Chapter Forty
Jenna
After throwing me on the bed, he stops. Probably to catch his breath, possibly to think out his next move, maybe to take the sight of me in and commit it to memory, which is exactly what I’m doing looking up at him.
“I need a shower,” he says.
“I don't care,” I say in a hurried breath.
“I care,” he says finally. “And I want to make you wait, like you made me wait.”
“Marty,” I say, and I think I'm going to laugh but it’s more like a strangled, desperate plea.
“Wait,” he says with a long-pointed finger I suddenly want in my mouth. “Don't move. And don't you dare touch yourself.”
I throw my head and body back on the bed with a grunt.
“I mean it, Jenna,” he says, his stern voice moving away from me.
He's a quick learner. The anticipation of knowing he is in there washing his body, touching skin I want to touch, is almost too much to bear.
The heat between my legs starts to throb and ache.
My nipples push against the fabric of my bra and I know without looking they'd be visible through the extra layer that is my cotton dress too.
My breathing is no slower or deeper and my fingers literally shake with the urge to touch myself, but instead I just fist the bedsheets.
I don't need to put my fingers anywhere near my pussy to know I am already very, very wet.
When I hear the shower turn off, a tap starts to run and then there's a gentle electric hum, and I realise he’s using my toothbrush.
Somehow that little intimate detail turns me on even more.
I throw my arm over my eyes and laugh at how undone I am.
I’m drowning in the kind of desire I dreamed of for years and I am delirious with joy that I am experiencing it again.
The stretch of time between hearing the toothbrush switch off and the moment when the bedroom door opens is the longest minute of my life.
And the only thought I have during it is, how will I go days, weeks, or months without his touch when I can’t even survive seconds without feeling like I’m losing my mind?
But I quickly bury that conundrum as soon as I see him, standing again exactly where he was when he told me to wait and not touch myself.
He is wearing nothing but a towel, and my eyes shoot straight to his waist to see if he is hard for me, but his hand is in front of what I want to see.
“Waiting isn’t easy, is it, cupcake?” he smirks.
“Marty.” I start to pull my dress up my legs, forcing his eyes in that direction. “I will happily wait a very long time for you.”
“Happily?” He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t look happy. You look... needy.”
“I am. And we’re running out of time, aren’t we?” I ask, the dress now halfway up my thighs.
“In some ways, yes.” He steps closer to me, his shins hitting the bedframe, but he doesn’t flinch. “But in other ways, we’re just getting started.”
The dress is above my waist now and I let my legs fall open.
“Jenna.” He exhales. “You’re not wearing any underwear. Have you been like this the whole time?”
I nod. “Now do you want to make me wait?”
He doesn’t reply, at least not with his voice. Instead, he falls to the ground and dives his head between my legs. With one strong, firm lick he glides his tongue up, parting me. With another, he finds my clit and flicks the tip of his tongue there back and forth, back and forth.
My hands go to his hair, and I hold him there for a while, rocking up into his licks and kisses, but when he starts to suck, I use my grip to move him away.
“No, Marty,” I say. “Not yet. I want to come with you inside me.”
“You can, you will,” he says, placing gentle kisses and bites on my inner thighs and trying to nudge my hands away so he can go back for more.
“And I promised you one of my toys,” I remind him.
He lifts up to look at me. “I don’t want that.
I mean, I do but not now. I will cash that win in for sure, but all I could think about in the shower was your pussy.
This is all I want, right now. Like this,” he bends to lick my clit, “and then like this.” He pushes two fingers inside me and strokes my front wall.
My belly convulses. “And then I want to feel it all with my dick, all of you.” His fingers go deeper, and they scissor from side to side.
“Yes, that’s what I want. But please fuck me,” I beg, riding his hand. “Please, I love you, please.”
His mouth goes back on me as his fingers keep caressing me inside and I give up begging for his dick because this is just as good.
Fuck, no, this is possibly better because I am so much more aware of where his tongue is, what his digits are doing, and where they’re stroking me so deep, so very, very deep and. ..
“Oh, shit,” I say, and I clench my thighs around his head.
“What?” He jolts back and I relax my legs.
It’s just how it was the last few times this happened.
Times when I was on my own, with a toy or toys, plunging one inside me, vibrating another around my clit for long, long minutes, taking my time and discovering myself.
It’s exactly the same now as it was then; I really do feel like I’m going to wet myself.
“You okay?” Marty says, and his voice is clearer because his lips are off me although his fingers keep thrusting gently and deeply inside me. I squeeze my muscles to stroke them back.
“So good,” I reply, and I throw my head back and surrender, only the smallest part of me worrying he won’t like it. “Stay deep, just like that.”
He does as he’s told, his fingers completely hidden, penetrating and probing deep inside me. His mouth is back too and the slick warmth of his tongue finding a perfect rhythm circling around my clit is everything I need.
“Marty,” I gasp as my hands grip his head again and I rock myself into his mouth as the pressure builds and that feeling returns.
I fight the urge to resist it and instead I even push a little, actively releasing all the delicious pressure that’s building and.
.. “Fuck!” I squeeze my eyes shut as my orgasm hits.
It’s hearing it that tells me it happened.
A light tinny tinkling sound as my cum hits Marty’s face, once, twice.
I take this confirmation with me as I shudder through my orgasm, the pleasure making me twitch and shake.
As the waves die down, I release my grip on his hair and cover my face with my hands, laughing and a little embarrassed, but mostly, mostly elated.
Only when my giggles subside do I dare a quick look at Marty and see him straightening up and wiping his face with his left hand, and then put all four of his fingers in his mouth, sucking.
That’s when I realise his right hand is still inside me.
And that makes me cover my face again, now because I feel blinded by how much I am feeling in this moment.
“That was fucking epic,” he says.
“I haven’t...” I try to speak but I can’t. I’m still out of breath and totally spaced out from such an overwhelming orgasm. “It’s been a long time since I did that. I didn’t know I still could.”
“I feel like I have a new life purpose. To make you do that again, and again, and again.” He kisses my knee. Then he pulls my leg straight up against his chest, finds my gold anklet and kisses that too.
I go back to being a wordless lump of flesh as I let myself consider his words.
“Jesus, Jenna. Look at you,” he says. I lift my head and look at my pussy still rocking against his hand, my nipples hard and hungry, my leg on his chest and body completely open to him. “You’re a brilliant, beautiful mess for me.”
And he’s right, so very right.
Then I see him rising above me, his towel gone and his cock long and hard and pointing to the sky.
“Still want me?” he asks.
“Always,” I reply.
He nods his head in a way that I know means I need to move further up the bed. After shuffling back, I open my legs again and he lies himself down between them.
Marty has one hand near my head, holding his body up, and the other is guiding himself towards me.
“So wet,” he says as his head touches me.
“So soft,” he says as his crown fills my opening.
“So warm,” he whispers as his mouth comes close to my ear, his chest pressing down on mine, and his cock drives up and in.
“Yes,” I hiss and feel new bubbles of pleasure burst inside me.
“This feels better than how I imagined,” he pants out as he thrusts into me again, long and slow. “And I imagined it would feel like heaven.”
So very suddenly my lust is muted with the bone-deep urge to cry, and I give into it immediately. I give in to all the things I’ve tried to put off thinking and feeling today, and maybe over the last few days too.
How unfair it is that we are not closer in age.
How hard it feels that we live in different countries.
How difficult it will be when he is there, and I am somewhere else.
How wrong it will feel to say goodbye to him tomorrow.
How insurmountable all these obstacles feel right now.
And by consequence, how bleak the future looks no matter what we promise each other today, because we won’t be together on an island in the sun anymore.
The only good thing about crying right now is that it keeps my next orgasm a little further away, so I can focus on the way his body rides up above me, every single one of his muscles flexing tight.
How his eyes are firmly closed, and his top teeth are clamping down on his bottom lip.
How there’s an almost strained expression hardening his jaw and making his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows every few thrusts, thrusts that are now speeding up.
But then his eyes flicker open and he sees my tears and whatever pained expression I have on my face.
“Shit.” He stills, his pupils darting left and right. “I’m sorry. Is it too hard? Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head profusely. “No.” I sigh and lift my hands to stroke his cheeks, his stubble now rough against my fingers. “I’m just sad about tomorrow. I’ve been trying so hard not to be, but I am. I can’t help it.”
I feel the breath of his exhale on my nose and mouth.
“I know,” he says. “I’m sad too.”
“But don’t stop,” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Please don’t stop.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I may not come, because I’m not great at separating my emotions from my orgasms, but I am still enjoying every second. I want this. I want you.”
I’m not sure if it’s because of my tears, or because he wants to be gentler on me, but he lowers his body again so it’s flat against mine and he starts to rock into me rather than thrust. He lies his forearms flat on either side of my head and he dips his head to kiss me, a slow, unhurried kiss that has more fragility than hunger and is more calming than craving.
It’s what I didn’t realise I needed. A reminder that we still have time, albeit not as much as I would like.
A prompt for me to hold space for feeling sad but to also make plenty of room for also feeling so very happy at the same time.
An invitation to enjoy loving him as much as I cherish feeling loved by him.
A reminder that while this will all stop tomorrow, at least we had it.
At least we found each other for these blissful five days.
Feeling soothed, if not resolved, there is space again for my desire to burn bright.
When he moves his mouth away to kiss my cheeks, my eyebrows, and at my temples, I grip his butt cheeks with my hands and push him into me deeper, applying a little extra pressure on my clit.
Responding to my grip and the way I roll my hips up towards him, he makes his strokes longer, harder.
I swallow a moan at how good it feels.
“I lied,” I whisper.
“What?” he says, leaning back to look at me.
“I am going to come,” I say. “And soon...”
“Good.” He almost grunts and starts to move his hips in a circle. “Because I want to watch you come.”
“Are you close?” I somehow manage to ask in a breathy exhale.
“Close enough.”
“Oh, Marty,” I say as I feel myself slip past the point of no return.
“Come for me, Jenna.” He speeds up a little, still fully in control, which I realise I need in this moment. I need him to fuck me, for him to be the one in charge.
“Yes, like that, don’t stop,” I mumble, closing my eyes.
“Come for me, Jenna,” he says again. But it’s his next words that undo me. “Give me something to remember you by when we’re apart.”
I do as he says. Panting and moaning and saying his name, my body convulsing, and small high-pitched gasps leaving my lips when another strong surge comes out of nowhere.
When I finally open my eyes, a warm glow spreading through my body, I watch as the strain is back on his face and in his arms and chest. Lifting my head, I graze my teeth over the bump in his nose like I did the first night we met.
“Come inside me, Marty,” I say. “Make me never forget you.”
And he does. Pushing up on his hands, he starts thrusting in earnest and a few seconds later, I feel the heat and the force of him spilling inside me once, twice, three, maybe four times, all the while swearing and cursing and saying my name.
When he slows down gradually, rocking into me still as if he can’t stop himself, I feel the familiar crescendo of another orgasm build and I can’t stop my hands from pushing him down on me with more force.
“Oh, God,” is all I can manage to say as I come again. I close my eyes, feeling him watch me, feeling him smile at me, feeling him love me.
Eventually, Marty collapses on me and his weight brings me back down to Earth. I know I should pee. I know I should clean up. I know I should try and stay awake so the day isn’t wasted, but I can’t. I can’t do anything but pray that he never gets off me.
“I’m fucken shattered. Will we have a short nap?” he whispers in my ear.
I don’t have the energy to reply. I don’t even have the energy to lift my own body and get under the covers, so when I feel Marty move off me, and then gently lift my torso and move me so my head hits the pillow, I let him do it all.
The only things keeping me awake are the fact Marty is not in bed next to me, and that there’s a new dampness seeping out of me, but a few seconds later, I feel a warm wet towel between my legs and a kiss on my belly button.
Marty is cleaning me. Moments later he slides into bed beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist.
And then I fall asleep, still not wanting to squander my time with him, but also knowing this is anything but wasted time.