Chapter Nine
Pacino
Last night was more than I thought it would be. I had no idea Phoebe wasn’t as vanilla as I originally thought. And knowing her moans were from dreams of me has set me off in a way that hasn’t quite diminished yet.
My question about her virginity was answered rather quickly. There was no resistance when I entered her. In fact, she was so wet, it was like a slip and slide. She felt so fucking good.
And now I’m hooked.
We said goodnight after dinner, and now I lie in my bed and stare up at the ceiling. Well, I stare up into the darkness, but I know the ceiling is there.
And I’m fucking hard.
Getting up, I strip out of my sweatpants and walk naked to her room. I know the lack of light helps conceal me, and it’s easier not to have an extra barrier between us.
“Yellow Crayon, are you awake?” I whisper as I open the guest room door.
“You can come in.”
God, I hope she means that literally. “Can’t sleep either?”
“No, not really.”
“Need something to release some tension?” I offer.
How do I go about asking a woman if she wants me to fuck her? I’m so out of practice, and the blood isn’t exactly rushing to the top of my body right now.
Fuck, I’m so turned on that I throb. I’m not sure she’d need to do more than stroke me a few times to have my load shooting all over her.
I have to calm down. I won’t last long enough to make her come if I don’t.
“What do you have in mind?” Phoebe asks.
Smiling despite knowing she can’t see me, I walk over to the bed. “I slept like a baby after last night.”
“You want to have sex with me again?”
There’s a surprise to her tone. “Yellow Crayon, you felt so damn good. It was all I could think about today.”
Reaching out to find her hand on the bed, I pick it up and place it on my cock. She gasps but runs her soft hand along my length, her thumb rubbing the tip to spread the pre-cum already there.
I want her to suck me so fucking bad, but I can’t ask her to do that. It’s not right when I can’t give her what she’ll want in return. I can’t give her the connection I know she wants even if she doesn’t say it.
“You got like this from thinking of me?” she asks. “You could’ve gone to your friend.”
“She’s not you.”
Hearing her surprised gasps makes me thrust into her hand. “I suppose I can help a friend out.”
A friend? Oh, baby, we’re far beyond friends at this point.
She stands, and I reach down to test how ready she is. No panties. And she’s wet. Not quite as wet as last night, but she wasn’t woken up from a sex dream.
Bending down, she assumes the position, and I wish the lights were on to watch her. I can only imagine how beautiful she looks, but I can’t risk it. Not yet.
She’d try to look at me.
Probably over her shoulder, which would be fucking hot, but it would take me out of it when I saw her eyes. It’s too painful, and I don’t want to feel it more than I already do.
Easing into her, I hiss as her tight little pussy squeezes me. I’m pretty sure it’s the best I’ve had in a long time. No offense to Queenie. It’s also nice to have someone who’s wet and ready for me without needing lube.
It’s less of a transaction this way.
She moans as I slowly thrust, and it makes me smile. So fucking sexy.
“Yellow Crayon, you feel so damn good.”
“You don’t feel too bad yourself,” she says and presses her body back to meet mine.
I want to go faster. Harder. Give her everything I did last night. “Can I give more?”
Last night, she begged me. I’ve never had that before, and it was honestly the most turned on I’ve felt in years. But tonight, she’s not begging.
“Yes,” she whispers, her back arching.
I slide my hand up her back underneath her shirt and along her spine, smirking as she moans and arches even more.
Soft, warm skin. If I was different, I’d love to hold her in my arms. Take her from behind as we lay in bed, her head turning back to kiss me.
Maybe even have the lights on to watch everything we do.
Moving to grip her hips, I hold on tightly and quicken my pace. She moans and gasps, telling me just how good it feels. How she clenched me when she came last night still plays in my mind, and I want to feel it again.
But it doesn’t come. And I’m having a hard time holding out. I reach to the front to rub her clit. Furiously. I need her to come.
“Come on, Yellow Crayon,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
She moans before crying out like she did last night. Except her pussy doesn’t spasm. Warm and wet, but there are no muscle contractions. Pulsing. Squeezing.
I pull out just in time to come on her bare ass, and I realize I should have brought my sweatpants to clean her up with. It’s the least I could do, and now I’m standing here like a spent idiot.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Phoebe moves and grabs something from the floor to clean herself up with. “Great,” she says, but there’s a dullness to her tone.
Okay, now I’m confused. Last night, she was into this. Hell, when I walked in here, she was ready. So why would she fake it?
“Um, I—”
“Don’t cuddle. I remember.”
There’s that tone again. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer. It’ll stop this from happening again.
Maybe she’s just having an off night. It happens. I can understand that.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Tucker.”
My cock sticks to my thigh as I walk back into the hallway, and I shut the door behind me. No, this is more than just an off night. There’s something else bothering her.
I open the door again and lean against the frame. “Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.”
Is she lying? Would she have a reason to? “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Yes, she’s lying. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Would you tell me if something was wrong?”
Snorting, I shake my head. “Probably not.”
“I’m fine, Tucker. Goodnight.”
Is she matching me? Giving what she gets. No, if that were the case, she’d have come so hard she pushed me out of her pussy again like last night.
I walk back to my room and lie on the bed, still naked. What happened between last night and now?
Running through everything in my mind, I can’t pinpoint it. Conversation at the bakery today was normal. She smiled and laughed like she normally does. Dinner was fine. We talked about our days like usual.
Did I disappoint her in bed? Didn’t I last long enough?
“Why do I fucking care? It’s not like she’s my girlfriend,” I mutter.
But I do care. And it bothers me that something is clearly wrong. Something she won’t tell me, even though she’ll let me fuck her.
After a few minutes, I get cold, and I pull on my sweatpants and a T-shirt. But I’m not sleeping. Not until my head puts together what happened to cause this type of reaction. Or, lack of one.
I don’t know how long I lay there, thinking about this, but her sobs catch my attention. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s 3:44. I’ve been thinking about someone who isn’t my girlfriend for over two hours.
“No, don’t! Don’t be gone. Wake up! Wake up!” Phoebe screams.
Jumping up, I run to her room, throwing open the door. I turn on the lights and hurry to the bed, expecting someone to be in here with her, only to find her dreaming.
“Phoebe,” I call, gently touching her arm. “Phoebe, wake up.”
She sits up quickly, gasping for air, and I want to hold her. Hug her. Console her.
But I can’t.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, panting.
Is she serious? “You were dreaming. A nightmare, I think.”
The tears on her cheeks make my chest twist and ache. She wipes at them and shakes her head. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“What were you dreaming about? It sounded like you were terrified.”
“I’m fine. I don’t… even remember it.”
Another lie.
Sitting on the bed, I try to catch her eye, but she won’t meet my gaze. “Phoebe, are you okay?”
“Fine,” she says, forcing a smile. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry, Tucker. I... I’m sorry.”
“Do you want a glass of water or something?”
That I am more than capable of doing.
Shaking her head, Phoebe keeps the smile plastered on her face. “No, I can get it. Please, go back to bed. I really didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The way she stares at my face, just beneath my eyes, kind of disturbs me. It’s a little creepy, actually.
I wait a few moments before doing what she asks. I turn off the lights and walk back to my room. The reaction is familiar. I’ve had the same type of dreams.
Except they’re not dreams. They’re memories. Traumatic ones.
Maybe my Yellow Crayon has her own darkness locked up tightly inside of her. Unlike mine, she can keep hers under wraps. At least until the night comes.
That could be why I can’t seem to stay away from her. We share something neither fully understands while being the only two people who truly do. Now I want to know more, but I don’t think she’ll tell me. Not unless I tell her the same.
And that’s not fucking happening.