Chapter 34 Colorblind #5
thumb pressing down on my bottom lip.
“You want dirty talk?”
He drags his nose along mine,
eyes barely open.
“I’m still so fuckin’ hard for you, baby. You got me that deep.” His lips part, about to say more—then shut as his smile takes over instead. “All them words—how ‘bout you fuck ‘em out of me, yeah?”
He falls back, pulling me down on top of him,
letting me stay in control.
And then we're kissing all over again,
mouths slide lazy, tongue sinks deeper,
my pussy's leaking his hot cum and dragging his cock raw and slow.
He groans, grinding up hard,
cock even harder.
It’s not a thrust.
It’s a torturous crawl.
Rippling hot between my thighs,
waking me nerve by nerve.
Another intense grind,
and a moan claws up his chest
and spills out broken.
I wish I could tattoo his moan on my flesh,
create a soundwave of it across my skin,
have it pressed into my chest like vinyl.
His hands are everywhere,
gripping,
dragging me under his skin,
then slide lower,
spine,
waist,
until both lock on my hips,
pulling me down closer,
pussy flush against him.
My throbbing clit scrapes across his bone as he meets my next grind.
My body buckles,
fucks into it,
pussy squeezing him tight.
His head tips back,
eyes squeezed shut,
chest punching up into mine.
His name tumbles off my lips
as I collapse into his neck.
I keep him buried deep,
grinding down harder,
chasing,
my clit and lips dragging filthy across the soaked hair at his base.
“Holdin’ me so tight, baby—it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy—I can’t—”
But it’s him who hit a switch under my skin,
everything buzzing warm.
No one’s ever made it feel like this.
No one’s ever felt so good inside me.
I’ve never come from fucking.
But the orgasm’s crawling up with its fangs out.
I can’t keep it together,
my body’s an addict for him.
His fingers coast up my spine,
slip through my hair,
and it’s unzipping me open,
pulling me deeper into him.
My blood goes hot,
my hands go numb.
I’m shaking my head,
even my body can’t believe it’s happening.
“Oh my God,” falls out of me.
My body gives out.
His hand’s on my ass,
gripping it hard,
pinning me against him,
matching every grind as if he’s inside my head—deep, possessive.
Our breaths pound into each other’s mouths.
Same rhythm.
Same fucked-up symphony.
Sharing the same fucking high.
He knows I’m losing it.
He knows I’m scared of it.
For once, I don’t want to hold back or disappear.
I want to fall. Right here. With him.
A cry scratches up my throat. “Andrew—”
He swallows my moan.
And in that second,
it’s like everything stops.
Like being back at the bookstore,
pinned by navy eyes.
Like standing on top of the Astor Clockhouse,
the whole world at my feet.
Like nothing else matters.
He’s kissing me like he’s afraid I’ll leave,
so he’s leaving pieces of himself behind inside me.
Like he’s pouring himself into me fast
before I change my mind,
before the door shuts,
spilling his name into my blood,
wants me filled to the edges with him,
wants to make sure I’m still tasting him tomorrow.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
He groans again, propping up on an elbow,
nailing me down on him,
like he’ll fall apart if I stop.
His hands bite into my hips as I grind down,
his teeth scraping my shoulder.
Then his mouth—hot and open—finds mine again.
I’m in his lungs.
He’s in my spine.
And fuck, this is us.
I’ve got him wrecked.
He’s got me worse.
And there’s no out now. Not for either of us.
I’m fisting his hair, white-knuckled—
When the orgasm hits me
with a force that’s like standing without flesh,
strips the skin right off me,
rips me raw.
Sun through bone.
Heat everywhere.
I’m dust under daylight,
sensation after sensation,
blistering straight through me.
My muscles seize, and I can’t breathe.
I’m a pulse. Nothing but a heart and nerves.
Just beating.
Beating.
Beating.
I cry, my mouth falling away from his.
He kisses my throat,
falls back,
drags me down with him.
Cock still sunk deep,
he keeps his eyes on me
as if he’s crawling into my chest,
swimming inside my head,
reading every vulnerable thought
flashing behind my eyes,
then slipping under my skin,
settling,
making a home for himself.
His breath turns frantic.
Chest locked.
Abs tight.
Breath cuts.
Eyes dim.
He bolts our hips together,
pressing me down,
one more deep grind.
One more slow drag of his hips.
Hard enough I see stars.
“Allison—” he breathes, voice gone.
His mouth crashes into mine
like he’s about to fucking die.
And it ruins me.
Because I didn’t know his voice could do that.
I didn’t know my name could sound like that.
He said Allison,
and it was the click of a door unlocking.
It was streetlight silence,
fire in the winter,
clean sheets,
the smell of his cologne.
He said my name,
and it was a porch light he left on in his chest,
in case I run and need to find my way back.
It makes my heart want to take a saw to every bone in my ribcage.
It’s everything. It’s terrifying.
And I hate him for saying my name.
And I hate myself for what it just did to me.
He locks up and lets go,
all of him pumping inside me,
hot and hard and fucking filthy.
His mouth slides off mine,
nose slipping down my jaw,
and he buries himself in my neck,
pulse banging his throat,
trying to climb out of him.
Our chests heave as we try to catch our breaths.
He grabs my face to look into my eyes again.
His thumb smooths over my cheek,
his lips brush across mine.
Our eyes are heavy with unshed tears,
as if we’ve bared our souls.
Then there’s a ringing in my ears.
A burning behind my eyes.
His voice is muffled now,
falling into the background.
The room’s air has been sucked dry,
leaving me suffocating inside my own skin,
gasping for a breath.
From the corner of my eye,
I can see Andrew watching me.
I can see his worried eyes.
My heart’s still racing.
The climax is still pulsing,
but my skin’s too hot,
my mouth watering with acid,
trying to burn off what we just did.
I close my eyes to force it back—
please don't vomit, please don't vomit,
God, no here, not in front of him—
but this sickness is still there, not leaving me.
I can feel his hands on me.
I don’t know if they’re on me still
or if it’s in my head,
but the sensation… is sickening.
I think…
I think I’m going to be sick.
My hands shake as I pull away,
disgust rising up in me,
like I’ve swallowed something toxic.
He’s staring at me.
He can see it. I can’t shut it down.
I stand, legs wobbling
as if I’ve been swimming too long.
Five steps,
and the floor tilts.
My palm hits the bathroom door frame.
The cold tile is under my feet.
The door clicks closed behind me.
I grab the sink, seeing my reflection.
My lips are swollen,
my gaze gone.
Just some girl with his kiss still on her mouth
and nothing in her eyes.
The bile rises bitter in my throat.
The world spins around me.
I stumble toward the toilet,
drop to my knees,
lift the lid,
grip the edge.
And throw up everything I just let myself feel.
Whatever we just had,
it’s gone now.