32. Esperr #2
I don’t have a second before his cock enters me again, a growl rumbling out of him.
Sparks of pure bliss ignite me, and I find myself grinding my hips back, needing all of him.
Every time this man moans, groans, or fucking growls, just about anything with his mouth, it goes straight to my cunt, making me wetter than before.
“Please—fuck,” I curse, having no idea what I’m begging for.
I need him to keep going, but I’m also struggling to breathe.
He shoves a hand onto the back of my head, gripping my hair while shoving the side of my face further into the couch. My mouth drops open, a small smile spreading across my lips as his hips snap forward. His other hand grabs my left asscheek, squeezing it to almost an unbearable grip.
For the second time it hits me out of nowhere, my body locks up, and I come around his cock.
“You just can’t stop coming.” In and out. In and out. “Jesus fucking Christ—fuck, you’re such a good girl, so fucking good.”
I whine at his words, but that only turns to a sharp inhale and choking when the hand from my ass moves around my hip to my center and he pinches my clit.
Something about the pain just does something to me, and he’s right; I can’t stop coming.
I just can’t stop anything that happens to my body, not as he fucks me harshly enough that drool leaks through the corner of my mouth.
It’s short-lived when the hand that was pressed against my face is now grabbing my shoulder and pulling me up until my back is bowed.
My entire body is throbbing, and my center tightens as if I hadn’t just cum. Zyran wraps one arm around my middle and the other grabbing the side of my face so that I’m bent in a weird and awkward position and able to look at him.
Zyran’s breathing picks up, and he slams into me, sending shooting stars across my vision. His lips brush over the side of my face, and my eyes begin to drift close.
“Nuh-uh,” he hisses, teeth clamping down on my ear.
My eyes snap open, seeing his gaze locked on me, and it’s intense.
I moan, lost somewhere with the intense contracting of my pussy against his cock again.
I don’t know how I’m about to come again, but I can feel it building inside my core once more.
My brows pinch together, and a distressed noise comes strangled out of me as utter euphoria engulfs me.
“Fuck.” He curses as his hips stutter, and for the third time I’m coming on his cock.
“Zyran!”
“Fuck—Esperr!” he continues to shove his cock into me even as I teeter over a line that I’m barely holding on to. And then he’s growling into my throat, nipping and licking as I feel him coming, filling me up, spilling everything he has inside me.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, breathing heavy, his heart beating against my back.
Then the sob comes out of nowhere.
One second I’m feeling his heart against my back, and the next something breaks open in my chest, and I can’t stop it. It wrecks through me before I can stop it—completely ugly and uncontrolled, and I try pressing my hand over my mouth, but it doesn’t help.
Another one follows before the first has even finished.
I feel Zyran still, immediately.
“Hey.” His voice is low and close, and in a way it completely wrecks me. “Hey, I’ve got you.”
Zyran moves carefully and slowly. I’m vaguely aware of him moving out of me and shifting me around until he’s got one arm around my back and the other under my legs. I turn my head into his chest because I can’t do anything else; a terrible sob slips through.
And another, and another until I’m sure I’m falling apart, and I know it’s not pretty. My whole body shakes with it, hands fisting against my mouth, while a sound comes out of me that I have no control over.
His arms tighten around me immediately, settling back into the couch with me in his lap.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers and then presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I’ve got you; you’re okay.”
I shake my head against his chest because I can’t speak.
He tightens his arms further, one hand coming up to the back of my head, and the other just wrapped around my middle.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t do anything except stay completely solid underneath me while I fall apart all over him.
“Breathe,” he mutters. “It’s okay, breathe, mio cuore.”
I try, but it just comes out ragged and broken, my chest hitching every time I think I’ve gotten ahold of it. And another wave rolls through before I can gather up the last one. It’s as if I can’t stop, and something cracked open tonight after being sealed shut for years and won’t close again.
“It’s okay, Esperr,” he murmurs, his hand moving through my hair. “Just let it out… I’m not going anywhere.”
And I believe him.
I think that’s what this was all about—figuring out how terrified I’ve been that I’m too much, or that I’m not enough. I’ve been living in the space between those two fears for so long that I’ve stopped noticing it was where I lived.
That I’m too much when I cry, too much when everything gets loud inside me, and not enough when it all goes quiet and I can’t find anything to give.
There’s too much history and not enough stability—too damaged and not enough wholeness.
And somewhere in the last week, in this apartment, in this storm, this man has figured out how to sit in that space with me without flinching.
Slowly my breathing is no longer controlling me, and I’m able to suck in a breath that doesn’t get caught in my throat. It takes longer than I'd like, but I’m finally able to lift my head, my eyes swollen and my face a complete disaster.
I don’t try to hide it, feeling wrung out and strangely a lot more free.
Zyran keeps his hand moving through my hair. “There she is,” he says quietly and then presses his lips against my forehead.
I exhale a long shaky breath into his neck, my eyes growing heavy with a slow blink.
“I’m sorry,” I barely managed to whisper, my voice completely wrecked.
“No, we don’t do that.”
I frown, not understanding.
“We don’t apologize for having feelings.”
Opening my mouth to say something, I stop, having no use to give an excuse or whatever my mind was going to say.
Instead, I close my eyes and just listen to this heartbeat, the slowness and steadiness under my cheek.
And I think about all the years I spent making sure no one ever saw me like this.
Not even Oliver, who’s been there through the heartbreak and through the hitman attempting to murder me.
All that energy it took to keep everything inside me contained, to be the manageable version, to never let anything spill over the edges.
And how exhausting it was. To right now, in Zyran’s arms, sitting on the couch while my face is a disaster and all of my walls are completely gone—somehow it feels more like rest than anything else I’ve ever known before.