It’s perfect.
The stretch this time turns into an ache before he’s all the way inside me, but he does that thing, a flick or a flutter, deep inside me, and it lights me up. I spread my legs wider still—obscenely so, now, but I don’t care, because this feels too good. My ankles tangle together in my pants and I kick them free, lifting my heels up to the counter. I’m spread wide open for him now.
“Can you take another?”
I nod. Words aren’t possible right now, because all I can think about is that warm pressure inside me, that rub and then—oh God—another flick. I cry out and bear down against his hand, and he eases back.
“No, no, no,” I pant. “More.”
He’s leaning over me now, his eyes locked on mine. “More?”
Another nod, and he’s sliding back into me. This time the stretch starts almost immediately, but he still finds that spot. I breathe out, not a word, exactly, but it sounds something like ohmygod and you’reagod, and both sentiments are true. He’s figured out my body like I never thought possible, and even though I’ve been such a bitch to him, he gives me this.
Flick.
I gasp and arch my back, sliding another quarter inch onto his hand.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he growls at me. “f*ck
ing exasperating, but beautiful, and hot, and even when you’re pissed at me, you give me this.”
I give him this? I’m really sure I’m not giving anything right now.
I’m taking a hell of a lot.
He groans as he twists his hand, and I feel it—a spark like never before. It’s slow, so slow I don’t even recognize it as a building toward something at first. I just think, wow, that feels impossible. And impossibly good, too. But then he pulses his fingers out, then in again, and he’s only moving the tiniest bit, but now that spark is brighter. And it’s growing. Like watching a charge lit far, far away, I sense the orgasm coming before I really feel it build, but when it hits it’s like a freight train of physical sensation.
Whoosh. Blood rushes through my head as he f*ck
s his hand in and out, in and out, and I reach blindly for my clit. When I touch it, I realize I’m soaked. Like never before.
Scott’s got four fingers, maybe even five, inside me, and I’m gushing slippery fluid like…nothing I can… “Oh,” I cry out. That’s it, a single sound. Oh. My body shatters into separate elements. Sound: loud, scary. Light: bright and all-encompassing. Touch is weird, because I float out of my body for a minute, so I can’t feel anything, and then I can feel everything. The wetness between my legs. The empty, yearning ache as Scott picks me up and carries me to bed. He holds me close and tells me I’m beautiful as he rolls on a condom, then fills that emptiness inside me, stretching me in the most delicious way until I’m coming again. He explodes right after me.
When he gets us under the blankets, I burrow into his chest and hope that when I snap back to reality, I can find the words to tell him I love him.
I love him and need him, no matter how f*ck
ed up I am.
—thirty-two—
Scott
I don’t think one intense night is going to fix everything in our relationship.
I’m hoping croissants and lemon curd might help, though, so I’m holding Ali to my request for Sunday brunch.
Of course, that’s five days after she invites me over, and I fill the intervening days with as many orgasms as she wants—gotta keep her happy to distract her from the fact that we’re sort of dating again.
After Paris, I’ve missed sleeping with her, and this week I haven’t spent a single night in my own bed.
I’m pretty f*ck
ing happy about that, and Ali seems to like it, too.
Heading to Eastern Market on Sunday, though, she’s wary. Hence the lemon curd.
It’s going to be my secret weapon.
“Do you need coffee?” I ask her as we pick our way through the outdoor market.
“I’ve got coffee.”
“But do you have Jamaican Blue coffee?”
“Does that make a good vanilla latte?”
Jesus. “What did you say I drink? Boring old man coffee? This is the best of the best of boring old man coffee.”
“No vanilla syrup?”
“You won’t need it.”
She gives me a skeptical look and I grin and pay the man.
She stops and points her finger at me. “I thought you wanted to go out for brunch? You’re buying everything we need for a breakfast at home.”
I shrug. “I think I just said brunch. I didn’t specify where.”
“Interesting,” she says, looking at me suspiciously.
“Is it?”
“Hmmm. Very.”
“Good. I like to be interesting to you.” I offer her my arm and she takes it. “Raspberries?”
“Sure. After we have brunch, are you going to go back to your place and see if it’s still standing?”
“Have I been at your place that long?”
“A few days.”
“Is that a problem?”