Chapter 9 #2
His tight ass shifts, and my mouth waters.
I have this in my bed. I run my hand down over one cheek, grabbing the soap again with the other hand to wash the other cheek as I slide my fingers in his crease.
He lets out a low groan and widens his stance, which allows me to slip my hand between his legs, soaping him there, too, playing with the sensitive skin.
His head tips backward, wetter now, and I step into him and press into his back. He turns and takes the bar from me.
“This bathroom was such a mess the first time you stayed here …”
He silences me with another kiss.
“Babe, I don’t give a fuck about how your shower looked. Put your hand on my dick.”
“Bossy.”
“When I want something, yeah, I am. And I want that, right fucking now.”
I wrap my hand around his cock where it’s poking into my belly, and he makes a rough sound low in his throat.
“I swear you have magical fingers. Must be the painting, or maybe the nursing. Like you’re not just talented with a paintbrush; you can …”
He trails off as I stroke him gently, watching my hand on him.
Then he lathers the bar up in his hands.
Starting at my shoulders, he digs his fingers in, moving down over my breasts and my ribs as the white lines of foam stream down my body and onto the floor.
His rough palms slide all over my skin with the soap, down my stomach and over my folds.
He groans. “Goddamn, baby, you feel good.”
I’m slick down there; I can feel it. Playing with his ass and between his legs has gotten me all hot and bothered.
I smile up at him. “What can I say? The back view is mouthwatering and getting to play with all that …” I laugh.
“Glad to know I’m providing a useful service as well as getting one,” he says, smiling down at me.
His sleek muscles are only inches away, the fur on his pecs slicked to his skin, rivulets streaming down.
I put my open mouth on him, finding a hard nipple and sinking my teeth in.
One hand slides down my back to my butt as he pulls me right in.
He’s so hard between us, pressing into me as I lick the water from his chest and stretch up to where his pulse is thumping in his thick neck.
Both his hands grip tight, and he lifts me, backing me into the smooth, cold tiles of the shower stall, and I lose my grasp on his cock as I wrap my thighs around his waist. He doesn’t seem to care; he just rubs himself against me, pressing then easing off.
My eyes roll back in my head as it hits the wall, and the rub catches me right where I want it.
I move with him, the friction making more sweet tendrils spread up my body and down my legs.
“You look so fucking amazing when you’re turned on.”
I laugh-gasp at this as he presses into my clit exactly as he says it.
“Oh yeah, baby, you’re so slick: I can feel it on the tip of my cock.”
“That’s you, leaking onto me.”
“No, it ain’t, baby. I love how wet you get.” He kisses along my jaw, finding my ear and biting gently. Then he trails his lips down my chin and finds my mouth, groaning into it every time he pushes against me. I want him inside me now.
As if he can read my mind, he shuffles us closer to the shelf where he tucked the condom, and my hand flaps out, grabbing the packet and ripping it open with my teeth, peering at it through the spray to make sure I have it the correct way around.
He leans back so I can roll it down him, eyes on my hands.
“Put me inside you, babe.”
He’s so careful when he eases forward. He knows he’s big, and he takes his time when I position him in the right place, pushing carefully and watching me all the while, not like the first time we did this at all.
It’s like he’s finding all the little pieces of me that are strewn all over my life and painstakingly sticking them back together.
When I’m with him like this, even the pain of Charlie is washed away, and a stab of guilt burns through me.
“You always feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, oblivious to my internal meltdown, and I blink into the water running down my face.
I shimmy my hips to adjust to him, and he slips in farther and his head goes back as he exhales sharply.
My body is slipping against his, my breasts sliding across all his chest hair as I cling to his shoulders.
“Goddamn, fucking bliss. You’re all slippery and wet.
Wet inside and out,” he rumbles, and he pulls me into him, not moving in and out, just rubbing over me, catching my clit and setting everything on fire.
I tighten my legs around him, which bizarrely opens me up more, and he slips right in with a rough grunt.
“Fuck,” he says. “This is way too good. I’m not gonna last.”
I slide one hand into his soaked hair, as I hold on to his shoulder with the other hand, opening my mouth against his. His fingers dig into my butt as he presses forward.
“You happy with my handprints on your ass?” He squeezes my butt, sending an ache shooting through my sex.
“Anything,” I gasp.
“Baby,” he groans. This sex isn’t like anything we’ve done before: a defined end goal we’re both aiming for, hard and fast. It’s languorous and soft. He’s staring at my face like he’s looking right through me.
He pulls back and pushes forward, shuddering and pushing me back into the wall, resting his forehead against mine as he starts to move. Shoving roughly into me and rubbing, eyes fixed on mine.
The ache unfurls through my body. Fuck, I’m so close, so soon. I arch, and he leans back, letting me do it, staring down at my breasts, and heat spreads from my face down my neck and across my chest.
“Oh God. Oh God.”
“Yeah, baby, show me how good that is,” he growls, slipping his hand in between us and sliding a warm thumb over my clit, and it’s game over. All the tension building in my body explodes, and he groans as he thrusts through it.
“Yeah. Fucking feel that. Oh, Christ. You’re coming all around me. Jesus.”
He pushes in once more, twice, then emits a long groan, giving up the fight, pulsing into me as he comes, shoulders curling over as he shudders and shudders and presses me back into the tiles.
I blink into the spray streaming over us as his mouth finds mine in a long, lazy kiss, water cooling a bit now.
Turning us both away from the wall, he yanks the handle down to turn the shower off, and steps out.
He grabs a towel that’s somehow appeared on the rail that used to be silver and is now some odd color I can’t quite describe, and wraps it around my shoulders.
My throat is tight. This feels way more than casual sex, or even holing-up-in-your-apartment-for-a-few-days sex. This feels like I-like-you sex, like you’re-a-good-fit-for-me sex. And I have no idea what to do with that.
When we’re lying in bed later, his large warm body curled around mine, he says, “Why’d ya screw that picture up?”
I shrug.
“Carl,” he says, low and deep.
“I can’t bear looking at it. Can’t bear the beauty I create. It seems wrong somehow.”
“You ever thought of creating something horrible?
I laugh at this. “What like?”
“Something rotting. Mold. You’re the artist.”
“Cleanse my soul of his death by expressing the worst life has to offer, you mean?”
He laughs. “That’s far too profound for me. Just a logical extension: If you can’t bear looking at beauty, make something ugly.”
And it makes me smile into my pillow.
“Is that why you live here?” he rumbles.
I suck in a breath and shift, but his arm clamps around me.
“I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, but I don’t make a lot of money,” I say.
“You could earn more, though, babe.”
“How exactly?”
“You’re a trained nurse. A trained artist. You could find a better job, sell your stuff at local fairs.”
But I wouldn’t be able to drink, I don’t say. And I can’t tell him that no one would employ me as a nurse in this town, that I’m lucky to have the caregiver position I’ve got.
He laughs. “Marco’s always looking for women fighters. I could train you if you like.”
And I’m laughing now, too. How does he do this, say things that are brutal, but also need to be said, and have me laughing about it?
And Marco … Rig’s body is covered in bruises.
No way do I want to fight. But I could go to the gym with him.
I did loads of fitness with my brother and my dad. That stopped when my dad died, too.
I thought I just wanted a quiet life, giving myself space and with no trouble.
All the questions Rig is asking are hard, but something about dragging it out into the open is better.
The drawing today wasn’t too bad. Holding the pencil in my hand, feeling it flow.
I lost the sadness in my head for a while.
I don’t want to get over losing Charlie, but maybe I could let myself draw again.