Chapter 5 Total Eclipse of the Heart #5
“I don’t talk—never do—” I shake my head, fighting the unfamiliar words clawing their way out of my throat against my will. “You—fuck, Andrew, I need you to know that you're ruining the end for me—”
His breath stutters to a stall.
His grip at the back of my head tightens,
eyes sliding between mine,
brows slanted upward
like he's not sure he heard right.
I swallow.
“Usually I'm reaching for an orgasm.
“But with you,
“I don't even care if there is one.”
Can’t believe I’m fucking saying this shit.
Something must’ve possessed me.
“I don't wanna finish.
“I just want this...
“And I know it doesn't make sense.
“But I'm good here—"
He’s gone completely still.
His chest’s barely moving.
His jaw’s clenching.
Shit. He’s not saying anything.
Is this where he pulls away?
Is this where I lose him?
Then his fingers drag up the back of my head,
fisting my hair,
tugging at the roots,
stepping in closer,
pinning me up against the wall.
And then his mouth—
hot and possessive—
finds mine.
Like I just undid him, and this is the fallout.
His finger sinks and curls deep inside me.
Thrusting. Fucking. Shattering me.
Pulling me closer.
Closer.
His palm, grinding against my clit.
This isn’t floating, it’s falling.
Not sweet, but sabotage.
Not melting, but madness.
My thighs, pulling tighter.
“Oh—God—” My voice cuts out.
My body arches, violently.
Everything inside me is raw.
Exposed. Electric. Too much.
Not enough. Never enough.
I’m so close.
His finger slips out, drag up my slick center.
The heel of his palm rests against my pelvis,
belonging there,
as if it’s always belonged there.
Two fingers on my clit,
soaked and circling heavy.
I grip his cock tighter.
My next stroke’s slow, rooted from base to tip.
Andrew curses.
His whole body buzzes in my hand,
like he’s being snatched up.
His hand leaves my neck,
drops to mine that’s wrapped around his cock.
“Sonny,” he groans,
grinding up through my fingers.
His jaw, tight, then slackening,
his beautiful lips parting,
his pulse kicking his throat.
And just before—
Just before he goes over—
I stop, holding him at the base,
bringing him right to the edge.
But not letting him tip over.
His brows pull together.
His eyes, fucking drenched.
His breath, hot, wet confetti on my lips,
cursing through the denial.
We’re slipping.
Sinking.
Spiraling faster.
I try to fight off the orgasm burning a hole in me. But I can’t. It’s there. Right fucking there.
There’s nowhere to go.
Nothing to do but face it.
His name tumbles out with my next breath,
broken, begging.
And then he stops—
A second passes.
I stare into his eyes as he holds my climax in his hands.
Then all it takes is one long brush of his finger against my clit.
One single graze.
And then—
I shatter, a moan scraping out of me.
It’s not a release. It’s Armageddon inside me.
My body tenses, my jaw goes slack.
Every nerve pulls into a tight fist,
then spills into liquid heat.
Pleasure tears through me,
in my spine, in my toes, between my legs,
where I throb, where I ache.
I pulse around nothing.
A heartbeat in the wrong place, my body reaching for something that isn’t there.
I feel both full and empty.
I feel like falling, falling,
but never hitting the ground.
Until Andrew pushes two fingers back into my pulsing opening—a deep, aching push.
My climax grips him, sucking him in, and a strangled groan climbs his throat as he drowns in the feel of me.
He pushes my hair back, looks into my eyes,
sinks his finger deeper,
then holds me right there.
And when his thumb barely brushes across my clit, the orgasm hits back harder.
He keeps me riding it, drags me through it.
I’m losing myself. I can’t hold myself up.
He slams me up against the wall,
crushes me there with his body.
My mouth finds his neck.
My teeth sink into his throat,
my moan soaking into his damp, hot skin.
The taste of him melts on my tongue.
When my head falls back against the wall again, he cradles it in his hand, fingers fisting my hair.
His eyes—
heavy and low-lidded—
sail across my face.
And the way he looks at me…
It’s not hunger. It’s not.
It’s deeper.
I can’t stand it, so I kiss him.
And we kiss messy, in pieces,
wet lips dragging and slipping.
I squeeze his cock tighter,
wring the pleasure out of him,
desperate to take him with me.
With every stroke, his body jerks.
His jaw locks.
Eyes shut tight.
Breath crumbles.
His hips press into me,
grinding into the feeling,
our eyes locking.
One second.
Half a second.
And it’s over.
His body seizes, and his breath—
stumbles,
catches,
then cuts out.
A tremor rolls through him as he curls into me.
Then—
He breaks.
And every muscle’s screaming.
His head tilts back, mouth parting.
First a gasp, then a moan.
Rough and raw and torn straight from his chest.
His cock pulses in my grip,
leaking in my hand.
I stroke him slower now, cruel.
And he shudders.
His head falls into me,
forehead branding mine, eyes squeezing shut.
He’s shaking, like he can’t take it,
the shock still breaking through his system.
His breath burns against my lips.
He’s helpless. Completely gone.
His hand slips out from between my thighs,
and he grips my waist.
Like if he lets go, we’re both going down.
And then his head lifts.
He catches my gaze,
looking at me through wasted, drugged eyes.
His pupils blown, his breath destroyed.
And a single tear slides down his temple.
And God, he’s shaken and beautiful.
The red glow of the exit sign washes over his cheek, cuts into his jaw. He’s looking at me like he just gave himself up.
Then he feels the tear slipping down the edge of his face.
I can see it dawn in his eyes—
and then the fuck.
He shifts,
trying to pull away without pulling away.
His hand never leaves my waist.
Or the back of my neck.
He tilts his head back, eyes blink up.
As if staring at the ceiling will undo it.
But it won’t.
So he looks at me again, speechless,
shaking his head.
“Andrew—it’s okay,” I tell him.
His face falls into the curve of my neck,
burying himself there.
His chest rising. Falling.
Falling again.
I tuck him into his boxers and pull him closer,
my fingers buried in his hair.
His body sighs into me. I sigh into him.
Neither of us move. Neither of us speak.
His head stays buried in my neck.
We’re nothing but breaths. Pulses. Puddles.
And then—a piano.
It’s pouring in from the bookstore speakers.
The moment exhales us,
throwing us back into reality.
Whether we were ready or not.
And it feels like both centuries and seconds passed us by. Like we stepped through a portal and don’t know the minute or the hour.
When he lifts his head, he drops it to mine.
Still here. Still holding. Not letting go.
We suffocate on air, lungs gasping,
ribcages punching into each other.
Then his mouth presses into my temple,
breath shaky.
Not kissing. Just resting there.
When he finally speaks,
his voice slips through the quiet,
his words landing in my hair.
“Sonny—what—”
His throat works around a thick swallow,
unable to get the words out.
His jaw locks against my cheek.
Everything trembling, uneven,
yet undeniably still.
Then his voice comes again,
raw and barely holding together.
“The fuck did we just do?”