The Edge of It
Fuse
I lift Nora off the counter, and she keeps her fist locked in my shirt the whole walk down the hall, like letting go might undo something neither of us is ready to lose yet.
The door clicks shut behind us. I reach for the hem of her shirt, and I feel her hesitate before she lifts her arms for it—half a second, but I clock it anyway.
"Hey." I stop. "What was that."
"Nothing."
"Nora."
"Three years is a long time to not think about anyone seeing you." It comes out fast. Too fast. "And I've had a kid since the last time anybody did. I'm not twenty-five anymore."
"Good. Wasn't looking for twenty-five." I take her wrists, gentle, move her arms aside myself instead of waiting for her to.
"Months of picturing this, and not one version of it in my head was some untouched thing that's never lived a day. I want the marks. Want to know which one's Rose and which one's just time."
My mouth finds her throat, unhurried. "Woman who built a whole life out of nothing doesn't get to apologize for what it cost her body to do it."
“You’re sure… about me?”
"I've wanted you for months," I tell her. No reason to hide it now. "You have no idea how bad."
"Fuse—" she starts.
"Let me show you."
I step close and pull her shirt up over her head.
She lifts her arms to help, and underneath she's wearing a plain black bra, nothing fancy.
Her body is soft and real—the curve of her waist, the slight roundness of her belly, the faint stretch marks along her sides that I want to put my mouth on.
She starts to cover herself, instinct, and I catch her wrists gently.
"Don't. Don't hide from me."
She lets out a shaky breath and drops her arms.
I unhook her bra with one hand, and her tits spill free, full and heavy, nipples already tight from the cool air or from wanting.
I don't rush to touch them. I just look at her for a long moment, let her feel me looking, and then I lay her back on the bed.
She goes down easy, sinking into the mattress, long hair spreading across the white pillowcase. I kneel on the floor at the foot of the bed and pull her leggings down, then her bikini underwear—simple cotton, pale blue, damp at the center.
The scent of her hits me like a fist to the jaw. Warm, musky, human. I breathe her in and feel my cock strain against my jeans hard enough to ache.
"You're wet." I press my thumb against the inside of her thigh, feeling the heat radiating off her. "That's from the kiss?"
"That's from months of you showing up," she says, and her voice has gone breathy. "Months of you being here. Months of me fighting it."
I drag my thumb up higher, tracing the crease where her thigh meets her body. She shivers. I can see her pussy, flushed and slick. I don't go straight for it. I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh, right where I had my thumb, and I feel her twitch.
"I'm going to take my time with you," I say against her skin. "I've waited too long to rush this."
"Fuse, please—"
"Tell me what you want."
"Your hands. I want your hands on me."
I give her my hands. I slide one up her stomach, palming her tit, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger until she gasps. The other hand I drag through the wetness between her legs, just gathering it, spreading it.
She's soaked. Her cunt is slick and hot and swollen, and when I finally push one finger inside her, she clenches around me.
"Fuck," I breathe. "You're tight."
"It's been a long time," she manages, and there's a ghost of a laugh in her voice that dissolves into a moan when I curl my finger up toward her front wall.
I find the spot—that slightly rougher patch of tissue—and I press. Not hard. Just enough. She makes a sound that goes straight through me, and her hips roll up off the bed.
"There?" I ask.
Nora nods, biting her lip. I add a second finger and she stretches around me, her body resisting and then yielding for me.
I work her slow, curling and pressing, thumb finding her clit and circling it with the kind of pressure I've learned to read from the way her thighs tense and her breathing stutters.
Her hands grip the sheets. Her back arches. I watch her face—the flush spreading across her chest, the way her eyes squeeze shut and then fly open, the way her mouth forms shapes that aren't quite words.
"Come for me, baby," I say. "I want to feel it."
She breaks. Her cunt clamps down on my fingers, pulsing, and she cries out—not loud, but raw, like it's been dragged up from somewhere deep.
I work her through it, slowing my pace, easing the pressure on her clit as she shudders and twitches.
When she finally goes limp, I pull my fingers free and put them in my mouth.
She tastes like salt and musk and something sweet underneath. I lick my fingers clean while she watches, chest heaving.
"Fuck, that's—" she starts.
"That's the first one." I'm still kneeling on the floor, still fully dressed, and my cock is so hard it's painful. I don't care. "I'm not done."
I shrug out of my flannel and pull my t-shirt over my head. Her eyes trace my chest, my tattoos, the scars she's never asked about. I unbutton my jeans but don't take them off yet. Instead, I pull her toward me by the hips. Then I lean forward and put my mouth on her.
The sound she makes is somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “Fuse!”
I start slow—tongue flat and broad, licking through her, tasting the aftermath of her orgasm.
She's sensitive, I can tell, so I go gentle at first.
Long strokes, root to clit, gathering her wetness and spreading it.
When I finally close my lips around her clit and suck, her hand flies to my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
"Oh, god—"
"Not God," I murmur against her. "Just me. Just the man who's been thinking about this pussy for months."
Nora laughs, but it breaks into a moan when I tongue her clit again. I find a rhythm—slow circles, then faster, then slow again. I read her body like I read a situation. I watch for tells, adjust, then give her what she needs before she knows she needs it.
When she starts shaking again, I slide two fingers back inside her and curl them against her front wall, tonguing her clit in tight, fast strokes.
She comes apart again. This orgasm is harder than the first. Her whole body locks up, thighs clamping around my head, cunt squeezing my fingers in rhythmic pulses. She says my name, over and over, and it sounds like a prayer.
It sounds like the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
I work her down gently, then press a soft kiss to her inner thigh before standing up. My cock strains against my jeans, and I reach for my wallet, pulling out a condom.
Nora watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, still sprawled across the bed, and when I push my jeans down, her gaze drops to my cock and stays there.
"Like what you see?" I ask, tearing the wrapper.
"I like that you're finally here," she says, voice cracking.
I roll the condom on and settle over her, bracing my weight on my forearms. Her legs fall open for me, and I line myself up, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. I look down at her face as I push inside.
She's hot and tight and impossibly wet, and I have to stop halfway because I'm going to come if I don't. I breathe through it, jaw clenched, and she wraps her arms around my neck.
"Fuse," she whispers. "I've got you."
I push the rest of the way in and we both groan. I hold still for a moment, feeling her body adjust around me, feeling the way her walls grip me just right. I pull back slow and thrust in deep, and her eyes flutter shut.
"Look at me, Nora," I say. "I want to see you."
She opens her eyes, and I start to move. Slow at first, deep strokes that press against her front wall with every thrust. I watch her face, watch the way her mouth parts, watch the way her breath catches when I hit the right angle.
"You feel so fucking good." My voice breaks on a curse. "Jesus... I've wanted this. Wanted you. Every damn time I saw you... every smile..." I shake my head, trying to get my brain to cooperate. "Couldn't stop thinking about burying myself inside you."
"Fuse—" Her voice is breathless, broken.
"I'm here now. Not going anywhere, Nora." I shift my weight, hooking my arms under her knees, lifting her legs up and back. The angle changes—deeper, more pressure against her front wall—and she cries out, back arching off the bed.
"Right there, baby?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Yes—oh god, yes, right there—"
I hold the angle and fuck her steady, watching her face. She's close again, I can tell. It's in her stuttering breaths, the way her walls clench around me, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
Reaching down between us, I find her clit with my thumb, circling it in time with my thrusts.
"Come on," I say. "Give me one more. I want to feel you come on my cock."
"Fuse—" She's shaking, thighs trembling against my arms.
"You can do it, Nora. Let me feel you squeeze me."
She breaks. Her whole body seizes, cunt clamping down on me in rhythmic waves, and I fuck her through it, thrusting deep and slow, drawing out her orgasm until she goes limp beneath me.
I follow her over the edge a moment later, hips stuttering, cock pulsing inside the condom as I come harder than I have in years.
I collapse beside her, pulling her into me. She's still shaking, aftershocks rolling through her body, and I wrap my arms around her and hold her against my chest. Her hair is damp with sweat, sticking to her temples, and I brush it back with my fingers.
We lie there in the quiet, breathing together. The vanilla candle in the living room has burned down—I can smell the waxy smoke from here. Outside, a car passes, headlights sweeping across the ceiling.
"Fuse?" she says eventually.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
I press my mouth to her temple. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know." She shifts closer, pressing her face into my neck. "But I want to."
I hold her tighter. The condom is still on, and I should get up, deal with it, but I don't want to move yet. I don't want to break this.
"Listen to me," I say. "What's happening outside this townhouse—the man, the threat—that ends. I'm going to find whoever's been watching you, and I'm going to make sure they never come near you or Rose again."
She's quiet for a moment. "I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." I pull back enough to look at her face. "You're mine now, Nora. That means I protect what's mine with my life. That's not a threat—that's a promise. From a man who keeps his word."
She searches my eyes looking for doubt, maybe fear, maybe the same thing I see in hers. Whatever she finds, it makes her smile. Small, tired, real.
"Okay," she says.
I kiss her forehead and pull her back against my chest.
Her breathing evens out, and her body relaxes into mine, trust settling over her.
I don’t take that for granted. I stay awake, listening to the sounds of her townhouse, watching the shadows on the ceiling, one arm around her and the other resting on the nightstand next to the photo of sweet little Rose.
I meant what I said. I'll die before I let anyone hurt either one of them.