He eases me away just for a second, then lifts me into his arms. My hands slide around his neck, holding on as he carries me up the stairs. But not to my bedroom. He takes me to the right wing.
Thought comes to me, the bedroom is different now. Her things are gone, his too. The space feels empty, like something has been cleared out for good.
He lays me down on the bed on the white cotton sheet. He leans over me; his left hand planted beside my head, while his right hand brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
“Part of me was scared you’d never remember,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “Part of me hated the version of you that didn’t.”
“Do you still hate me?”
“No,” he breathes out, almost like it hurts to say it. “I could never hate you.”
“Show me.” My fingers find the collar of his shirt, twisting into the silk as I pull him closer.
His face hovers just above mine, his fingers tracing the shape of my lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his jaw tightening as if he’s holding something back.
His hand moves down, then both of mine are guided above my head. He’s holding his grip strong as he lowers his lips to my neck, keeping me in place while everything else fades away.
His other hand unzips my jeans, then slides down, slowly. His fingers press against my clit before dragging lower, finding my wet pussy between my thighs. The tips slip inside me, moving in small circles, his whole hand working in a tight space between my skin and denim.
I arch my back, eyes closing as a loud moan spills from my lips.
“You like that, Kitten?” he asks, pushing his fingers deeper, his palm brushing down from my clit.
I moan again, nodding.
When he stops, my eyes snap open. I look at him as he frees my hands, then grips my hips, dragging my jeans down to my feet before tossing them aside.
“Turn around,” he says.
I shift, turning and lowering myself onto the sheets. I arch my back, lifting myself toward him. He leans over me, pulling down the sheet hanging above the bed.
As it falls, I see a mirror right in front of us.
I glance up, watching him in the reflection as he removes his white shirt, each muscle tightening as he moves closer. Then I see myself. My hair is tangled, mascara smeared from tears, my body exposed in a way that makes me look needy.
He pushes his trousers down, and I see his cock, the same eight inches of length that filled me last night.
He doesn’t hesitate. His hands pull my legs apart. I arch into him as his fingers spread me, exposing everything. He drags the tip of himself against my pussy, teasing, while leaning closer.
His right hand slides up my spine, over my neck, then to my jaw, lifting my face so I have no choice but to watch us in the mirror.
Our eyes meet.
Then he thrusts into me, hard.
My pussy is stretched around him, a sharp pulse of pain mixing with pleasure.
A broken scream tears from my throat.
Every move he makes pulls his muscles tight. His hand stays firm on my neck, controlling every breath, every sound that leaves me, as he thrusts into me like he can’t hold back.
“Oh, God,” I gasp between moans as I feel him hit deeper, the friction driving me higher, faster.
His hips roll in slow circles before he pushes in deep, holding me there for a second, then pulling out only to drive back into me again.
He leans over my back while still inside me, his arm wrapping around my neck as he pulls me upright until we’re both sitting.
