Chapter 6 #3
He rolled it on with precision and then kissed his way up my body, taking his time until I was a throbbing mess of need again.
I’d been brought to the ledge at least three times by then, and I was past the point of desperation and teetering on rage when he settled between my thighs and pulled my hand down between us.
“Guide me in, baby,” he whispered, his eyes steady on mine.
I’d never know if he’d recognized the tightrope I’d been walking or if that had been his plan all along, because as soon as I’d pressed the head of him inside me and pulled my hand away, he thrust the rest of the way in, and I screamed as I came so hard that my vision went black.
I was grasping at him, my nails raking down his back and my legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust and thrust and thrust, making the orgasm drag on and on until I was sweating and sobbing in relief.
His hands framed my face, his thumbs gently sweeping over my cheeks as he watched me.
The juxtaposition of the tender way he held me and the powerful drive of his hips was almost confusing, but his eyes held me captive until they drifted shut, and he came with a nearly silent groan.
In the aftermath, I lay there stunned.
It was cliché and ridiculous and I was too old for unicorns and rainbows, but…I hadn’t known sex could be like that. It was so far from any other experience I’d had that I felt a little flutter of panic in my chest.
“Hey,” Bas called quietly, his hands shifting so he could sweep away the tears running down my temples.
“Whoa,” I said with a shuddering laugh, my eyes welling up again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothin’ from what I can see,” he replied with a little grin.
“Says the guy who looks like a sculpture.”
“Wanna know a secret?” he asked, wiping away more of my tears.
“Yeah.”
“I used to be a chubby kid.”
“No way,” I whispered.
Bas nodded. “Then I learned that if I worked out, I could use those same calories to build muscle. Changed everything.”
“I hate working out,” I confessed. “If I’m running, you better start running too, because something is chasing me.”
Bas burst out laughing, and I smiled as the bed shook with his laughter.
“Good to know,” he said.
He leaned down to give me a slow, wet, thorough kiss as he pulled out of my body. I whimpered as we lost contact.
“I’m gonna take care of this condom.”
I curled onto my side as he got off the bed and watched his ass flex as he walked across the room and into what must’ve been the bathroom on the other side of the stairway opening.
Every inch of my body was covered in goose bumps and sensitive to the touch, like it had been so overloaded with sensation that it didn’t know how to return to baseline.
Reaching behind me, I yanked on the comforter and pulled it over me so I was folded inside. That’s how Bas found me when he came back out carrying a white washcloth in his hand.
“Cold?” he asked, sitting down beside me.
“A little,” I replied as he peeled the blanket back.
I lay there languidly as he lifted my knee and slid the washcloth between my legs, softly cleaning me up. He tossed the washcloth into a hamper against the wall and lay down beside me, pulling the comforter over both of us.
“There’s no way it’s covering you,” I said, leaning up a little to check.
“Yeah, it’s a little breezy on my ass,” he replied with a grin. “But I’m not cold. It’s fine.”
“Sorry, I messed up your bed.” I snuggled deeper into the comforter. “It was so nicely made.”
Bas lifted his head and scratched his cheek before resting it on his hand again. He was braced on his elbow, his dark hair was a mess, and his lips were swollen from using them on my body. I wished I was an artist so I could have immortalized him just like that.
“I had a foster mom that made sure we made our bed every morning when we got up.”
“You were in foster care?” I asked, remembering the Bas who’d come to the club when he was just a kid looking for work.
“I was,” he confirmed. “My mom lost custody the first time when I was four. Got her shit together for a couple of years, and then I was back in the system to stay right after I turned seven.”
“Shit, Bas.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” he said, reaching out to affectionately brush hair away from my face. “I barely remember the foster home I was in when I was little. Bounced around a little that first year, but before I turned eight, I got placed with my foster mom and stayed there.”
“You stayed with her until you turned eighteen?”
“Seventeen,” he corrected.
“And she was a good one? Home, I mean.”
“The best,” he replied.
I smiled, imagining a little Bas.
“Where did you grow up?” I knew it wasn’t Eugene.
“Portland.”
“Oh, I thought it was further away.” Leaning up, I mirrored him, resting my head on my hand. “Do you go back to visit? Has she ever been here?”
Bas shook his head. “No.”
“What? Never?”
“Not once I left, no.”
“Oh.” Part of me was dying to ask why he’d cut contact with the foster mom he said was the best, but a bigger part knew that it was none of my business.
“I, uh, actually, that night of Brody’s party?” he asked, and I nodded, like I could ever forget my cousin’s birthday party. “I got a call that day from a lawyer sayin’ she’d left me some shit in her will.”
“Oh, no.” My stomach sank.
“Yeah, so I’m supposed to go up there to his office on Saturday.”
“Did you know she died?”
He let out a huff of humorless laughter. “Not until the lawyer called me.”
“I’m so sorry.” Reaching out, I cupped his cheek.
“I don’t know what the fuck she left me,” he said, pausing to turn and kiss my fingers. “We never had any money. I mean, we got by, but it’s not like we were takin’ any vacations.”
“Maybe it’s sentimental stuff,” I offered. “Pictures. That kind of thing.”
“Could be,” he said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll find out.”
“God, I’m sorry, Bas,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine losing my mom.”
“Lost her way before last weekend, baby,” he reminded me.
“Still.”
He shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “Look at me talkin’ about this shit when I’ve got you naked in my bed. The fuck is wrong with me?”
“Oh, so we can’t talk?” I joked, pursing my lips. “I see what this is.”
“We can talk,” he argued, leaning over me so I’d roll to my back. “But this is make-you-dinner conversation, not bed conversation.”
“I didn’t realize there was a distinction.”
“Bed conversation is me tellin’ you how beautiful you are, how good you feel, and how incredible your pussy tastes.”
“Go on,” I teased as he moved in for a kiss.
Bas laughed against my mouth.
Then he continued the bed conversation using visual aids.