64. Crazy #5
And I can’t think straight as he fucks into me—this man who’s got my slick on his tongue, my sanity in his fist.
I reach back, my hand climbing his jaw,
turning my head
until his mouth’s on mine.
He kisses me open-mouthed,
slow-tongued,
warm and wet and deeper,
then deeper,
exhaling through his nose
as he holds me close.
Each time he thrusts, my pussy yanks on his cock tight like a fist, making both his hips and breath shudder.
The party on the roof
starts screaming the countdown.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Andrew clutches the side of my face,
his forehead resting on my temple.
Sweat’s dotting our skin.
The heated pads of his fingers roll over my swollen clit. All the while, his cock’s grinding inside, dragging my walls.
And the intensity of it fucking screams.
“Andrew...”
He presses his mouth behind my ear,
kisses me there.
“I know. I fuckin’ know,” he scrapes out, then kisses me again. “I feel you. I feel it.”
Seven.
Six.
My chest tightens,
my legs shake,
my hands going numb at my fingertips, like all the feeling is climbing into where we meet.
There’s an attack on my heart.
It's beating wild and frantic,
trying to fight back.
And my breath—God, my breath…
It feels like it’s being dragged along the bottom of the ocean floor.
Five.
Four.
“Andrew.” I bite down hard, my hand at the back of his head curling into a fist.
His face drops into my neck,
where he sucks and licks,
wet, unhurried,
trailing his lips along the skin.
“Allison, fuck—you keep sayin’ my name like that.” He presses down on my clit, pins his cock deeper each time he thrusts in harder.
“Andrew,” I whimper,
my thighs tensing.
His mouth crawls back to mine, and he kisses the corner of my trembling lips.
“Andrew—I—”
But then…
it falls out on a whisper,
“I think I love you.”
Three.
Two.
Andrew stops.
Just freezes inside me.
Then him freezing makes me freeze.
Fuck—I stop myself from breathing.
Waiting, waiting.
I don’t know how long I wait.
But still, I wait. And I wait.
When nothing comes,
my hand slips from the back of his head.
Outside, the roof rings in the new year.
People scream. Glass clinks.
The whole city’s alive at midnight.
Inside, Andrew is entirely frozen.
Does nothing.
Says nothing.
Not one word.
I’d take anything.
A lie.
A kiss.
A hand over my mouth.
A don’t say that, baby.
A fucking mercy.
So I’m not standing there a goddamn fool—split-open, stupid, and still full of him.
And then my lungs can’t hang on any longer, and all that held breath pushes out at once.
“Allison,” he breaks.
“Shit. Allison—I—”
I shake my head, my hand coming over my mouth, as if I can physically keep myself from crying.
Then I’m removing myself in pieces,
one humiliating inch at a time—
my spine from his chest,
his hand my from clit,
he slips out of me.
I can’t look at him, so I don’t.
Behind me, I hear his zipper.
Everything going back to where it belongs.
The bad feeling’s pouring inside me fast,
filling me up heavy,
making my stomach sink.
I’m going to be sick.
I don’t know what’s coming out first—
vomit or tears.
I snatch my jacket off the ground.
I walk around him.
He grabs my arm, trying to stop me.
“Stop, please, I need you to fuckin’ stop.”
I rip my arm from his grip,
my hands shaking,
my vision filling with water.
“Fuck—Allison, no. No, no, no.
“Please, gimme a goddamn second!”
I don't.
I don't have a second.
Then from behind—
“I’m fuckin’ beggin’ you not to leave—
“Allison!”
I keep my foggy eyes on the ground.
Andrew says my name again.
Then he curses.
Then something cracks.
I take the stairs fast,
one hand on the rail,
my boots hitting concrete.
It feels like forever on the way down.
I don’t stop. I keep going.
Until the cold hits my face,
and I’m out the side door,
spilling into the alley.
My body lurches sideways,
vomit splashing the brick.
Hot in my throat.
Violent.
Burning.
The side door bursts open.
“Allison—”
His hands catch my waist.
I jerk away from him so fast
my shoulder hits the wall.
He backs off.
“Okay,” he exhales. “Okay.”
Both hands up, he breathes hard.
That’s when I finally look at him.
His face is shut down.
His eyes are gone.
Blood drips from his knuckles.
Like he tried to beat my confession away from him. “I—uh—I’m shocked, okay? You got me standing here fuckin'—shit—
“I didn’t plan for this.
“I didn't expect—”
He drags a hand over his mouth. “Allison, I never thought you’d say those words.”
I stand petrified in front of him,
waiting for him to say anything more.
I wait long enough for the cold to numb me,
for my teeth to start chattering,
for the cold, hard truth to ice over.
But nothing more ever comes.
My voice slips out weak and broken—
“You don’t love me, do you?”
I feel stupid for asking,
to keep the hurt hurting.
But a part of me needs to hear it.
His eyes flick over my face,
searching for the least painful place to put the knife.
His mouth parts,
and for one stupid second,
I think something’s coming.
Then it closes again,
choosing silence,
jaw clamped down,
nothing coming out.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Long enough to be an answer.
Long enough to be the answer.
So I nod. “Okay.”