Chapter 10
10
Kit
No. No way. No.
I’m about to come.
This wasn’t part of the deal.
I don’t want it. I don’t want this to be the best sex I ever have.
“Hurry,” I force out between embarrassing bouts of moaning I’m completely incapable of stopping. “Please.”
“Yeah? You want it?” His breath is warm on my face, his lips so close to mine, they’re ghosting me.
“I want…” You.
No. No, no. Stop it.
“Hold on. Wait.”
He stops moving immediately.
“I want…” No. I don’t want. This isn’t about sex. It’s about the end result. In the dark, so full of him I can’t move, can’t breathe without sucking in his smell, his taste, can’t think without wanting something I’m not supposed to have, it’s impossible to work it all out.
“You okay? Want me to pull out?”
“Yes,” I say, immediately regretting it when he leaves my body, sits back on his haunches, and gives me space. No way we’ll accidentally kiss now. No way he’ll skim my breast or lean down, overcome, and put his mouth on my nipple. His face against mine. That won’t happen with him over there, our bodies separated. I can’t smell his sweat like this or consume the deep rhythmic grunts that permeated the air with every insistent pump of his hips. “It’s too much.”
“Shit, Kit. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
“No. No, I mean…” I need space. Breathing room. “Could you get up?”
He’s up and off the bed like a shot. “Kit, just tell me what?—”
“From behind,” I interrupt with a blaze of inspiration. Behind’s better. It’s anonymous. Geez, why didn’t I think of that to begin with? Instead of all this close, body-to-body, in your face business? I won’t come if he’s behind me. “It’s better.”
Feeling so empty now, and aching for more in a way I’ll have to unpack later, I get up and turn onto hands and knees, then crawl down to the edge of the bed.
He’s right there, smoothing my skirt up. “I’ll have to touch you. A little. For this.”
“Fine,” I concede, sinking to my front so I can bury my face in a pillow. “Do whatever you need.”
“Good.”
His hands are all over my ass now, pulling my cheeks wide. For a handful of seconds during which neither one of us moves, I wonder if he’ll bend down to lick me there. I shut my eyes tight and deny that part of me is wishing for it.
Instead, I almost whine when one of his hands disappears. The sound of him spitting again sends a flashwave of desire so hard it arches my back and presses my bottom into his rough palm.
“Yeah. Be patient. You’ll get it.”
I hear chafing. It takes me a second to figure out it’s the hand he’s just spat into, stroking up and down his shaft, lubing him up again. Why oh why did I ask for pitch black? I could be watching Jake Brand jerking himself off right now.
“You can probably go ahead,” I urge, still pretending there’s some dignity to this. “I think I’m wet enough.”
He hums, the sound weirdly doubtful and somehow bossy, too. It’s a you’ll be wet enough when I say you are hum and it turns my insides into warm syrup.
Yeah. Yeah, I’m in trouble here.
“Here we go.”
I brace myself, as if that will change a thing. It does no good, of course, when his tip dips between my lips, notches at my entrance, and then he slams inside, so hard, I’m shoved up the bed. The hand he’s got on my ass shifts to my hip and tightens, then goes loose. “I…”
“What?” I lift my head.
“I need to hold you… Um.” A quiet huff of air. “On my dick.”
How can I not smile at that?
“Permission to, uh, hold your hips, boss?”
I groan, this time not with pleasure.
“ Please don’t call me that.” Why on earth is my face flushing hot in the dark? Like what even is the point of blushing when no one can see?
“Sorry.” He’s clearly not. The jerk.
But, hey, at least I’m smiling now.
“Go ahead.”
“Anything…off limits?” he asks, as if he’s not already balls deep inside me.
“What?”
“Can I touch your clit?”
And then everything goes still as I remember the thing I’ve tried over and over again to forget. The time I got pregnant, early on in our relationship, before Clark insisted he wasn’t ready. In a waterfall of images, the last ten years of my life rush down on me, taking me, for a handful of seconds, from this room and throwing me back into the hospital, the house, the baby’s room, then finally, by myself. As alone as a human can be.
“Stop!”
He pulls out. “You okay?”
“I need you to…” I gulp back a mess of emotions I’ve spent a decade dealing with in the safe confines of my therapist’s office, and concentrate hard on speaking. “Just…jerk off, okay? And then…put it in.”
He huffs out a sound. “Seriously?”
“Listen,” I start to turn. “You can go if you want, this was a terrible ide?—”
“Fine.” His hand’s back on my ass, spreading me open again for a second. And then those erotic skin to skin sounds. “I’ll do it. I’ll finish.”
There’s something ominous about those words. Half threat, half return to that clinical setting I’d hoped for. At the same time, the emotion’s still whirling inside of me, along with a fresh dose of something that feels a lot like guilt. For leaving him in the lurch, I suppose.
He’s working himself hard, the sound a dull clap, his breathing a rhythmic panting. I tamp down all desire to look and touch and smell, and concentrate hard on thinking about my ovaries. My uterus.
Cold and clinical. That’s the goal. I can do that.
Or I could, if he didn’t grunt occasionally, or mutter fuck under his breath or reach out with the lightest touch against my butt, as if to make sure I’m still here. Not even a stroke or a caress, just a feather light landing, just checking.
My ass moves, the hard curve of my back entirely unintentional. I go still, tamping it down. But then I notice how my inhalations coincide with his, how my pussy’s suddenly almost painfully empty, how I’m spreading wider, my insides needy and wanting, how I’m straining to catch every little sound.
It’s physiological, I decide. Like seeing porn, like rough fabric against my nipple.
“Fuck, Kit. It’s coming.”
I bite back a moan and arch deeper, presenting myself to be mounted like an animal.
“Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming.”
The backs of my thighs go warm as he moves in, splits me open again and, without ceremony, shoves that monster cock inside me.
Oh, god.
My eyes screw shut. It’s big. Huge. I’m so full. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to move with him.
“Fuck, yes. Here it is.”
A sound escapes me. I bottle it up.
He pulls halfway out to stroke his erection with only his tip lodged inside me.
“Deeper,” I tell him. Obviously not for sex reasons. For pregnancy reasons only.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, you’re so tight, baby. Fuck, it’s so good.”
And it is good. It is. Too good. So good it’s all I can do not to sob.
His shaft is throbbing with each jet shooting inside me and, despite my efforts to stay detached, I’m clenching him.
“That’s it. Take it. All of it.” His hands grasp my hips, tight, and pull me onto him, the slap of his balls to my clit sparking every nerve in my body. Even through my bra and top, I feel the rasp of my breasts against the sheet.
I shut my eyes and work hard to ignore my body’s response, loosen my muscles, go elsewhere.
He’s slowing now, his thrusting deeper, less controlled, each one punctuated by an animal grunt.
“Every fucking drop is for you, Kit.” He shoves deep and bends so his body’s covering mine, warm, but not quite touching. “I’ll give you everything,” he says in a strangled whisper I’m not even sure I’m meant to hear.
It takes every ounce of effort I can muster not to orgasm on his still hard cock.