78. Bailey
seventy-eight
Bailey
Fuck. The morning light is burning the side of my face. Guess I forgot to pull the curtains closed last night. I was definitely distracted.
I groan and pull the covers over my face then wince when my dick gets caught in my boxers. Morning wood from hell. I can’t even get comfortable, what is this new form of torture?
I sigh, and decide to get up and pee in hopes it’ll be a little less steel and a little more chill.
I fumble for my glasses, my clumsy half-witted hands barely receiving their commands from central.
I stop when my fingers find the feather I never let go of.
And now the fucking raging hard-on makes perfect sense.
My sleep-muddled brain apparently chose to dismiss all of yesterday’s events until just fucking now and—yep. That’s not helping.
I put the feather back in its corner, succeed in the glasses-to-face mission, and head to the bathroom. Lolly was here. He walked me to my door and was literally here just a few hours ago. He kissed me on the cheek. “Holy shit,” I murmur.
God, he looked incredible. Those piercings, those eyes… that mouth. The way I knew what he was saying without him having to speak. I still can’t believe he’s real. That he’s here, just minutes away.
A whirlwind of forgotten moments stops me in my tracks.
The raw vulnerability in his eyes the night he found me outside the club.
When he asked my permission, and only took what I was able to give.
The way those feathered wings fell over my arms as I held onto him like it was the last time.
How he kissed me against the wall, showing me how fucking good it could feel to let go. To be free and in the moment.
My pulse quickens and my dick fucking throbs at the memories of his touch. The way he filled me so perfectly I thought I’d never come down. “Fuck, Lolly,” I whine as I grab my length, squeezing the base until I can think clearly enough to function.
Before I can stop myself, I’m flinging open the cabinet doors in search of the toy I bought a few months ago. I haven’t used it but today is the fucking day. I feel so empty, like I’m being driven by some primal need to be filled. To be whole.
I rip my boxers off and start the shower, placing the lube on the shelf as I work the suctioned base to the shower wall. The flesh-colored shaft is smaller than he is but it’s better than nothing.
I fucking want it.
Need it like I need my next breath.
I stroke my sensitive shaft, needing some relief. I haven’t had anything inside me since that night with him. I’ve played with my hole, but haven’t had any penetration and now I’m wondering why the fuck I waited this long.
I slather the lube on the toy and my dick and stroke myself with one hand while I circle my hole with the other.
“Shit,” I shudder.
A moan echoes off the walls as I gently breach my hole. God it feels so fucking good.
I work my hole with an unpracticed touch, stretching it as I imagine it’s his fingers working me open. His hand wrapped around my cock.
I work a second finger inside, scissoring them, massaging myself open. Wishing he were here to take me. To fucking push me over the edge.
I’m a whimpering mess of nerve endings, heightened senses, and him.
The only two things that exist in this moment are my pleasure and memories of us.
I lean forward, arching my back like he used to and slowly kiss the tip with my hole.
“Fuck, baby,” I moan, picturing him behind me, his warm hands on my hips, kneading my ass and spreading me open for him.
My breath hitches as I bare down and take the head, “Oh god.” The pain is sharp but fleeting, a burn that leaves only need in its wake.
I stroke myself through the intrusion, mind whirring with his words.
I can feel him. Taste him. Hear him. He’s everywhere as I fucking impale myself. Something deep in my belly fractures and explodes. Heat and ice and that fucking fullness I’ve missed so much envelops me as I fuck myself brainless. Climbing higher. So fucking close.
I can hear him now, “You feel so fucking good,” he growls and I shudder.
“Lolly,” I moan.
“Come for me, green eyes.”
I fucking unravel. Torn apart and rearranged on a cellular level. I see stars. Brilliant sparks, reminders of what could have been, and what could still be. My mind is free. It’s only him and me and what we’ve been and could be again.
It’s happiness and unabashed, unapologetic joy and there is fucking freedom in it.
A seismic shift.
A decision made.