9. Sven
Nine
Sven
I don’t wash my hand. I drive home with her slick drying on my fingers, her scent filling the cab of the truck.
By the time I get my front door shut, I’ve already got my jeans open, and I don’t even make it to the bedroom.
I get my back against the wall in the dark and I take myself in hand…
the same hand I had inside her just a little while ago…
and I look down at what she’s done to me.
I’m huge. I know that. The kind of huge that’s made more than one female take one look and question her life choices.
I’m thicker than Esme’s wrist, as long as her forearm, with ridges down the underside standing out hard, my cockhead flushed dark green is leaking like a motherfucker.
I’m so hard I’m gone past pleasure into something closer to pain, because I’ve been like this every day since she arrived in town, and haven’t fully gone down once.
I grip myself at the base, drag up slow, and I’m glad nobody’s here for the sound that comes out of me.
I think about the one finger. The way I worked it into her knuckle by fucking knuckle.
How her body fought until it finally gave, and kept fighting me then giving, taking me inch by fucking inch.
How tight she was… Christ, she’s tight, clamped around me like a fucking vise, that was one fucking finger, I’m holding the truth of all I am in my fist right now and I made her take one finger because anything more would’ve split her in half before she’s ready.
I stroke myself harder, tightening my grip the way she squeezed my finger, working my ridges with my thumb. I picture Esme. With her thigh hooked over my hip, her dress pushed up her full, round, soft hips, her juices all over my hand. The sounds she made when she came, breathed into my shoulder.
I picture what she’d look like under all that’s me.
On her back, her thick thighs spread wide, her curvy little body taking me one fucking inch at a time, stuffed full, stretched to the edge of what she can stand.
I see myself filling her. See what I’d leave inside her.
What I’d pump her full with and push into her until it’s got nowhere left to go.
My hand flies now, rough, fast, the wet sounds of my precum slicking my fat cock, loud in the quiet house, my hips driving up into my fist, growls rolling constantly from my throat, the pressure builds at the base of my spine, in my balls, drawing up tight and hot, fucking enormous, I brace my forearm against the wall, grit my teeth and… come like a fucking dam breaking.
It tears out of me, the first jet hitting the wall, then I’m spilling over my fist in long, thick ropes, pulse after pulse after pulse, more than any human male could dream of, the way we’re built…
endless, my body spasming with each surge, my hand, dripping, fucking overflowing, and it doesn’t stop, it keeps coming, hot and heavy over my knuckles, down my wrist, pooling on the floor, and all I can think through the white-out of it is Esme!
This is what I’d fucking give her. I’d fill her with all of me and more and keep going, fill her until she’s swollen with my cum, until it’s leaking out of her, until there’s no question in anyone’s mind whose she is.
Mine. Bred. Mine.
I come until I’m wrung out and shaking, braced against the wall, breathing like I ran fucking miles.
For about five seconds I think: Okay. Handled. Now I can sleep.
But I cannot sleep.
Because it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough, and I fucking knew it wouldn’t be.
I had her. My fucking finger inside her, her thigh over my hip, her slick dripping all over my fucking hand and I fucking walked away, and now my fist is a fucking joke, and my hunger for my mate comes roaring straight back before I’ve even fully recovered from my orgasm.
I clean up, then I jack off again in the shower, slower this time, with my hand braced on the tile. I come just as fucking hard, just as much, and that shit helps for about as long as it takes for the water to run cold.
* * *
I lie in my bed in my big, quiet house, staring at the ceiling like some fucking emo kid.
I’m thirty-eight years old and I thought I had myself figured out. I’m the steady one. The brother everyone comes to when they lose their heads, the alpha the whole town goes silent around. I built an entire life on being the rock that nothing moves. That’s the whole fucking point of me.
And a slip of a female appeared in my life, and now I’m flat on my back at two in the morning, hard, wrecked, gone, mooning at my ceiling like a fucking idiot.
Pickle lifts his head from the foot of my bed and looks at me with his one good eye, like what is wrong with you, dude?
“Don’t,” I tell him.
He sighs and puts his head back down.
I don’t sleep much, and I am, by every account, a fucking nightmare the next morning.
I can hear myself doing it. I snap at Dev, one of the orcs we have on staff, over a cart parked six inches off.
I tell a male asking about the printer to read the sign in a voice that makes him back away with his hands up.
I find three things to be furious about before nine and not one of them deserves it, and I can’t stop.
I’m strung so tight I could crack a shelf in half, aching behind my zipper, replaying last night on a loop, and the only thing that can fix it is the one thing I won’t let myself have yet.
The whole floor reads the weather and people take the long way past my office. Conversations die when I walk by. Janey actually reverses direction in a hallway when she sees my face, she just turns on her heels and goes the other way. I don’t blame her.
Fuck, I’m a fucking hazard to anyone who asks me a simple question. If people knew… that their terrifying boss is in a black mood because a soft little human let him put one finger in her last night and he walked away like a goddamn idiot and can’t fucking think straight.
My phone buzzes. It’s my brother, Bjorn.
how was the date ??
I don’t answer.
that good huh?
Sven!
SVEN! did you take her to Aldous’s? you took her to Aldous’s didn’t you? you absolute romantic freak
I put the phone face down and go terrorize more patrons. Because apparently this is who I am now. This is what she’s done to me. Two years of running the steadiest branch in the county and I’m one short temper away from being told to take the morning off.
Then she walks in, wearing a coat and boots, with her hair loose, balancing a coffee, her bag and a stack of program folders, a little breathless from climbing the stairs…
and the whole fucking storm inside my chest just…
stops. It goes quiet. Still. Soft, all at once, the way my spirit gets around her.
Esme looks up, catches me looking, and she fucking smiles. Big, bright, beautiful… hot. Her eyes drop to my mouth and come back up to meet mine. I can read her look clear across the library’s vast open floor: she spent her night exactly the way I spent mine…
I feel my mouth move a tiny bit. That crack in the stone the whole town would lose its mind over, and I don’t fight it.