4. Willow #3
I wrap my hand around him and lean forward. My tongue runs over the head before I take him into my mouth.
Corey’s hand cups the back of my head without forcing me deeper. I suck him slowly, stroking the length I can’t fit while his thumb rubs behind my ear.
“Fuck, your mouth,” he groans.
I pull back enough to look up at him. “You like it?”
“You know I fucking do.”
“Then tell me.”
“I love watching your lips around my cock.”
I take him deeper.
His hips move once before he catches himself. I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
“Stop.”
I release him with a wet sound. “Why?”
“Because I want to come inside you.”
“Then get on the bed.”
He pushes me back gently and climbs over me. His mouth covers mine before our bodies settle, and we kiss while I wrap my legs around his hips.
His cock slides between my folds, rubbing over my clit.
I moan and grip his ass. “Put it in.”
Corey holds my gaze while he lines himself up.
The head presses inside, followed by the thick stretch of the rest of him. He enters me slowly until his hips meet mine.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
He stays still. “Okay?”
“I’m not made of glass.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
Corey draws back and thrusts into me again.
The first few strokes are slow and deep. His mouth stays on mine, kissing me between each thrust while one hand cups my breast.
I pull back enough to breathe. “Harder.”
He thrusts deeper.
“Again.”
His hips hit mine with more force.
“That’s it.”
Corey keeps fucking me while he kisses my neck, my jaw, then my mouth again. His fingers pinch my nipple before sliding down between us.
His thumb finds my clit.
I gasp. “Yes.”
He circles it in time with his thrusts. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to keep doing exactly that.”
His pace increases, but he never looks away from me for more than a few seconds.
I hook my ankles behind his back. “You feel so fucking good.”
“So do you.”
“I missed this.”
His face tightens. “I missed you.”
“Then show me.”
Corey kisses me hard and drives into me faster. His hand stays between us, rubbing my clit while his cock fills me again and again.
I feel my orgasm building.
“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I fucking promise.”
I come around him, clenching hard enough to make his rhythm break. Corey groans into my mouth and thrusts through it until his body tenses.
He buries himself deep and comes inside me, holding my face while he kisses me through every pulse.
His movements slow.
My legs loosen around him, and he lowers himself carefully without putting all his weight on me. I keep my arms around his shoulders until our breathing starts to calm.
Corey rolls onto his back and pulls me with him. We lie tangled together in the dark, his heartbeat slowing against my cheek. His hand traces lazy patterns on my back, and I’m floating in that warm space between awake and asleep where everything feels possible and nothing can hurt us.
“I’m here,” he says softly, his voice rough. “I know I’m not here enough. I know I’ve been absent, checked out, whatever you want to call it. But I’m here now. I’m trying.”
“I know.” I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Stay here. That’s all I want. Just stay.”
“I will. I promise. I promise, Willow.”
Sleep pulls at me, heavy and warm. I let my eyes close, let myself sink into the comfort of his body wrapped around mine, let myself believe that this time things will actually change. That this time the promise will stick.
I wake up at 3 a.m. to cold sheets.
For a moment I just lie there, my hand pressed flat against the empty space where he should be, hoping I’m wrong. Maybe he went to the bathroom, or he’s getting water from the kitchen, or he’s checking on one quick thing and he’ll be right back and I’m just being paranoid.
Then I see the glow of light bleeding under his study door, and something inside me goes quiet and cold.
He promised. He looked me in the eyes three hours ago, still breathing hard, still tangled up in me, and he promised he’d stay.
And then he snuck out of bed while I was sleeping to go back to work.
Like the dinner meant nothing, the conversation meant nothing, like I mean nothing compared to whatever crisis is demanding his attention at 3 a.m.
I think about getting up. About storming into his study and demanding to know what could possibly be more important than keeping his word. About fighting for what I want instead of just hoping he’ll give it to me.
But I’m so fucking tired of fighting for scraps of attention from a man who’s supposed to love me.
And the worst part is, I’m not even surprised anymore.
This is what he does, what he’s always done.
He makes promises he can’t keep, and I believe them anyway, and then I lie here in the dark feeling stupid for hoping.
I roll over and face the wall. The tears come silently, soaking into my pillow, and I don’t bother wiping them away.
Tomorrow I’ll try again, keep fighting, pretend this doesn’t hurt as much as it does.
But tonight I’m done.