Chapter 37 What We Prayed Wouldn’t Be
Issac comes out of the bathroom with more clothes on than he usually wears for bed. He looks surprised to see me still here. Probably thought I’d hide out in the guest bedroom. Maybe I should’ve, but we need to make this work.
He looks even more surprised when notices I’m wearing nothing but his T-shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice tentative, eyeing me with wonder.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I have panties underneath.”
He smiles, but that fire in his eyes is gone, replaced with a cool, calm brown that silently begs for me to answer his question with yes. And I realize that it’s the same look he’s been giving me since the moment he showed up at my door weeks ago. Has he been wondering if I’m okay all of this time?
“Come here,” I tell him. “Let me put something in your hair.”
He hesitates the way he did when he took the picture of us that changed my life forever. But then he sits between my bare legs on the white carpet and relaxes as I massage his scalp. He’s careful not to make a sound. We’re both quiet until he tilts his head back a little, his hair grazing the space between my legs and stealing a moan from me. When he stiffens at the sound, I chew my lip, smiling through it.
“Back in the pool, I couldn’t say I can resist this feeling between us because it would’ve been a lie,” I admit, and he inhales sharply. “But I am nervous.”
“Why is that?” he asks.
“I don’t want us to hurt each other,” I say.
“I understand,” he says. “I don’t want that either.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if we ruined what we have,” I admit. “Especially over sexual tension. I’m wondering if we did already.”
He’s quiet for so long I’m worried I said the wrong thing. Was it a little much? Not enough? Then, he sighs and says, “We didn’t ruin anything. We’ll pull through whatever, but this…” He huffs out a breath. “Laniah, I don’t know if it’s just sexual tension for me, and I’ll always be respectful of your decisions, but I can’t promise it’ll go away.”
My throat is thick again. For a second, I hope whatever he’s feeling will go away. I wish it with my whole heart, then unwish it right after. Still, I can’t bring myself to ask him to clarify what he means because part of me wants to protect us from whatever might come if we admit to the feelings in our hearts. But…I don’t think I can live another night without releasing this tension between us.
I steady myself, lean down so I’m close to his ear, say, “If I ask you to sex me, just once. Do you think we’d pull through that?”
He shivers, lets out a low groan. I watch him adjust himself through his pants, and I have to bite back my own moan. “I already told you we can pull through anything.”
“I hope that’s true,” I say.
“I know it,” he says. “But I won’t promise you it’ll be just once.”
My heart speeds up. I whisper, “You’re not willing to make any promises tonight, are you?”
“I’m not. Because I don’t want to hear your mouth when I break them.”
Time feels like it stretches into eternity, neither of us moves. All I can hear is his light breathing, the soft wind coming through his balcony window, and the sound of my need.
“Can I touch you?” he finally asks.
I breathe out, then brace my body in anticipation. “Yes.”
His fingers brush my ankle first, and even that feels like sex. He walks them up my calf, then cups the space under my knee. The pressure makes me wet. When he lets go, I whimper. What the hell is wrong with me?
He must know that he can touch me anywhere and cause pleasure because he doesn’t find my reaction surprising, just walks his magic fingers up my thigh, stops midway, grips as much of it as he can in his large hand, then turns his face to kiss me there. It’s gentle and undemanding but drags a winded breath out of me.
I know one thing that will be ruined by this: I’ll never be able to do Issac’s hair, with him sitting between my thighs, and not think about him kissing them.
I decide right then to release the thoughts in my mind, the heaviness, and let my body lead the way for tonight.
“Again,” I beg. “Please.”
His eyes are closed when he kisses me again, but this time he opens his mouth and runs his fat tongue over my flesh. While I’m tangling my fingers in his hair and moaning at the feel, his voice sounds hypnotic.
“Dear God,” he says. “You don’t know how long I’ve been praying to hear you make that sound for me.”
My mind’s too hazy with want to focus on his words, but I know they’re important.
Issac gets on his knees, tall enough that the action puts us face-to-face. We’re breathing heavy, but he leans forward and brushes his mouth over mine in the most delicate motion, and I know right then I’ll be measuring every kiss of my life to this one.
When he parts my lips with his tongue, I sigh into his mouth; overcome with how perfect he tastes, thinking delirious things like if I could devour and drink him forever, I would. With no need to worry about our surroundings, we’re greedier than earlier. Sucking and biting and barely allowing ourselves air. I’m gripping his forearms to pull him closer and his hands are moving to my hips, squeezing the soft flesh beneath the fabric there.
He pulls back for a shaky breath, leans his forehead against mine. We smile, laugh, my heart swells at how swollen his lips are because of me. He kisses my cheek, my chin, my collarbone.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Tell me you’re sure.”
The feel of him nibbling my neck makes me shiver. “Issac…,” I breathe out.
He stops at the sound of his name, mouth hovering, a breath away from skin, my body aching for him to start again. He grips the bedsheets beside me, says, “Laniah.”
Mm…That feeling. Something about hearing my name in his mouth while we’re in this position sends me wherever it just sent him. I grab his face, kiss his lips one more time.
“I’m sure,” I finally say.
He nods, but I see the flicker of nerves in his eyes before he pulls back enough to examine me. “When I came out of the bathroom and noticed you were in my shirt, I almost dropped to my knees and begged you to let me touch you right here.” I watch him swallow, his hand moves under the shirt until he reaches the crease of my thigh.
My body bucks when he uses the pad of his thumb to brush my soaked panties.
He smiles, and whatever fear he was feeling is replaced by pure hunger, confidence.
“Do you want me to touch you here?”
Another graze, I whimper and throb.
“Do you want that?”
“Yes,” I beg. “Yes, I want you to touch me. Please.”
“Where? Use your words.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, tasting blood. “Touch my pussy.”
“Mm,” he moans out before rubbing my clit through the cotton. “Like this?”
All of my nerve endings sing. I push close, craving pressure.
“Just. Like. That,” I say while he rubs me with slow, torturous circles, intensifying my ache.
He bends low, breathes shallow breaths in the space where his fingers just were, and reaches for the edge of my panties, ready to pull them to the side. I want him to kiss me there but know what’ll happen with him devouring me: my mind will race, my heart will too. If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to pull through, he can’t make love to me because I’ll need him to do it forever.
I cup his face, force his eyes to meet mine. “I want you to fuck me,” I say.
He tilts his head curiously. “Now?”
I lean forward to lick his bottom lip. “Yes.”
He takes my tongue into his mouth before pulling out of my grasp. Then, without warning, he pushes past the fabric keeping us apart and slides his thumb inside of me. My hips rise, I gasp out a shocked breath.
He makes a wincing sound, says, “Fuck. How are you this ready for me?”
I’m panting, nipples painfully hard, when he pulls his thumb out of me and pops it into his mouth. Oh damn. He examines my face and smiles. “Why are you pouting, baby? You anxious? You need me that much?”
“Cocky asshole,” I say, forcing my legs together while wishing he’d call me baby again.
He shakes his head, then pulls my thighs apart. “No one told you to move.”
The realization hits me that I’m seeing the sexual side of someone I’ve known my whole life. I narrow my eyes at the challenge, but don’t move a muscle when Issac stands and towers above me because, dear Lord, who would’ve known I’d like it so much?
His shirt comes off before his pants. Then he hooks a finger under his boxers. Even though I’m eager, I’m happy he goes slow and allows me to enjoy eyeing the outline of his dick, how much thicker it is compared to my dream. I ache to squeeze my thighs together, but he arches an eyebrow, silently reminding me not to move. When I cut my eyes at him, he laughs and finally exposes himself to me.
I thought the outline prepared me, but it didn’t. He takes a few steps forward, positioning himself within inches of my face. It’s long, dark, beautiful with pronounced veins and a smooth, fat head.
My mouth waters, wanting to taste him, but when I reach for it, he steps back again.
“Sorry, baby. You can’t lick me if I can’t lick you.” I breathe through my teeth, hurt, but he nods his head toward the top of the bed while slowly jerking it and says, “Move up there.”
“No,” I say. “I want to watch.”
“You can watch…from up there.”
“I don’t like you.” I frown.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “But you will.”
I scowl at him as I move up the bed, but inside my heart is racing.
He holds eye contact, circles me the way a wolf would. “Good girl,” he says.
Those words. That look on his face. I reach up to grip the headboard, needing him. “Please,” I beg.
“Because you asked nicely,” he says, climbing into bed and peeling my panties off. My pussy gushes as he plants both hands on either side of me and stares down at my body. “You’re more beautiful than I’ve tried to imagine.” The words are an honest whisper, something he was thinking that slipped right out. He meets my eyes with a serious expression, then dips his head down. When he kisses me, I feel the question on his lips: Can we really do this without feeling everything? And I don’t know that we can. He pulls back to rest his forehead against mine, and my breaths quicken realizing how close we are to the edge of something different, a territory unknown.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I panic at what it could be and thrust my hips to distract him with my wetness. It works. A sharp flash of need crosses his eyes at our contact. I can’t believe how hard he is for me.
He grips the bedsheets, grinding his length against me slowly. “You’re so damn wet,” he says.
I arch my back, ache, ache, ache with the friction, the pressure he’s building. We moan at the same time. “Issac, I need it now,” I insist, because any more grinding and I’ll climax before he gets to put it in.
He kisses my neck, then sits up to reach into the drawer for a condom, tears the wrapper with his teeth. I watch him roll it on before he pushes my thigh and turns me onto my stomach. I groan into the pillow, ready when he positions himself close, dick resting against my ass. Everything burns, throbs, I’m so ready it hurts.
But Issac says, “Let me take care of you…”
A breath. The rapid beating of my heart.
“Until you get on the plane to go back home.”
I try to find my voice, try to register what he’s saying, but my need for his sex is too big, and I don’t want to think. Not now. “We said one time,” are the only words that come.
He spreads my ass cheeks and adjusts himself between them. “You said once, but I’m greedy. I want you every way I can get you. For as long as we have.”
I smile into the pillow. “You’re already looking at it like a loss before you’ve even had me. Maybe you’ll be satisfied enough. Maybe not at all. You might not want me after this.”
“Impossible.” I can hear him smiling too. “I’ll fuck you now, then if you like it I’ll fuck you again tomorrow. We don’t have to talk about it. I’ll read your body language. How’s that?”
My mind warns me, but I’m seesawing between coherent and delirious. “Alright,” I say. “Fine.”
He lets out a soft laugh, then finds my opening with the head of his dick, pushing through before my muscles have time to tense.
A sea of painful pleasure crashes over me. “Oh God,” I cry out. We both tremble.
“Fuck…,” he says. “Baby.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move inside of me, just lets himself pulse within my walls. I grip him. Clench, unclench, twitch. I’ve lost control. My body doesn’t belong to me anymore. At this moment, it’s rightfully his.
“Issac,” I beg, trying to find friction in the sheets below me.
“How do you feel like this?” he says right before he lowers himself flush against my back, bites my earlobe, makes me shiver. “God, Laniah. It wasn’t supposed to be this good. I prayed it wouldn’t be. How will I ever let you go?”
I agree, I think, maybe murmur something similar. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. We shouldn’t be made to fit so perfectly. My eyes roll back when he starts moving inside of me. It’s slow at first, finding his way, testing, teasing. But when he reaches for my hands, pushes them above my head and laces our fingers, I tell him to go faster, harder, because with him this close my heart feels like it’s reaching for his. And I’m not ready to listen to the voice inside of me that says he doesn’t have to let me go at all.
“If that’s what you want,” he says, and I try to ignore the hesitation in his tone.
He pushes hair out of my face and kisses my cheek before sitting up. I’m still adjusting, still trying to breathe through his thickness, when he pulls out of me. I whine for him, but he tells me to hush and pulls me to my knees by a jerk of my hips. The motion makes me sure I’ll drip on the sheets below. I brace myself on my hands, lift my ass in anticipation. He smacks it, shocking me with a sting and stealing a moan. He runs both hands from the backs of my thighs all the way up the small of my back and releases a breath. There’s no time to worry about how many bodies he’s seen that look better than mine, without cellulite, slimmer, or surgically built to resemble beautiful Coke bottles, because Issac hums and says, “These hips, dear Lord, these hips.”
His words make me smile and arch my back with a little more confidence.
“Woof. I was going to tease you and keep you in this position for a while,” he says, “ask how much you already miss this dick, but I need…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, just opens me up from the back and pushes himself in. It takes my breath, how deep it feels from this angle, like he’s reaching into my belly. It’s pain and pleasure and pain and pleasure as I do my best to meet his strokes. The clapping sound of our bodies connecting makes my nipples ache.
“Dear God,” I say. We weren’t supposed to love this.
“Grab the headboard,” he tells me, and like he can read my mind, anticipate my needs, he cups my breasts and plays with my nipples while he strokes. I’m somewhere up in the clouds while he pinches them, his nails grazing against the small peaks of my areolas.
“Fuck,” he says. “Damn, baby. Look at how you’re taking it for me. You look so fucking good. You’re mine.”
My body vibrates at the sound of his pleasure. In this moment, I’m his baby. He pulls me back, pushes my head down into the pillow, and fucks me so hard I can’t see straight. I cry out his name. He asks me to say it again. I moan over and over again, giving in to him until he groans and drops my hips. My body sinks into the bed, limp, twitching, still needing. He lies flush against me again, and this time, when he reaches for my hands to lace our fingers, I don’t resist the sensual act.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, pushing damp hair from my face, gently kissing the skin of my shoulder. “You’re always taking care of me.” He starts to move his hips, rhythmically hitting every spot inside of me. Finding places that I didn’t know existed. We grip the sheets together as he grinds me into the bed. We’re so close, skin to skin, and the pressure of his body against my ass feels too good. He moves like he has magic inside of him, and when he stops to pulse, trying not to cum, I cry for him. He presses his mouth against my ear, licks the lobe, before turning my face and kissing me. We’re at an angle, our lips barely touching, both slick with sweat, but it’s contact I was craving too.
With this new position of his hips, my clit rubs against the sheets, but it’s not enough. He reaches and places his fingers there, realizing I needed the friction. But he doesn’t move them, just allows me to grind against his hand while he strokes: already an expert on what I like. I scream his name again, the pleasure building.
“Oh my God. Babe.”
He makes a hissing sound through his teeth, then squeezes my other hand, a reassurance I didn’t know I needed before asking, “You going to cum for me, Laniah?”
“I’m gonna cum for you, baby,” I say, or I think I say.
It might be gibberish because when I release, my body convulses and takes me wherever good things go. Issac slows his speed, allows me whatever I need. When I finally come back down to myself, my body still vibrating, Issac says he has to cum and the thought pricks at the pleasure receptors in my brain, then his moans fill me up again. I can keep going all night just to hear the way he sounds for me. The softness there, the vulnerability, the way he keeps whispering my name, and fuck.
“Does it feel good?” I ask, gripping the sheets, arching my back, trying to meet his stroke, help him like he did me, but it’s hard with him pressed so close.
It doesn’t matter. He’s spinning. “It feels so good. Baby, I’m coming.”
He finishes, shuddering against my back, biting my shoulder. I receive the soft sting and return a moan. He’s tired. Panting and sweating on top of me. My ass twitches, and he whispers ungodly things before pulling out.
“You’re dangerous,” he says, rolling over and pulling me to his chest.
I wrap my arms around him, welcoming the warmth. “So are you,” I say.
Our bodies shake while our brains slow in the work to calm us. He tilts my head, looks into my eyes, and gives me a tender kiss. I’m not sure we were successful at keeping our hearts out of this.