7. Franco
7
FRANCO
T he second I crushed my lips against hers, I was consumed with deeper longing than I’d ever felt before. I thought I'd yearned for her before, all those years I couldn’t get over her. I assumed I was at the bottom of despair in recalling all the memories of her when I lay in bed at night unable to sleep.
That was nothing. Now that I had a chance to savor her warm lips, parting in a gasp against mine, all my desire and grief coalesced into something so potent and intense that I was immediately sucked into such lust that I could barely breathe.
She couldn’t, either. Not with how firmly I held her to me. Inhaling through my nose, I struggled against the need for air as I smashed our mouths together in wet, hot perfection.
Just like before. She was just like before, and the familiarity of kissing the one woman I’d always wanted left me shaken and busted apart.
I’d dreamed of this moment. I fantasized about tasting her sassy lips again. Never had I counted on having the chance to even touch her. But I was now, and I embraced it all. The zinging spark of contact between my skin and hers as I slid my hand along her jaw until I cupped the back of her head. All those glossy strands of gold whispering over my fingers so softly. The scent of her—still so sweet and vanilla. Her taste, that bold, addictive flavor of lost love.
She moaned so slightly, so quietly, in response. It was music to my ears, a sexy sound that never sounded as sexy as it did when she released it. A drugging mewl that turned me on even faster.
Too soon, she wrenched free. She pulled back and panted, staring at me with unbridled lust but also weariness in her eyes. “No.” The tip of her tongue traced over her lips. “No, Franco. I shouldn’t just?—”
I growled, shaking my head as I dove in again. Silencing her with a deeper kiss, I waited for her to try to push me away. When she didn’t, I became stuck on goading her to dare to do it again. To reject me. To give me another demonstration of how wrong I had to be about her.
But she didn’t. She kissed me back, sliding her tongue out to duel with mine. She caressed my chest, running her hands up my torso until she could snake her arms over my shoulders and cling to me.
Shouldn’t what , Chloe? Break my heart?
I gripped her shirt, slipping my hands under the material to torture myself with another trip down memory lane. I smoothed my fingers and palms over that soft flesh, reacclimating to the warmth of her athletic body. She had more substance to her now, more curves to hold on to.
Shoving her shirt up, I waited for her to tell me no or to protest. I anticipated that she’d halt my needy exploration that was past due for the last decade. I counted on her to flinch and recoil, to double down with a refusal of intimacy.
But again, she didn’t. Instead, she slanted into me, lifting her arms so I could tug her clothes up and over her head. I ripped the fabric off and let it fall, and in the same motion, I yanked at my shirt. Buttons flew, but I didn’t care. Nothing could matter except getting my hands on her again. The drive to feel her bare and flush was overwhelming, and I didn’t stop until I was shirtless like her. Until her breasts spilled free from her bra. Her hard, beaded nipples poked at my chest, and the firm points elicited another growl from my lips.
“You shouldn’t what , Chloe?” I demanded as I kissed down her jaw to reach her neck. My hands weren’t idle. As she threaded her fingers through my hair and held on tight, she kept my face right at her breasts as I lowered to suckle at her generous tits.
Her pants didn’t take long to unbutton, either. Once I had them off, along with her panties in this mad, rushed race to get her naked, I picked her up. Each ass cheek filled my hands perfectly. Back then, she was so slim and fit, muscular from running track and playing basketball. Now, she had more meat on her bones, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Of her. Chloe tormented me in the memories I couldn’t let go of and in the present moment of relearning her body again.
“You shouldn’t do what?” I demanded again. Holding her up gave her the freedom to wrap her legs around my waist. At this level, I could devote my mouth to kissing, licking, and sucking on her breasts. Her nipples couldn’t get any harder, jutting out at me for one taste after another. Still, I wanted her to shove me away. To push me back. To reject me—again—and maybe this time, it would fucking sink in as a final declaration that we couldn’t belong together.
“I—oh, Franco.” She panted, framing my face to tip my head up. I surrendered to her request, lifting my mouth to hers to kiss with abandon. She sucked on my tongue, and the tease went straight to my hard dick. But when she moaned into my mouth and cinched her arms around my neck in an even tighter hug, I swore my head would splinter apart and never get stitched whole the way it should be.
This woman gutted me. She also fired me up in all the ways that mattered—body, mind, and soul. Here and now, though, she bewitched me and taunted me to fuck her.
Lowering to the bed, I let her fall onto the mattress before me. I only carved the distance between us for a moment. I followed her down, but paused to unzip and shove at my pants.
Her legs parted for me, widening to let me settle over her. I couldn’t without a good, long look over her, and I did. Taking in the view of her luscious body showed how she’d matured, how she’d changed in the last ten years, and all I could see was how she’d gotten more beautiful, more alluring, and so sensual as she gazed up at me with impatience bright in her eyes.
I hovered over her, dipping down. This was fast. This was an instant combustion of two halves of a soul fitting back together, and the mere idea of having her again made me delirious with desire. It was a force I couldn’t try to control, and when she put her hands on my face to urge me to crawl up over her, I was beholden to her wishes.
“You shouldn’t want this?” I taunted, still daring her to complete her blurted sentence. If she pushed me back, if she fucking said no, I had to give her up once and for all. I had to know . She had to tell me that there would be no possible hope. Until she severed this connection that tugged me closer and closer to her, I couldn’t retreat. I couldn’t rein in this boiling need to have her.
We kissed, hot and quick, before I could tease her any further and before she could reply. In the far recesses of my mind, I wanted to convince myself that her kiss was her answer. That in slinging her arms over my shoulders and lifting her legs to wrap around my waist, she was showing me her answer.
Fuck me. Fuck you. Fuck! I couldn’t think straight, drowning in the sense of tasting and feeling this woman. The burn of contact threaded through my skin. Her presence, so warm and familiar despite the years, seeped into me and I refused to let it fade for one second.
I slid my hand lower, stroking over her pussy and spreading the copious cream leaking from her entrance. She was aroused, so wet and needy for me. I felt it in the suction of her tight entrance when I pushed my finger in. I heard it in the breathy exhale she let out at my invasive touch.
Still, she didn’t protest.
Damn you. She could reject me and run. All those years ago, she chose a life without me in it at all. And now, this encounter that wavered between kismet and a curse, she was able to choose me again? To opt for more with me, a sampling of the intimacy we had when we burned up the sheets when we were younger?
“You shouldn’t want me?” I growled, wishing my anger at her could trump my feral desire for her.
I angled my dick to her pussy. She didn’t tense. She didn’t stall me and insist on any more foreplay. Instead, she let her legs drop. Her knees slid to the sides and higher, lifting her pelvis to me. The angle was like an offering of her cunt, and I wasn’t going to hesitate.
After I notched my cockhead at her slippery opening, I pushed in. The first stretch was glorious, that tight glove on my dick. It wasn’t enough, far from it. With all the longing I’d endured and how much I’d missed her over the last ten years, I suffered a moment of needing to know this was real. That she was here, with me and in the flesh. To be aware that this wasn’t another dream or projecting the idea of her on another woman while I wished my true love were welcoming me in.
“Franco. My God. Please.” She clawed at my back as she tossed her head back. Golden strands splayed on out the pillow like a halo. But she couldn’t be my angel. She was the devil, the wicked woman who broke my heart by leaving after she’d promised she wouldn’t and couldn’t. She ruined me by swearing that our love would stand up no matter what.
She wasn’t telling me no. She wasn’t rejecting me at all. I received the opposite from her. She begged . She urged me to slam in.
Gritting my teeth, I damned her for ever leaving in the first place. I thrust all the way into her slick, tight heat, settling myself in as far as I could go. My entire throbbing cock was in her. I was balls-deep in Chloe’s pussy, and if I wasn’t feeling the exquisite pressure of being sheathed so perfectly by this woman, I wouldn’t have known what to make of this.
“Oh…” she moaned, low and long and dirty, and I lost it.
I wouldn’t be hearing a single protest from her lips. She wasn’t going to change her mind and choose to run from me now.
Not until I fucked her hard and fast, on a race to show her all that she—that we—had been missing for the last ten years. All that wasted time, gone and never to be reclaimed.
Like a machine, I pounded into her pussy, making sure to rub up against her clit with every downstroke. Then I pulled out to pummel her again.
Sweat dripped from my brow with the strain of slamming into her. Rubbing all up over her, I pushed her into the mattress and vented all the pent-up longing I’d bottled in for too damn long.
She wasn’t any stronger than me. She couldn’t resist how we drew to each other, not even in this. I predicted how close she was to coming, feeling her tensing up, and she started to rock up into me and meet me thrust for thrust.
I was so close, so damn ready to explode into her. There was no chance of either of us lasting, not with how suddenly and hungrily we’d crashed after arguing. It was torture to hear her talking about a life away from me, how she’d taken off to be without me for years.
Feeling her pussy clench erased the sting of that knowledge. Letting her cry out at the intensity of her orgasm droned out the negativity in my mind that she hadn’t ever reached out to me.
With another thrust in, my balls tightened and I felt my pending orgasm get closer. A tingle charged me from the base of my spine, and I was too far gone to try to savor this moment or drag out the tension of impending pleasure.
I couldn’t last. Groaning loudly, I emptied into her. My dick twitched, sunken in her warm pussy that milked me good. All my cum flooded into her, just where it fucking belonged. Where it should’ve belonged every day for the last decade.
Stop. Stop holding on to the past. My mental scoldings were feeble, too weak to register. Thoughts ceased. Ideas faded. I could only slump down to her and relish the feeling of our chests heaving against each other. We both raced to catch our breath. Sweat slicked our skin together, and as we lay there entwined, so deeply connected like we used to be, I let my mind blank.
Until something changed. She kept her arms around me, hugging me loosely, but her body moved differently. No longer drawing in desperate pulls of air to steady herself and relax, her chest lifted against mine. With sobbing, juddering pushes, she cried.
If there were any reaction I ever could have looked forward to after fucking my ex so hard and fast without any semblance of control, this wasn’t it.
I’d made her fucking cry. I wouldn’t—and couldn’t—take back the moment of having sex with her like this, but as I pulled out of her and eased away from her naked, flushed body, I felt like a monster.