Good God. What he’s doing now, rocking in and out of me fast and hard, it’s pushing me so fast toward the edge I can’t find the brakes. I moan helplessly in his mouth as the pressure crests and I clench around his length so hard I see stars.
He breaks the kiss, draws a hissing breath. “Fuck…” His hips roll, his cock swells more, triggering mini explosions in my core, and then he comes with a low groan. I feel the warmth of his cum through the thin rubber, and Christ, I clench around him even harder, pleasure spiking through me again, taking me apart.
He collapses on top of me, muttering something I can’t make out, as I sob for breath and wrap myself around him like a starfish. I need him close, closer, like I’d climb into him and curl there. Safe. Happy. Warm.
He shifts, rolling off me, gathering me in his arms and kissing my hair as if I’m something precious to him.
And now I have tears rising to my eyes. Crap. I wish he didn’t pretend so well that he cares. He’s really good at this. So good I can almost believe it.
***
It’s Sunday. The realization hits me as I blink at a cracked ceiling with a warm, solid weight at my back and over my ribs. No idea what triggered that random thought. Maybe it’s the fact I’m not alone in the room, and despite the crick in my neck I’m comfortable and content to lie where I am, not moving.
Not to break the spell, the dream-like quality of the moment. The way my heart fills with happiness when I realize the band weighing over my ribs is his arm, his other wedged under my head in guise of a pillow, and his strong body is fitted to the curve of my back.
We’re spooning.
My pulse speeds up. Oh God, it’s… sweet. Never done this with a guy before, and it makes me all tingly and fuzzy inside.
His breath ruffles the hair on top of my head. His chest rises and falls, pressed to my back. I can feel every breath he draws, feel his steady, slow heartbeat.
I study the ink on his arm, afraid to move, not to wake him up, tracing with my eyes the dark whorls and lines, up to the snake covering his shoulder. He has fine dark hairs on his forearm. His hand is large, the fingers long, the nails blunt and square, and then there’s the scar I noticed before—old, white, running from the inside of his wrist down to his palm.
It fascinates me even more than his ink, and I run my fingertip over it, following the upraised skin up to his wrist. Strange that he didn’t try to cover it up with a tattoo, I think, as he shivers, his flesh breaking into goosebumps.
“Manon?” His voice is heavy with sleep, deep, resonating through me.
Freezing, I wait to see what will happen. All uncharted territory to me. Never slept with a boyfriend before—even a pretend boyfriend. Never woke up with one.
“Morning.” He shifts behind me, nuzzling my hair, and something long and hard pokes my ass.
Oh God, he’s aroused. Solid hard. Fire shoots up my belly as he snuggles closer, shifting again, trying to accommodate his erection.
“You’re awake,” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I lay my fingertips over the scar. “What made this?”
“What…?” He shivers again when I stroke it. “Oh fuck.”
“Looks like it was bad.”
He groans. “It was. Knife.”
“How did it happen?”
“My stepdad happened. High on drugs. Tried to cut me up.”
Shit. I twist, trying to turn, to look at his face, but he won’t let me. “My God. What did he do to you? Did—?”
“I’m okay, it was… Fuck. It’s over.” He pulls his hand away.
“Where was your mom? Were you home alone with him?”
“She was there, stoned out of her fucking mind.” He groans. “Listen… it’s too early for this shit.”
I grab his wrist again. “Please.”
He stills, his breathing quick and uneven. “What now?”
“If you were my boyfriend…” I swallow hard. “I’d want to know.”
“Fuck.” It’s quiet and heartfelt, so much so I want to take it back, back away, let him be.
But I can’t. “You said you thought your mom was dead. What happened?”
“What do you think happened? She left. Never called or came back. I thought she died.”
“You were close?”
“Ha. Good one.”
“You weren’t.”
“Not by a long shot. For one, she was never there, and even when she was, she was high, or low, depending on what she was using. She took my money, money I stole or made with small jobs. She often had her boyfriends at home, motherfucking bastards, so I made sure I was never there. End of story.”
My heart is in my throat. Jesus. “They beat you?”
He laughs, and the sound is like a blade, sharp and cold. “Yeah, they beat me. Then I grew up, moved out, and that was that.”
“Where did you go?”
“To Shane’s house. It was good, and I managed to straighten up and go to school for a while, too. Those were… they were good times. Until they were over.” His voice roughens, and he swallows audibly.
“What happened?”
“Then Shane’s mom died in an accident, and he went off the rails. I tried to help him, but by then…” His breath makes a strange hitching sound. “By then it was too late for that, and my own mom fucked me up.”
“Fucked you up? What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter what I mean.” He rolls away, his arm lifting, leaving behind cold. “Nothing fucking matters. She had her boyfriend break me, then they took off, left me for the police to find. So she’s still dead to me. Nothing’s changed.”
Oh God.
I finally turn around to face him, and the pain in his eyes is heart-wrenching. “You’re here. That’s all what matters.”
“You can stop, you know?” He sits up, swings his legs off the couch. “Stop playing for a sec, stop pretending.”
He makes as if to get up, and I throw my arms around his neck. “I’m not playing. I’m happy you’re here. I’m so sorry for what happened to you in the past. You’re safe now.”
“Shit, I wish that was true,” he whispers, and I can’t take it anymore. I want to erase the pain from his gaze, from his mind, make sure he’s okay.
I kiss him. I cup his rough jaw and pull him to me. This boy isn’t mine, but God I wish he were.
He wraps a hand around the back of my head, deepens the kiss, and shit, I’d forgotten he was naked. Like, one hundred percent bare, and also still hard. As he hauls me onto his lap, my body reacts, my breasts tightening painfully, a throb starting between my legs.
“If you were my girlfriend,” he mutters against my lips, “the first thing we’d do on a Sunday morning would be to fuck.”
Chapter Fifteen
Seth
She kisses me. I don’t know why her eyes seem wet, or why she clutches me like I’m about to vanish into smoke. She doesn’t know my past, has barely scratched the surface. Fuck, if she knew…
So I kiss her back, needing the distraction, needing to forget myself in her sweet taste, her hot body. The body of the one girl I’ve ever truly wanted, and my dick hardens more when she presses her tits to my chest and her hands to my shoulders.
Oh yeah, baby. More.
I nip at her lower lip and try to decide how to do this. With her sitting like this, in my lap? Lay her down on the sofa like last night? Have her on all fours so I can play with other parts of her? Bend her over the sofa?
Shit, I have to bury myself in her, feel her around me. After tearing at the scabs in my mind, leaving each memory raw and bleeding, I need her.
Gotta lose myself in her. Can’t bear being inside my mind right now, but she shoves me back. Fuck. What if she doesn’t want it? What if last night wasn’t as great for her as it was for me?
Son of a bitch.
“Lie back,” she says breathlessly and shoves me again, a little poke on my pecs.
Her tits sway in front of me, dark nipples taut and tempting, as I let her push me onto my back. I don’t know what’s on her mind, but her soft mouth pulls into a pleased little smile and something softens in my chest, some hard shell I forgot was there.