“I’ll help you, on one condition.”
“Yes! Anything!”
This is the part where I ask him to pack his things and never call me again. This is the part where I win. Only something—call it pity, call it post-orgasm haze—something makes me say instead, “I want you to come to therapy with me.”
He blinks. “Therapy?”
“Yeah. Remember when we were together and you always dismissed it and said it was a bunch of hooey? Well I think it’s important. I think we need closure.”
After that little reminder of how his dick is the perfect fit for me, I know I do.
A grimace crosses his face, but then he catches sight of the dick in my hands again. “Ok, yeah. Therapy. Great. I’m there. Now would you please sew my dick back on and let me cum?”
Turns out sewing on a dick is much the same as sewing up any other kind of wound. Once I have it positioned to his satisfaction, I have him hold it while I make large stitches all around the outside. I tie off the wire and cut it, setting down the scissors and sitting back on my heels to inspect my work.
Yeah, I remember now why being on my knees in front of Adam is a bad idea. His dick is just so goddamn pretty. From this angle it spears up like an arrow—the kind that cupid has in his bow with a heart-shaped point. Dangerous. My mouth is watering remembering just how good he tastes. Will it be different now that he’s dead?
I glance up at him and am almost certain he’s having similar thoughts to me. He’s still rock hard—impressive given what his dick has been through tonight. He’s looking down at me like I’ve already got him by the balls.
Fuck it.
I wrap my hand around his cock, and he presses his eyes shut for a moment. “Thank you.”
The words are whispered, and there’s not a trace of impatience or arrogance there, only genuine relief.
What is this new Adam—cute Adam? I wasn’t prepared for this.
To distract myself I slide my lips around the tip and experimentally take the crown into my mouth. He tastes good. A little saltier than I was expecting, but not in a bad way. Just like he’s extra worked up. I guess he is.
He groans as I take him deeper, and just like I always used to, I reach up to cup his balls and roll them in my hand.
His hand creeps to my head, fingertips fluttering over my hair as if he’s afraid I’ll stop. I don’t. I’ve missed this. This was the part about being Adam’s girlfriend that I liked. I can’t believe I’d gotten bored of doing this by the end.
Forgetting all that, I close my eyes and sink into the moment, sliding my lips and tongue along his shaft, taking him as deep as I can. Rather than look up into his face, I focus on the taste and feel of him hot and hard in my mouth. I focus on the deep groans of satisfaction, the way his fingers tighten in my hair. And then… “Fuck, Jen. I’ve missed you.”
I can’t talk with his dick in my mouth. It probably doesn’t deserve a response anyway. He’s just grateful I’m going to help him cum, that’s all.
A moment later his hips start thrusting forward, matching the pace of my mouth and hand. He keeps going. “You’re a fuckinggoddess, Jen. I could never live up to that.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Ahhhh, but I should have tried harder.”
Of all the sweet things he could have said, somehow that hits hardest. It stays in my head on a loop as I bring him to the edge, to the point where he’s whimpering my name, thrusting into my mouth.
I pull back, milking the last of his orgasm from him with my hand so I can watch. But it’s impossible not to catch a glimpse of his face as finally great ropes of white liquid burst from the tip. And his expression is… awe.
No, that’s not the right word for it. Worshipful might be a better one. His brows are creased into an intense look that’s somewhere between a smile and a frown. His mouth drops open.
His cock unleashes spurt after spurt of cum that flies over my hand, my face, some of it even onto the bed. It just keeps going and going, even after I think it’s done.
By the time it stops, he’s shaking a little, weak in the knees. He stumbles back and collapses onto the armchair with an unsteady laugh. “Fuck. I needed that.”
“Looks like you did.” I’m about to get up and clean myself—and the room, when Adam lifts his head. “Hey, let me get you a cloth. I’m sorry. It went fucking everywhere, didn’t it?”
“Closet in the hall,” I tell him, trying not to stare in disbelief at the guy who used to leave me dripping on the bed while he took a piss.
I guess people change, and there’s nothing like death to change a person.
EIGHT
Adam
