Chapter 15 #2
He pours more bodywash out, and I can’t lie, I’m bracing for those slick fingers to head right for my cock because I’m hard and aching and desperate for it.
But instead, he takes a step back, and I feel the glide of his fingertips from my waist, down the curve of my spine, to the sensitive skin just above my crack. One of his hands still presses against my chest, still keeps me from stepping too far away from him .
“You want me to touch you here, Amesie?” His voice is rough, his breath hot against my shoulder. His finger slides down through the cleft until it skates over the sensitive skin of my hole.
Fuck. Fuck . My throat locks, words dissolving as Robbie lifts my good arm and pins it against the tile wall directly under the pounding spray. Then both his hands are on me, spreading my ass cheeks apart, the cool air a shock before the heat of his body presses close behind me.
“Fuck,” Robbie breathes roughly. “I want to touch you everywhere. You’re so fucking sexy like this.”
“Oh my god.” My voice cracks as his finger circles my hole with slow, maddening pressure. How does he even know how to do this? The next sound that comes out of me is unintelligible. Wanton .
“Tell me you’re okay.” It’s the most Robbie statement ever, but right here, right now, it’s also fucking erotic. When was the last time someone was this focused on me? I don’t know. I can’t think.
He pushes one slick finger inside me, the stretch a delicious burn, and I have to press my forehead to my arm to keep from coming apart right then and there.
My brain stutters, unable to compute that this is Robbie—not some lurid fantasy I’ve conjured, but the actual man —who’s opening me up, who’s learning my body, who wants to touch me this way.
“This wasn’t the next lesson,” I rasp stupidly, my voice high and desperate. “Too advanced.”
We should stop. I know we should stop. Robbie doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s jumping off a cliff without knowing what’s waiting for him under the surface of the water below .
The sound of his low laugh is familiar in a way that makes me feel light and floaty. “I’m not a probie, Ames.”
Something about that unsettles me. “You’ve done this before?”
I don’t want to say her name, bring Lissa into this precious space reserved only for us, but I can’t help but wonder if he’d ever done this with her. If I’m not his first.
He splays a hand on the center of my chest again, avoiding all my bruises, and pulls me back against him until his lips brush my ear. “Only you, baby. I promise.”
I squeeze my eyes closed to hide the relief, but he can probably feel it. Sometimes I hate how well Robbie knows me. How well he can read my every reaction.
“It’s okay if it isn’t,” I insist.
“So stubborn,” he murmurs, moving his finger deeper and then dragging it out slowly as if to torture me. “Tell me how to find the right spot. I want to make you feel good.”
I nearly choke on the shower water. “’S’all good spots with you.” It’s a confession I should have held back, but apparently, Robbie’s finger is on my damned honesty button.
He slides his thick finger inside again, pressing deeper this time.
“You feel so fucking good—” His voice is thick with awe, with the same disbelief that’s riding me, but this voice anchors and grounds me anyway. I rock back against his hand, and he sucks in a sharp breath before teasing me with a second finger. “This okay?”
I make a pathetic sound in my throat that hopefully resembles approval before Robbie sinks deeper, his movements finding a rhythm that has me gasping and my injured arm grasping his hand in front of my chest. The twin sensations of being held and filled makes my knees tremble.
“You’re so hot and tight ,” he murmurs, lips brushing my shoulder. “I want to make you feel good.”
“You want—” I can’t think. Want to say all the words back to him, to let him know I’m in this with him, happy and relaxed, turned on like never before. But I’m afraid of saying too much. Of telling him that this is all too much. Too good. Too temporary.
It can’t possibly be real.
“I want,” he says with an affectionate rumble of laughter. Then his voice lowers. “I want everything with you.”
When he shifts to slick up with more shower gel, the movement makes his hard cock graze my hip, drawing a groan from both of us. Knowing he’s as turned on as I am sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
Robbie works both fingers back inside me, and the stretch is intense, the burn… fucking delicious. Then he curls them and?—
When his fingers brush my prostate, I make a sound I don’t even recognize—greedy, needy, broken .
“Rob. Robbie . Fuck, god, right there.”
He does it again, and my vision whites out for a second. My knees wobble, but his arm is strong enough to hold me up while he takes me completely apart.
Robbie keeps that perfect rhythm, curling his fingers just perfectly because when he cares, he learns how to do a thing exactly right.
“So good. Robbie, oh god, it’s so fucking good. Don’t stop.”
My cock is leaking steadily, untouched, and I’m so close already that I’m literally shaking, my whole body coiled tight.
“Fuck. C’mere.” He helps me straighten, his arm bracing my stomach to keep me upright so I can wrap my left hand around my dick. “Touch yourself, Ames. I wanna see you fall apart.”
It only takes three strokes before I’m coming, hard and messy, spilling over my hand and the shower floor with a sound that’s half sob and half his name. Robbie works me through it, his fingers still moving inside me, not stopping until I gasp, oversensitive and wrung out.
“Okay. That’s… I’m… Too much.”
His fingers slide free, and the emptiness makes me ache. But then he bends me over again, my shaking arm braced against the cool tile, and I hear the wet, slick sound of him stroking himself.
I force my head to turn, ignoring the protest in my arm, and I’m glad I do because the sight steals my breath.
Robbie’s eyes are locked on my ass, dark green and glazed with arousal, his face flushed and lips parted. The same fingers that were just inside me are working his big cock, and the thought sends a fresh wash of need through me.
“You are so. fucking. beautiful ,” he growls, punctuating each word with a rough, tight stroke.
Even though I just came twice—though I’m spent and trembling, my muscles more lax than a wrung-out cloth—pure want swamps me again. The sound of his skin on skin, the heat of him so close, the reality of this—him — is so much better than any fantasy.
“Ames,” he pants, voice breaking. “I?— ”
“Come for me, Rob,” I demand, snapping out of my afterglow to give him what he needs.
He does, my name tearing from his lips as he spills over my ass in hot, thick stripes. The look on his face—open and vulnerable and so damn happy —hits me like a punch to the chest, and my throat clogs with all kinds of mushy, un-take-backable words.
Fortunately, this is also the exact moment when I realize the water’s not just not-hot anymore; it’s actually getting fucking cold.
I straighten and reach for the tap, but Robbie stops me, rinsing us quickly before shutting off the spray. Then he turns me and wraps me up in his arms before I’ve registered the chill.
It feels so right and perfect.
And terrifying.
“Hey.” Robbie cups my face in his big hand and tips my chin up so he can see my eyes. “Ames?—”
I suck in a breath because if he says anything serious again—like wanting to be with me for real—I literally don’t know what might happen. There’s only so long I can keep reminding myself this is a rebound thing or an aberration before I fall for it like it’s real.
Green eyes meet mine, and Robbie smiles, patient and kind. He presses a quick kiss to my lips and grins. “Be honest. I totally aced lesson two, didn’t I?”
We end up on my couch like we have a thousand times before, except this time, I’m tucked right up against Robbie’s side, wearing boxers and his shirt under my sling, while he’s shirtless.
The plates from our toasted peanut butter and banana sandwiches—a Robbie specialty, made with bananas pilfered from Watchfire—are stacked on the coffee table.
We’re watching some animal documentary where the host keeps calling porcupines “pork-uh-pines,” and Robbie and I snicker like drunken soldiers every time.
His arm’s behind me, and his fingers have rucked up my—his—shirt to track lacy patterns on my hip.
“This okay?” he asks suddenly.
I turn my head to look at him. “The part where they’re reintroducing pork-uh-pine predators to Vermont? I’m cool with it. The pork-uh-pines might not be fans.”
Robbie’s whole face creases in a grin, and his fingers grip my hip tight. “Okay, then.”
I lick my lips and force myself to look away. “No, uh. I mean. I’m fine with… whatever. I love you. I love sex. You plus sex, that’s like…”
“A gift with purchase.”
“Exactly.” I exhale in relief.
“And, just so I know, are there rules to this? Like, can I kiss you just because, or should I ask permission every time? Can I hold your hand if I want to? What happens when we’re around other people?”
Even though they sound a little silly after he’s just had his fingers in my ass, these are some damn good questions. I haven’t thought about any of this because I have suspended all thoughts until further notice, otherwise I won’t be able to enjoy the moment.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Robbie says easily. “I just wanna know what you want, baby. And then I’ll tell you what I want. And we’ll discuss what we want. ”
I’m not an anxious person, but something about that baby sounds so… real, so… relationshippy, I start to sweat just a little.
“For example.” Robbie’s fingers drift up to trace my left biceps through the thin fabric. “I’d like to be able to touch you when it’s just us. Is that cool with you?”
“Y-yeah. That’s…” I clear my throat to keep my heart from fluttering like a stupid, drunken butterfly right out of my chest. “Cool.”