Chapter 39 Robert
Robert
This is where she sees just how weak I am. I avoid meeting her gaze; I can’t bring myself to even look at her face to see if I can tell what she’s thinking. I couldn’t stand to disappoint her.
Instead of sighing, getting impatient, or looking disheartened, she simply nods. “I had a feeling. “Rock the Boat” isn’t exactly the easiest of dances for those even without a disability.” She laughs. “But if you’re happy to lie back and take it, I’m happy to do the work.”
My dick points due north like the needle of a compass, but it takes my mind a beat to catch up. Did she really just offer to take care of me?
How long has it been since someone’s taken care of me? Has anyone ever?
For some reason, that makes me feel even worse. It’s like she’s every bit as horny as my dick, which is very clearly tenting my tracksuit bottoms for both of us to see. But I’m driven to check all the same. “I don’t want to do anything that isn’t comfortable for you, Rhiannon.”
She flashes me a wicked smile as she shimmies my shorts off her long, lean legs. “Just you let me worry about getting myself comfortable. Let me take care of you.” Her eyes implore mine as she cradles my face in her gentle hands.
My stomach knots. What if I like it too much? What if I get used to it, and then she leaves?
She gives my cheeks a squeeze, and my walls crack. “I don’t remember the last time anyone did that.” There’s a lump growing in my throat. “I’m not sure I know how.”
For so long, I’ve had to take care of myself because my injury felt like such a burden on those I loved that I couldn’t ask for help.
My suicide attempt filled me with such a deep pit of shame while it filled my family and friends with a well of fear, that I couldn’t tell them how I really felt.
Every bad day had to be masked; every depressing thought or inclination had to be hidden.
“I want it as much as you do, Robert. And if that means I have to get on top this time…” She shrugs. “I think I can take one for the team.”
This time.
She’s already thinking about the next time. Did she mean it? Or was it a slip of the tongue?
I don’t have long to think on it, because she moves to pull my shirt off her body.
“Wait.”
She freezes.
“Leave it on for a little bit.” I give her a sheepish smile, my face heating.
Her smile grows. “Want to bang someone in your t-shirt?”
“I really do. You look so sexy in it.” Isn’t it every guy’s wet dream?
She stands in front of me and points to my shirt. “Want a hand with that?”
I love how no bullshit she is, how practical, and how impatient she is to get me naked.
I love how considerate she is, her offer to help doesn’t feel out of pity or because she doesn’t think I can do it myself.
“I’m good with the shirt.” I grip the back of the collar and glide it over my head.
“But I could use a hand with the tracksuit bottoms.”
She almost looks elated that I’ve asked her for help, making my stomach dip.
I maneuver myself back against the headboard, and she tugs off my sweats and underwear as I do.
There’s no time or space for apprehension or anxiety, there’s no room for overthinking or second guessing, but it’s also not frenzied and rushed like it was in The Rusty Anchor what feels like a lifetime ago.
It’s slow, it’s intentional, it’s really happening.
I’m ass naked in front of someone other than the mirror. I don’t remember the last time that happened. It took me a long while to even wear shorts around my friends and family after my accident because I was so self-conscious about my leg.
It was like a beacon: a blinding, shameful reminder to the world that I’d tried to kill myself.
And yet here I am, sitting on my bed with a beautiful woman standing in front of me wearing nothing but my t-shirt.
And I’m so hard I might dishonor both of us and blow my load before we’ve even laid a finger on each other.
Rhiannon hums. When I look at her face, her gaze is locked onto my cock. There’s a bead of precum sliding down the crown, and the woman fucking hums. How did I get so lucky?
“I’m on the pill and haven’t had sex in a while. Before you, I mean.” She announces it like she’s telling me what the options for dinner are. “Like… a long while. But my last screening was clear.”
I also can’t remember the last time I had sex before the fateful day in The Anchor.
My heating face must say it all because she simply nods, kneels on the bed, and straddles my thighs.
She cups my face again, with both hands and a gentleness that makes my heart throb before she plants a kiss on my lips. “I’m fine going bare if you are.”
“Fuck.” I drop my forehead to hers. My cock’s pulsing, it’s painfully hard, and I grit my teeth because if I don’t, I really may embarrass myself. “You’re going to be the death of me. I’m never going to last now, Rhi-Bird.”
She giggles, wiggling her hips. “Then at least you’ll die satisfied, right?” She lifts up her hips, but I grip her.
“Do you need lube?”
This laugh is different. She’s definitely laughing at me, and she’s laughing so hard that tears spring into her eyes almost immediately. She takes my hand and shoves it between her legs. “You tell me. Do I need lubrication, Robert?”
“Fuuuuuuck.” No, she doesn’t. She’s soaking wet, slick, warm, and so fucking soft.
“I think you’ll be okay.” I grind my words out because, as a thirty-two-year-old man, I should be able to better control the need to orgasm.
But she’s driving me wild, her sexy as hell body, the way she’s so comfortable with herself and with me, it’s a powerful turn-on that makes it really hard. Literally and figuratively.
“I might not last long at this rate, Rhiannon. Fucking hell.”
She moves her hips, riding my fingers so they brush against her clit. She tips her head back, her hair free of the pins that made it hard to spear my fingers into it at the ball. Her cheeks are flushed, and the moans slipping out from between those sinful lips should be X-rated noises.
I can’t take it anymore. When I move my hand, she gasps then licks her lips. Gripping her hips, I pick her up and hold her right over my cock. She stares at my biceps, biting her bottom lip before pressing her hands flat against my chest and lowering herself onto me.
Her core strength is impressive, but I have less than a fraction of a second to think about it because she’s already sliding leisurely down my length.
My balls are tight and heavy, and by the time she’s fully seated, I’m blowing a slow hiss out from between my teeth. Fuck. She’s so tight and hot and soft and wet. This, right here, is how I die. Balls deep in a beautiful woman, ready to embarrass myself by prematurely ejaculating.
It’s been so long I’ll probably stick her to the ceiling with so much cum it’ll be like a fucking firehose. I can’t hold back the chuckle in my chest.
“What?”
“I was just thinking… Have you ever seen a fire hydrant?”
She nods, pinching her brows together like she’s not sure where this is going.
I tip my forehead to hers. “I haven’t come in weeks. I was imagining you getting shot up to the ceiling when I come.”
Her lips press together in an amused smile as her body shakes. “You didn’t…” She makes a jerking movement with her fist. “In Croatia?”
I shake my head. “Was afraid you’d walk in and find me, think I was some pervert who couldn’t control himself around you.”
She purses her lips. “Huh. I got off every fucking day on our fake honeymoon.”
My jaw falls open.
“Waking up drooling on your bare chest? Fuck. I couldn’t control myself. My clit was rubbed raw by the end of that trip.”
I snort, and the two of us laugh. But before I can blink or breathe, the amusement in her gaze catches fire.
We both stare at each other, face to face, chest to chest. In general, sex is an intimate act, but something about this position, the way we are tangled in each other makes it feel more so somehow.
She gives me a beat to adjust, or maybe she’s taking a beat. But then she starts to ride me.
Her walls flutter and flicker around my cock, her tits brush against my chest, and her hair whips around us in a quickening frenzy.
I might be so close I could scream, but if I come first, I’ll be asleep before she dismounts. That’s not going to happen. My fingers find her clit, and we work in tandem until we’re both panting with quick, heavy breaths.
My muscles contract with every roll of her hips as she drives me closer to my release. I lean forward, needing more of my body to touch more of her body, so I drag my lips across her bare skin.
She’s moaning, has completely drenched my hand, and is tightening around my cock with every passing second.
I’m not coming first.
I’m not.
I can’t.
I hike up her shirt and suck her nipple into my mouth, flicking the hardened bud with my tongue, and she detonates, dragging me into the abyss with her. The first pulse steals my breath, the second draws a growl from somewhere deep inside, and by the third, I’m a passenger in my own body.
There’s a white-hot rush of pleasure concentrated in my groin but spreading like warm honey through my belly, chest, even all the way into my fingers and toes.
The sounds I’m making aren’t human. They’re raw, unfiltered, animalistic, and they’re matched by Rhiannon’s teeth against my skin and her nails clawing at my shoulders.
Fuck. I wish I wasn’t so tired so I could do this all over again.
When I finally still, so does she. She skewers her hands into my hair, clutching my head so tightly there’s a sting from her nails against my scalp, pulling my face to hers with a hungry need to kiss me.
It’s a slow and sloppy kiss, all tongues and moans. For a too long moment, I want to tell this woman everything, my whole life history, all my deepest secrets, and yet again, I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
We kiss until long after my dick fully softens, and there’s a mess where our bodies meet, but my need to have my hands on her body, to kiss her, to worship her with whispers and caresses takes over.
When we finally pry ourselves apart, she’s sweaty, wisps of hair are stuck to her face, and her lips are puffy.
“Wait here. I’ll go get tissue, or a mop for…
” She gestures at my crotch before leaning over to the box of tissues on the bedside table.
She crams a few between her legs and penguin waddles to the bathroom.
I roll my lips, but a chuckle escapes. “Told you there’d be a lot.”
“You men don’t know you’re born,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Is this where you lecture me about periods and pushing whole human bodies out of your vagina?”
Her laugh echoes around my bathroom. “Not tonight, you wouldn’t listen anyway. You’re barely conscious right now.”
She’s not wrong. A deep, heavy tiredness has invaded my body, and I can’t smother the massive yawn that bursts from me.
“Told you.” She reappears in front of me with a damp cloth and mops up the pool of our sexy fluids from me without so much as a flinch or a complaint.
“You’re too good to me.”
“It’s in my own best interests if your bed isn’t sticky all night.” She gives me a sheepish look doused in hopefulness.
I don’t want to make it a thing, so I simply nod. There’ll be plenty of time for us to analyze what feels like a shift between us tonight. I pull back the covers on her side of the bed. She nods and disposes of the washcloth in the bathroom.
We somehow find the energy to brush our teeth before we settle in for the night. When the lights are out and her body’s tucked in close to mine, it feels like there’s good in the world after all, like this is what it’s all about.
Even with her head on my chest, my brain’s already whispering that I’ll fuck this up somehow. That she’ll see the real me—the one who panics, who spirals—and decide she’s had enough.
Tomorrow’s her birthday, and I can’t fucking wait to celebrate the hell out of this woman.
As I stare into the darkness, it occurs to me that I can’t pick out the last time I truly wanted to celebrate anything either.
This feels… lighter, better, and dare I say it?
A little more hopeful than I’ve felt in a while.
I just need to figure out what the hell to do about the story, and my job, and my career. And how to tell this woman I’m gone for her.
“Robert?” Her tired voice is adorable as fuck.
“Mmm?”
“If you wake up horny during the night and feel like another round, you have my permission to make that fact known.”