“Okay. Okay yeah I can do that. I can do that,” she said.
Though, somehow, she didn’t think it would make much difference. It seemed like such a small way of tackling something so big—yet as soon as he was beneath her, she saw the shift all over his face. She didn’t even have to sink down on his incredibly swollen cock to get him to some lust-choked place.
Then when she finally did, his head went back.
A sound came out of him, unlike any she’d heard before.
It was almost a grunt of sheer and unadulterated pleasure, and it wasn’t the last one he made. He didn’t get a hold of himself, at that point. There was no reining anything in. Her being over him just seemed to knock down whatever walls he’d built up, and once they were gone, that was it. He moaned, and gasped, and bucked up into her, until she wasn’t sure who was enjoying this more. Him, as he finally got what he needed.
Or her, just watching it happen.
Though, when he finally started to tip over, she knew for sure. It was him, it was him, oh, it was definitely him. He almost seemed to come apart at the seams. Seventeen different expressions poured across his face—and all of them were amazing. All of them were things she hadn’t seen before. Things she hadn’t thought were possible for him. There was wonder and awe and excitement and then finally, finally.
Just bliss, sheer bliss.
Chapter Fifteen
It was just a small sense that something was wrong at first. Small enough that she didn’t even open her eyes. She just batted it away and tried to go back to sleep, but of course, as soon as she did, the feeling spread. The faint dreams that flitted through her mind turned sour. Awareness crowded in, too sharp and too clear.
Then she reached across the bed for Isaac, and there it was.
His warm, heavy presence was missing. In fact, the sheets were cool—as if he’d been gone a long time.So not just a glass of water or the bathroom, her mind informed her. And after that, she was wide awake. She sat up, straining for signs of him. The pad of his feet on the wooden floors, maybe. A creak from a chair he’d sat in.
But there was nothing. Just silence, silence, silence and a completely irrational sense that things had gotten too good. They’d gotten too good, and now it was all going to fall apart. The pressure had gotten too much for him. Their lives were too incompatible. He had probably fled to Europe, to start a new life with a girl who didn’t like sex as much.
Though, it wasn’t a relief to discover she was wrong.
She padded into the living room, and found him standing by the front door. Onlystandingwasn’t exactly the right word. He’d pushed his back up against the wall and seemed to be crouched almost—like he was listening, she thought. Listening intently, and with that kind of alertness he had, dialed up high.
Oh, and then there was the gun.
He had fucking gun in his hand.
She has no idea how, or where he’d gotten it from. But it was there. She wasn’t imagining it. There was no waytoimagine it. The thing was the size of a brick and blacker than tar. He had to use both hands to hold it—though part of her wondered if this was just the way you were supposed to do it.
She didn’t know. She’d never been around guns.
She wasn’t even sure why she was around them now, until he put a hand up. Just one hand, palm out. No words, no look in her direction, nothing—though she understood clearly enough anyway. He was telling her to stay where she was.
Then a second later he gave another signal.
He touched his finger to his lips.
But she still didn’t truly believe anything was wrong, until he abruptly stood straight and started talking too fast. And even then, it was hard to take it in.
“Okay, here’s what going to happen. You’re gonna go in your room, and pack a bag quickly. A change of clothes, a change of shoes, essentials. Nothing bulky or heavy, nothing that isn’t practical. Got it?”
“I want to have it, but I think most of my brain just shut down.”
“And I wish I could help you restart it, I really do. But we have to go.”
“Could you at least tell me why? Because you know it could be that you’re panicking about nothing. Maybe you’re just having a lot of feelings—I mean it was barely an hour ago that you were asking me to ride you so you could permit yourself some pleasure.”
“Totally true. Completely possible that I’m working through my issues. In fact, let’s just go with that. Let’s say I’m out of my mind with guilt over past actions and feeling unworthy of your affection and have therefore invented a hostile in your hallway. Are you really going to refuse to go with me as I descend into some terrible downward spiral?”
Her mind immediately jumped to a million terrible scenarios.
Him hurling himself off a bridge. Or in a hospital, fighting orderlies.
