Chapter 22 #2
Ash studied me for a moment, his brows lifted as if he was waiting for me to elaborate. When I didn't, he said, "There's nothing you can't share with me. Nothing that would change anything for us."
This wasn't about the ups and downs of my hormones anymore. It was about all the things left unsaid, unexplained. The story of where I'd been, why I left, why I had to stay gone—and all the reasons I couldn't get my hands around what it meant for a man to care about me the way Ash did.
I devoured my slice while he watched me, his golden hair dark from running a wet hand through it, water glistening on his broad chest, his legs layered between mine.
On the surface, this seemed like the perfect time to unload it all. Just unpack every volume of the history I'd planned to ignore in this new rendition of my life and show him the half-sewn parachute too.
But this wasn't the night. It wasn't. The water was already cooling and the pizza was almost gone.
It didn't make sense to start a story I'd have to pause for the dry off and dress process, not to mention the clean up the pizza and beer consumed in the bathroom process, and restarting a story after those breaks was like eating rice with a steak knife.
Plus, we had to leave for his sister's wedding tomorrow.
There was too much going on right now. Better times would come and when they did, I'd be able to explain everything.
"I know," I replied.
Ash stared at me for another minute and though it seemed like he wanted to push the issue, he eventually cut his gaze to the six-pack on the floor. "Do you want another?"
I nibbled my last bit of crust. "No, thanks, but I'm wondering if you'd conduct an experiment with me."
He settled his arms on the rim of the tub. "What's the experiment?"
I glanced at our legs under the water, his shaft full and thick against his belly.
This was not an experiment in the sense I was curious about the outcome.
I was well versed in reaching this outcome—alone.
I'd never enlisted anyone else to help with this particular matter.
Not at this point in the month. "The one where you relieve cramps with orgasms."
After a pause, he asked, "You're up for that?"
I nudged his knee with mine. "This is weird for me, remember? I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."
Ash pushed to his feet, sending a wave of water rushing to my end of the tub and a small downpour off his body. "Stay there," he ordered as he stepped out and secured a towel around his waist.
With one quick scoop, he gathered the pizza box and beer bottles and left the room. He returned a moment later, shaking out some fresh towels. "I'm ready to start this experiment whenever you are."
When I climbed out of the tub, he swaddled me in several towels which created more of a straitjacket-meets-burrito effect than he'd intended but it succeeded in drying me in record time.
There were no artfully choreographed moves when it came to us falling into bed and that was the best part.
We simply crawled between the sheets, our skin still fresh from the bath water and our blood humming from the beer—and a bit of anticipation too.
We settled back on the pillows, kissing and touching like we had all the time in the world with each other.
His hands coasted over my breasts, always glancing up at me for approval before rubbing, pinching, biting.
My belly followed and he skimmed his palm over my skin in gentle, reverent strokes as he moved down and dipped between my legs.
His shaft was heavy on my thigh and I knew it would feel incredible inside me, kind of like a premenstrual vagina massage. That needed to be a thing.
"You're too tender for me to put my weight on you," Ash said against my lips. "Could we try something different?"
In my head, that translated to I changed my mind and I don't want to fuck you tonight so we're going to watch reruns of The Office now.
"Oh. Okay," I said. "If that's what you want."
"Good girl," he murmured, shifting himself—and the cock I'd enlisted for that vagina massage—off me. "Now roll toward the window for me."
This was awesome. Just…awesome. I needed to remind myself to never suggest sex studies ever again because I'd end up staring at a wall and have zero orgasms for my trouble.
I went but said, "It probably makes more sense for me to hang out in the guest room."
"What? Why? No. You're staying right here.
" Ash slipped his hand under my knee. He stroked his fingers over my mound, giving me only the barest of touches with each pass.
He was devastatingly good at the light, teasey thing.
I hated it. I arched into him because I also adored it.
"I can't see you so you'll have to speak up if you're uncomfortable. Okay?"
Ohhhhhhh. He wanted me to roll over to fuck me from behind. Okay then.
"Zelda. You have to speak to me, love."
"Yeah," I managed. "Yeah, this is good."
"We're going for better than good. What are the secondary objectives of this experiment? Are we talking one exceptional orgasm, the kind where you look at me all dazed and speechless after? Or as many as I can get out of you and looking all dazed and speechless?"
"Yes," I answered, arching into his touch.
He laughed and the crinkle of a condom wrapper sounded behind me. Once that matter was handled, Ash banded his arm around my waist while his other hand secured my bent leg over his which was exactly as Twister-inspired as it sounded.
If I thought about this position for more than a second, I'd realized I looked like a tin of sardines with the lid peeled half open.
This wasn't the kind of sex I'd wanted photographed for the memories.
I didn't really want any sex photographed but especially this, where my leg was up and my sardines were out and my body was as plump as Thanksgiving dinner.
But goddamn it felt good.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes though please don't reinjure that shoulder. We don't need both of us wrecked."
He kissed the space where my neck met my shoulder. "Won't allow that."
Then he pushed inside me, his shaft heavy and demanding. I cried out, something between a sob and a plea for more, and I surrendered to the fullness of this position. I was pinned down and stretched wide and there was nothing else I could do but take it.
When he stilled, I reached back, squeezed his granite-carved ass cheek. "Don't stop."
Ash settled his hand low on my belly, his fingers spanning the distance between my navel and my clit though he didn't tease.
He held me steady as he moved in me, his gaze fixed on the place where we were joined.
Mumbled curses and broken growls fell from his lips as he pulled out.
I felt his thick crown hot and pulsing on my folds and I ached at the absence.
"Don't stop," I repeated. I dug my nails into his backside, his thighs. Tiny bites of pain as my core clamped painfully around nothing. "I need you."
"For experimental purposes? That's why you need me?"
"For all the purposes," I sobbed.
Ash lifted two fingers to my lips, saying, "Be a good girl and suck."
His fingers tasted like my arousal—and also pizza. If it was possible, he swelled and lengthened as I sucked him, every hard inch of him filling me in a way that was incredible now and would twinge tomorrow.
"That's right," he drawled, shifting those fingers between my legs. "Let's get you what you need."
I was certain about it now. This was love.
It wasn't bouquets of roses or cute social media posts or sparkly things.
No, love didn't sparkle at all. It didn't shine and it didn't traffic in flowers or candlelight.
Love was beers in the bathtub. It was helping to fold laundry and insisting it go into the closet, not back in the suitcase.
It was prying your person out of a dryer and requiring her to scope out a menu to make sure there was something she liked before going into the restaurant.
Love wasn't any of the glossy, glorious things I'd imagined it to be. It wasn't even sex—not really, not when it came down to it. Love was a sturdy old workhorse that showed up every day and did whatever was necessary to keep the wheels turning.
As tears filled my eyes—hormonal tears because they couldn't be falling in love tears, dammit—I said, "Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking. Don't go quiet on me now."
He kissed along my shoulder as he found a sedate yet intense rhythm. I was going to feel this all day tomorrow. Every time I sat down.
"What am I thinking?" he rumbled. "I'm thinking about pinching your clit right now but I'm not sure you want—"
"Ohmygodplease," I panted.
A laugh shook his chest as he said, "Remember you begged for it, love. Remember that."
As promised, he pinched my clit between the pads of his fingers like he was searching for the root of all orgasms. I screamed, not for the pleasure but the pressure.
It was a sudden, brilliant burst of pressure from somewhere behind my belly button and I would've hated it if he hadn't been lighting me up with deep, potent strokes at the same time.
"I'm thinking I'm going to work your pussy until you can't take it anymore and then I'm going to camp out between your legs and devour you until you fall asleep.
" He released my clit to draw lazy circles around it which was both better and worse in that I loved clit-adjacent contact but also wanted that crazy, blinding pressure back.
"I'm thinking about turning you over and sliding into you from behind," he continued.
"I'd shove a pillow under your hips and two fingers in your ass and I'd last three minutes at the most. You make such a mess of me, Zelda. Such a fucking mess."
He pressed on my belly though only enough to magnify the force of him moving in me. It nearly did me in, nearly broke the dam holding back the orgasm, the tears, the emotions throbbing behind my breastbone.
I could withhold the words but I couldn't stop a tear from spilling over my cheek which was more alarming than anything else because I didn't cry real, actual, sobby tears out of my eyes. What was the point? It never solved anything and no one who cared ever noticed.
"What's this?" Ash stroked a finger down my cheek. "I need to know if I'm hurting you before you cry, love."
"You're not hurting me." I tried to shake off his attention but our limbs were knotted together and he was deep enough inside me to steal my breath.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm a mess too. Okay?"
Our eyes met as he thrust into me again and my orgasm unfurled like he'd snapped his fingers and made it so. It was as though he'd taken control of my body, everything from my belly button down now operating under his command. I wasn't mad about it.
"Maybe you're not a mess at all," he whispered. "Maybe you're exactly as you're supposed to be."
I felt the unmistakable pulse of him filling the condom and the reflexive kick of his hips as the spasms twisted his spine, and I couldn't reach enough of him to give me what I wanted right now.
I wanted to map every inch of his skin with my hands and taste all his favorite places and keep these pieces in a place that would last forever as mine and mine alone.