Chapter 32
BIRDIE
In the darkness, someone gives a tortured, soul-splintered gasp.
It’s Bell.
Bell is pushing inside me while I’m still asleep.
Other details make themselves known. I’m wet; my nipples are stiff; the blanket is draped over Bell’s hips.
His hands are braced just under my pillow, and in the sliver of light coming from the cracked bathroom door, I can see the shine of his eyes and scattered glimmers in his hair.
What I can see of his expression is haunted, what I can feel is maybe only two or three inches inside me, wildly hard and thick and velvet and hot—
I blink up at him, still dazed from sleep, and then lift a hand to touch his jaw. It’s clenched so hard that it feels like stone.
“Forgot,” he breathes. “Today was the first day we could go without a condom. Couldn’t wait a moment longer.”
That’s what it is, the velvet feeling, the hot feeling.
There’s nothing between us right now, there’s no separation.
It’s skin against skin, and even wet, there’s a new kind of friction, a difference in how he slides against me as he forges deeper into my cunt.
I wriggle a little under him, mindless, craving more velvety heat, and both of my hands end up on his naked chest. His skin is burning and just on the cusp of sweat, and all of him is trembling, his chest and arms and stomach, small, excited tremors under the skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers when I use my fingers to brush the hair from his forehead and feel the sweat building there. “I’m so sorry. I got too worked up. I want this so bad. I want you so bad. I’m sorry.”
He works in a little deeper, shaking and shaking, and I pull him down to me so he’s on his elbows, so his hands are on either side of my head, so our stomachs are nearly touching.
“It feels good,” I murmur, stroking his hair, the muscles of his damp back, my thighs spreading to give his hips more room to toil. “I feel so close to you.”
He presses his forehead to mine, his minty breath warm on my lips, his voice low. “You have no idea how this feels. You’re so hot and soft and tight—Jesus Christ, it’s so tight, Birdie. I don’t think I can last.”
The words are more agony than air at this point, and he’s shuddering for the duration of the final push, like stroking into my slick cunt without a condom is a torment, hell, a passion in the archaic sense of the word—a suffering so great it could pay for an entire world’s sins.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and we both groan quietly at the way it shifts him inside me.
I’m nowhere close to coming, but I think it won’t take me long like this, with the new pressure against my front, with him so deep and there and mine—and that’s what it feels like, unexpectedly, with his bare flesh inside me and with his entire body racked with just the unmediated touch of my own.
It feels like he’s mine. Like the thighs I have wrapped around his hips and the hands I have in his hair are somehow holding his soul together, holding his mind intact, holding his heart here on earth.
I close my eyes and tilt my chin up for a kiss, which he gives me, hard and desperate, and he’s making noises I’ve never heard him make, not anytime we’ve been together. Helpless and soft and almost terrified.
“Birdie,” he pleads breathlessly into our kiss. “Birdie.”
“It’s okay,” I soothe. Something hurts wonderfully in my chest, and I can’t even begin to understand it. “I’m here. I’m here. Give it to me, and I’ll hold you while you go. I’ll make sure you make it through.”
He nods, tightens, trembles. Pulls out a little, pushes in, my pussy gripping him, and then taking a deep, miserable breath, he pulls back and gives himself a real thrust.
It destroys him. With a despondent cry, he pins me tight to the bed, buries his face in my neck, and ejaculates inside me, his hips hammering me mercilessly.
It is shockingly wet, noisily wet, and he sounds like he’s being nailed to a cross, the pleasure stripping him of comfort and dignity and life itself, his harsh grunts in my ear arousing me beyond sense.
I try to fuck myself on him, to use my thighs around his waist to move my hips, but he’s too strong, I’m too trapped, a captive as he fills my cunt with his seed, held in place for this double passion of his.
Lust and suffering, a little death and then death in full.
I expect him to be still after, to stay on top of me, but then he’s kissing me. My ear, my jaw, my lips and my throat. He slides out of my sex, and it’s so wet, wet enough to drip, and then he’s kissing down my stomach.
He tosses the covers off the bed impatiently and gets up to turn on a lamp in the corner. I flinch at the sudden light, but he welcomes it, his eyes dark and fixed on the center of my body as he comes back to the bed.
He gets down on his belly so his face is near where he just unloaded, and his expression is that of someone who’s just seen a god transfigured. He trails his fingers up through my wet seam and then holds them dripping to the light.
Something wordless and unjustifiable squeezes me with need, and my core clenches in response, greedy for some awful thing I’m too far gone to care about feeling.
Being used, being marked, being impregnated—I don’t even know.
Any of them, all of them, but when Bell lifts his eyes to mine, I know he’s joined me there, just as I’ve joined him, a place where the dark urges inside us aren’t entirely physical or spiritual but a primordial mixture of both, a rejoining of the waters, an extinguishing of the light over the surface of the deep.
“I feel like you’re mine right now,” I tell him quietly. “I don’t know how to explain it. Like I’ve got ahold of you, like I’ve taken something of yours as collateral and now you can’t leave.”
“I’d have found a way to give you my cum earlier if I’d known this was how you’d talk afterward,” he replies.
And there’s no smile on his face or in his voice when he says it.
“I’ll give you as much collateral as you want, Birdie, because you already have it.
That’s why I needed to have you here, in my house, all the time—I had to settle the score somehow.
I had to make it fair because you’ve been holding on to me for seven years, and you owe me for that. You owe me some peace.”
I barely have time to glow over the reminder that he’s been thinking of me since Evelyn before his head has dipped and he’s lapping at where he’s dripping out of me.
“Ry!” I try to arch away, shocked, but he just slides his arms under my thighs and then locks his hands over my abdomen so I’m immobilized and keeps licking.
He makes small hums and grunts, and after a few minutes, he draws his knee up on the bed and starts slowly humping himself against the mattress.
I come faster than I ever have, already hot and ready, the sheer obscenity of him eating me out through his own cum like a fresh intoxicant.
All he has to do is turn his attention to my clitoris for a single minute, work it over with the tip of his tongue, and I’m lost, my back coming off the bed as I fly apart with lethal euphoria.
I can’t moan because I can’t breathe, every muscle locked as if I’ve grabbed hold of an electric fence, my heart and cunt the only pounding, contracting things in me.
And then I collapse back onto the mattress with a shredded cry, my arms flying out and hands scrabbling for purchase as the remaining pleasure tears through my cunt and tugs at every limb, every nerve ending, my palms, my toes, and the nape of my neck.
By the time the peak recedes, even my eyelids are twitching.
I am fully deliquesced as Bell straightens up on his knees, cock once again rock hard. He drags his forearm over his wet mouth before flipping me over and pulling me up to my hands and knees.
My backside is given a round smack, and then a hand curls hard around my hip.
“It’s a good thing you were already planning on sleeping in tomorrow,” he says, the hot tip of him coming against my soaked opening.
Even after intercourse and a massive orgasm, he feels big, impossible.
“I don’t know when I’ll be ready to stop. ”
I roll my face into the mattress as he impales me and a new climax immediately poises in my cunt like a thinly veiled threat, and I think, I don’t know when I’ll be ready to stop either.