Chapter 8 #2
She moans around my cock at some point, digging her nails deeper into my thighs and I nearly explode. My control is slipping. I’m not going to last much longer.
“Fuck. Prue,” I moan. “You’re going to make me cum, baby.” Once again, she looks up at me. The lust in her eyes sends me over the edge. The minute I start cumming she pulls back a little, allowing me to fill her mouth. I almost prefer this feeling compared to cumming down her throat like last time.
She grins when I finish, pulling her mouth off my softening cock. Shifting forward she opens her mouth, showing me my cum sitting on her tongue.
“Jesus,” I moan, my cock already flexing again.
Grinning, she shuts her mouth, and I watch her throat as she swallows my load.
How could anyone hurt this girl? All I want to do is make her feel a fraction as good as she makes me feel. She is so fucking hot. A little vixen of lust covered in prim and proper attire. It’s the fucking male fantasy. Girl next door, slut in the sheets.
I reach forward, gripping her face. She melts into my hold, relaxing as I let my thumb stroke her jaw.
I press my forehead against hers, trying to memorize the way her eyes look at this moment.
It’s a picture I wouldn’t mind adding to my collection of tattoos.
But I highly doubt I could draw it well enough.
I let my lips dip to hers. My tongue sweeps across her plump bottom lip before she presses it against mine. I let her think she is leading, as our lips dance together. Her hands wrap around my neck, pulling me closer. I slip off the couch, pushing her onto her back.
She is too caught up in the kiss to care that I’m hovering over her body. I doubt she even notices the parallel position we are in right now.
My hand moves to unzip the hoodie she is wearing. It smells like another man, but I don’t care. Shouldn’t care. Whoever it belongs to isn’t about to make her feel as good as I am. By the time I’m done with her, she won’t even remember them.
When her tongue pokes against my lips, I let it in.
She explores my mouth with urgency, as my hands begin to slip up her shirt.
I want to know what her tits feel like in my hands.
Her flesh alone feels like heaven. Smooth and soft.
Cold as fucking ice, and the desire to warm it up with my own overcomes me.
I let my fingers stroke her hip bone and she gasps into my mouth. Her little body thrusting up against mine. I fight which direction to let my hand go. I want to touch every part of her, but what part first?
Letting my hand side up her flat, taunt stomach, I let it rest just under her tit for a moment as she continues to let her tongue dart in and out of my mouth.
When I shift slightly, letting my hand rests against her rib, she gasps again, jerking away from me.
“Ow,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, not aware I had applied any pressure.
“Get off me.” She pushes at my chest.
I snap backwards, creating space. Her voice tells me she is no longer present in this moment, but somewhere in her head. She is fighting a memory right now. I’m not sure what set her off, but I want to find out so I can avoid that in the future.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” she snaps, sitting up. She tugs the zipper of her hoodie back up. “I have to go.”
“Wait. We had a deal,” I say. She crawls to her shoes, sitting on her ass and quickly putting them on. “Prue. Wait. What happened?”
“I have to go,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. I stand up too. She stares at me, a mixture of sadness and fear dances behind her eyes. I fucked up. I knew this wasn’t the right thing to do, but I did it anyways. “Please?” she whispers.
“I’m not holding you hostage. You are free to go.”
She stares at me, then lets her eyes dart to the door. I see her trying to map out a route there. I think the beating she took from her shitty ex was far worse than just a few bruises.
Taking a step between me and the couch, she freezes when I take a step back.
“Don’t call me again,” she snaps. “Okay? Just leave me alone.” Her voice is trembling, and tears fill her eyes.
“Prue.” I move slightly in front of her, and panic flashes across her face. “Hey.” I place my hands on her shoulders. She tries to jerk away, but I grip them, holding her in place. “Look at me.”
Her eyes downcast at my order.
“You are freaking the fuck out.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” She shoves at my chest. “Move. Let me go.”
“I will. I’m going to let you leave, but I need you to calm down before I let you drive home. Okay? I know a panic attack when I see one. You aren’t safe to drive right now.”
“A panic attack?” she snaps, glaring up at me. “This isn’t a fucking panic attack. I just want nothing to do with you. Like ever.”
I laugh. I don’t mean to. This isn’t funny at all, but it’s like her flight or fight response has somehow morphed into one.
“Move,” she yells.
“Okay.” I release my hold on her, stepping to the side. “For the record, I’m really sorry, Prue.”
She marches to my front door. “Whatever,” she mumbles. Swinging the door open, she doesn’t even glance back as she steps out, letting it slam behind her.
I sink back into my couch, shutting my eyes.
I didn’t mean to cause her any more pain. Didn’t want to take her back to that moment. I thought I could be a distraction. Be something for her to use to escape the memories, but obviously I’m no good for her.
I’m no good for anyone. That much is becoming apparent. The need to self-destruct is poison to everyone around me. No wonder no one wants anything to do with me. Can’t embrace being an asshole without accepting that people are going to want nothing to do with you because of it.
The damage done to my soul is beyond repairing.
That’s why I cover myself in a blanket of cockiness and put on the face of a jerk.
I never want people to see the brokenness inside of me.
The only person I thought might accept it was Prue, but that was selfish of me.
She didn’t need my pain. She has enough of her own.
Dropping to my side on the couch, I let my body curl up in a ball. My eyes pressed tightly together, I let the darkness swallow me. The faint memories of fingertips caressing over my body makes bile climb up my throat.
The memories mix together. A figure haunts me in the darkness. Taking advantage of the loneliness like always. Reminding me, if it was wrong, it wouldn’t feel this good.
But it is wrong. So wrong.
Feeling good doesn’t change that fact. It taints it. And this is the same thing.
Prue might feel good, but using her to cover my wounds when she has her own is wrong.
The best thing I can do is honor her wishes. I’ll leave her alone. Never contact her again. Try to forget about how good her body felt beneath me.
She deserves to get better, and I’d only get in the way of that.
So, I’ll delete her number in the morning, and never see her again.