It’s the one thing he hasn’t had all day, and if it takes me giving him a semblance of normalcy, then I will.
I position my forearms on the mattress more comfortably and hold myself up. When he finally sinks into me, my walls wrapping tightly around him, a moan works itself up my throat. I don’t move. I don’t dare shift my hips or push back into him the way I want. In the way he enjoys when he’s turned on.
I follow his orders, including spreading my legs a tiny bit wider to allow him better access. It only opens up space for more pleasure.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Harder, Colson.”
I expect him to groan at my request or give me some kind of sign that he likes what he hears. He doesn’t. The way we normally communicate when we have sex isn’t present. His throaty groans are nowhere to be found, and my neediness for more catches in my throat each time I want to voice it.
He fucks me raw.
Like the entire world is out to get him, but instead of taking it out on them, he takes it out on me, ramming into me harder, deeper, faster. I ignore the burn of my thong’s fabric cutting into my hip as he rocks into me and takes what he wants. It’s almost like I’m the only person he’s comfortable enough to lose himself to. Which is the very reason I give myself to him, aside from being irrevocably turned on, of course, because it’shimthat’s filling me.
I’m partly ashamed at how impure this is—giving myself to him so he can selfishly forget about his grief, but I’m one hundred percent okay being the person he lets go with. It makes my heart beat erratically, the blood in my body pump faster, and my clit throb uncontrollably when he fucks me fiercely andreaches around to rub my sensitive bud. My vision eventually wanes, and all that’s left is the sensation of falling over the edge.
I forget to breathe through my orgasm and focus on the way my body convulses around his thickness. His palm slides up my back and grips the back of my neck. His body forms a cocoon around mine, his weight pressing into my back, and an animalistic groan rips through the room at a decibel I’ve never heard from him before.
His body stills, but like mine, a set of tremors work through him before he peels himself off me. The mattress dips, and he pushes up to his feet.
An ache settles into my lower back as I roll over. I shift my thong back into place and lift up on my elbows. He pulls the condom off, ties it and wraps it in a tissue, then drops it into a small wastebasket I have beside the bed.
I watch as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them.
I clear my throat, not caring if my breasts aren’t covered. I’ve never hidden myself from him before. I don’t want to start now. “I can start the shower, and we can wash the day off before we crawl into bed.”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Gonna pass on that.”
My heart hiccups.
He never says no to showering together.
Ever.
A ripple of hurt moves through me as he grabs his suit jacket off the floor without looking at me. He swipes his hand over the material like the fabric wrinkled in the few minutes it was mindlessly discarded. “You're going to pass?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So that’s it?” I push up and sit tall, this new feeling of irritation claiming me. “You’re going to fuck me then justleave?”
A nasty sting—one much worse than when my thong slashed into my skin—settles behind my eyes. I pretend it doesn’t exist.As much as I was okay offering my body as comfort, I figured he’d at least stay. That it would help us clear the fog surrounding our connection and let us get back to normal. Or as close to it as humanly possible considering the circumstances.
“I can’t be here,” he tells me, pushing his hands through the arms of the jacket. He doesn’t bother to fix the lopsided lapels. Just checks his back pocket to make sure his wallet is there. The one he got the condom from.
“Youcanbe here,” I insist, scooting to the edge of the bed.
