Twenty-Nine #3
Right. I can do that. I can be here, fully, just for today.
I can let myself be happy for a handful of hours without trying to pre-grieve it into the ground.
I turn around, leaning back against the counter, and watch him as he goes back to the radio, flicking through static again.
He glances over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows raised. “What?” he asks.
“You look good in my shirt,” I say, surprising both of us.
He blinks, then smirks, slow and wolfish. “Yeah?” he says, tugging at the hem. “Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”
“Thief,” I say, but my voice comes out softer than I intend it to.
His expression shifts, just for a second.
Then he stands and takes a few slow steps toward me, forgetting the radio behind him.
When he stops in front of me, he’s close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the small nick under his bottom lip, and the tiredness around his eyes.
“What are you thinking?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head because the only thing my brain wants to offer is three words, and that is absolutely not allowed out of my mouth. “Nothing,” I say. “I’m just glad we came.”
He studies me for a long moment. His hand comes up slowly and grips my jaw in his fingers.
“Me too.” I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.
His mouth is on mine before I can even think to pull away — not that I want to.
His lips are firm and demanding; it’s the kind of kiss that short-circuits your brain in five seconds flat.
I groan into it, my hands slide up the hard planes of his chest, feeling the fabric of his T-shirt beneath my palms. His long blond hair brushes against my cheek as he angles his head, deepening the kiss, and I feel the stubble on his jaw scraping against mine.
Ari’s hands are everywhere, gripping my hips, dragging me closer, digging hard into the bruises he already left from the day before.
I can feel the hard ridge of him against my thigh.
My own cock is already half-hard, straining against my briefs, but I don’t rush.
Neither does he. This isn’t about getting off fast. It’s about the way his breath hitches when I bite down on his lower lip, and the way his muscles tense when I touch him back.
I pull back just enough to breathe, and my lips brush his as I speak. “Fuck, someone’s impatient.” My voice is rough, and my body is already thrumming with the need to have him inside me again.
His grey eyes lock onto mine with that same predatory intensity that always makes my stomach flip.
“You talk too much,” he growls. His hands slide down to my arse, and he squeezes hard before he lifts and turns me like I weigh nothing.
My back hits the wall with a thud, and the impact knocks the air out of my lungs for a second.
His mouth crashes back onto mine, and his tongue forces its way past my lips.
I moan into the kiss as he places me back down.
My fingers tangle in his hair, messing up the perfection of it, but he doesn’t care; his hands are already working at my waistband.
My joggers hit the floor a second later, followed by my boxers and T-shirt, and then his calloused palms are on my bare skin, gripping my thighs hard as he hoists me back up against the wall.
“Bed,” I manage to gasp out between kisses, “now.”
Ari doesn’t argue. He carries me the few steps to the bed like it’s nothing; his strength making me feel weightless. The mattress dips under our combined weight as he lays me down, his body covering mine, and pinning me to the bed.
I reach for him, my hands slide under the T-shirt, my fingers trace the hard ridges of his abs. “Off,” I demand, tugging at the fabric. “I want to see you.”
He smirks, but he pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it aside.
His chest is a fucking masterpiece; it’s broad, muscular, the kind of body that makes my mouth water.
I sit up just enough to press my lips to his neck, tasting his skin, feeling the way his breath hitches when I bite down just hard enough to leave a mark.
Ari’s patience snaps. His hands grab my wrists and pin them above my head as he rolls his hips against me, the friction making me moan.
“You’re a fucking tease,” he growls, his mouth crashing back onto mine.
“You love it,” I laugh breathlessly against his lips.
He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he kisses me harder, his free hand slides down between us to pull his bottoms down and wrap around both our cocks, stroking us together in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
The sensation is overwhelming. “Fuck,” I groan, as my head falls back against the pillow. “I need you inside me.”
His hand stops, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue, to draw it out longer just to torture me.
But then he shifts between my legs, his fingers tracing the crack of my arse with maddening slowness.
“Been thinking about this, mm?” he murmurs, his voice is dark with satisfaction as he circles my hole with his thumb.
I bite my lip, and my body trembles with the need to be filled. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Ari chuckles, low and rough, but he doesn’t make me wait. He reaches over to the bedside table, takes out a jar of something, and smears it on my hole. The sensation makes me whimper. The first press of him against me is almost too much, thick, hot, the stretch burning in the best possible way.
I grab onto his arse and try to pull him into me. “Slow,” he orders, his voice strained as he pushes in another inch. “Take it slow.” Fuck, it feels good. So good I can barely think straight.
Ari’s hands are on my hips, his fingers digging in as he holds me still, feeding me his cock inch by inch. “You feel so good,” I gasp, my voice breaking as he finally fills me, and his hips are flush against my arse. “Fuck, Ari—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, his mouth crashing onto mine as he begins to move. It isn’t fast. It isn’t rough. It’s slow, deliberate, each thrust dragging against that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.
His cock fills me perfectly; it stretches me just enough to hurt, but in that way that makes my body crave more. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs against my lips with his rough voice. His hand slides between us, wrapping around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts.
It doesn’t take long for my body to tense up as I teeter on the edge. His breath is hot against my ear, and his voice is a low growl. “Give it to me, detka.”
That’s all it takes, the switch goes off in my brain, and my orgasm hits me like a freight train — my cock pulsing in his grip as I come hard, my whole body shuddering with the force of it.
Ari follows a few minutes later — his thrusts turning erratic as he moans and buries himself deep, his release filling me in hot, thick spurts.
We collapse together, our bodies still joined, our chests heaving.
Ari’s weight is heavy on top of me, but I don’t mind.
I like the way he feels. His hand finds mine, and our fingers tangle together as he presses a soft kiss to my lips.
Ari’s thumb brushes over my knuckles, and his touch is surprisingly gentle.
I turn my head, pressing my lips to his shoulder.
I close my eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, and the slow, steady rhythm lulls me into a false sense of calm. But beneath it, my own heart is like a storm, wild, uncertain, and absolutely fucking terrified.
But when he slides in behind me afterwards and wraps himself around me like he did this morning — his face tucked into the back of my neck, his arm heavy over my waist — I let my eyes close on a thought I don’t speak.
Six weeks.
Today.
Him.
I’ll take it.