25. NINEAH
NINEAH
ISAW actual stars.
Or maybe those random spots were just my blood vessels bursting, I didn’t actually know. I couldn’t see or hear anything, save for the sound of stupid nineteen-year-old redemption screaming cries of heat in my already ringing ears.
Abraham repeated the action thrice more, hitting a spot inside of me I was pretty sure had gone on sabbatical since my first orgasm on a vibrator, and picked up speed. I actively tried to keep my teeth from clamping down on my tongue as I was force-bounced up and down, and up and down.
I’d never felt so silly, turned on, or fascinated as my bodily functions didn’t even pretend to struggle making more lube for him to pound my soul from the seams of my skin.
It could’ve been its own biological experiment if another orgasm hadn’t bled from my hairline to my fingertips and snatched every ounce of oxygen from my lungs. I couldn’t even scream.
Coming silently, like I was trapped in a 1930s black-and-white horror film, I took six more pumps of his blunt force trauma, watching in abject terror as a gush of clear liquid I was pretty sure came from me, ruined the hotel sheets.
At the same time, a warm wetness filled my cunt, and the man behind me grunted, squeezing my throat as he released.
I slumped over in his hold, my chin resting on my chest as my heartbeat pounded through my teeth.
Fucking, fuck me to hell.
I was vaguely aware of being settled onto the mattress, his length pulling out of me, then the subsequent drip of his seed from my pussy, but my head still swam with questions—and a slight bout of motion sickness—and per usual, I collapsed into a panic about the wrong fucking things.
How did this happen?
When did it happen?
Did I really marry this man because of the dick or was this like, real, real? And how the fuck did it even get far enough to become real?
Abraham must’ve heard me slowly breaking into postcoital psychosis because just then, my face was lifted from the mattress and an inhaler appeared underneath it.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded sternly and I did.
I let him administer the medicine and inhaled it, sucking the albuterol deep before I was once again allowed to fall back onto the mattress.
“You’re losing your shit.”
I scoffed into the rough sheets. “If the best fuck of your life happened to you on the whisper dredges of Northern Europe like an LSD-flavored fever dream with no one to corroborate your reality, you’d be losing it, too.”
A warm, rough palm pressed into the middle of my back like some kind of reassuring sign from God and tracked the length of my spine. “Shh.”
“Can you at least answer me one question?” I mumbled into the shitty six-hundred-thread-count sheets.
“I told you, ask them and I’ll answer all of your questions.”
I didn’t know what kind of woo woo massage he was giving me, but my heart rate began to slow and I exhaled. “This isn’t one of those situations where I’m actually dead, but you can’t tell me and I’m a ghost until I figure it out?”
“Jesus.”
“And you’re not an acid-induced figment of my hyperactive subconscious, per chance?” Thinking about it now, that was actually far more plausible. I was too much of a bitch to end up in the good place in the afterlife. Abraham smacked my ass hard enough to generate new blood cells. “OW! Stop that!”
“If you were tripping off some shit, you wouldn’t have been able to feel that.”
“Thank you for the science lesson, Professor. It was a joke. Fuck!”
He went back to rubbing my back which irritatingly quieted me like a milk-drunk kitten.
Unfortunately for Abraham, the extended silence lasted roughly two minutes.
“If you’re waiting for me to tell you how good your dick was, you can go hold your breath in outer space.
No one who fucks like that needs to be told they fuck like that. ”
He didn’t respond, which only made the inclination to keep talking worse.
“You know, at some point, you’re going to have to demonstrate other marriageable qualities.
Otherwise, I’m just going to assume this is a mutually insured business arrangement where I get in-home security and cracked like a saltine, and you get…
what is it you get out of this again? Because I may have gotten scrambled like an egg, but I do know I’m not exactly housewife material. ”
Silence.
“Hey. That was a direct question,” I pointed out.
Abraham didn’t say shit. He just stroked my back like a pressure-point savant while my stupid rambling idiocy hung in the sex-scented air.
After several minutes, when I was certain he’d probably tuned me out, let alone was going to answer me, he spoke.
“I told you, I don’t need a reason to like you.
Just like I didn’t need a reason to love you.
As for my marriageable qualities, the reason you have baseline standards in the first place is because I dug your bar out of the dirt by simply not being a useless, selfish, tactless fuck.
And every day, I pretend I’m not going to take that bar, drive down to Brooklyn, and feed it to your bitchass ex with your virginity hanging in his hall of fame. ”
My gasp was muffled by the sex-juice stained bedding.
“What? Nothing else to say?” he grunted, leaving my back so he could pick up one of my feet. “No smart ass clapback?”
“Asked and answered,” I mumbled.
His rough capable hands moved up my calf and all the way down the arches of my feet to my toes and I swore to God if he ever wanted a career change in massage therapy, I’d be his first angel investor. And customer.
“And stop doing that,” he said, his rough tone taking a softer edge.
“Doing what?”
“The self-deprecation. Acting like I’m the one who’s out of your league is not flattering, it’s patronizing.”
Finding the strength to roll over onto my back, I kicked his hands away and met his gaze over the hill of my tits. “How so?”
“Pretending that if you weren’t marginally less attractive you still wouldn’t be one of the most intelligent women with the most beautiful personality is a disservice to yourself.”
My throat tightened and I looked away. Being called on your insecurity was more intimate than being fucked, and I suddenly had the urge to dress myself in about five layers of clothing. Thankfully, Abraham averted his microscope-like stare and picked up my other foot.
I cleared my throat. “Good to hear you’re not one of those men who just pretend to tolerate the inconvenience of female company in exchange for clockwork pussy, I guess.”
He paused and a strange look passed through his internally focused stare before he resumed his massaging. “I’m sorry if you thought otherwise. It’s not deliberate. I just can’t rapidly respond in conversation like you.”
A shame that made me want to dig a hole out of the ground and crawl inside of it curdled in my stomach.
God, I was so fucking insensitive.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Ignore me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“It’s more of a request, really,” he said, drawing his thumb up my toes. “No matter the subject, the time of day, or reason, assume that I’m always willing to listen to you.”
It was such a kind thing to say that ironically, I didn’t have a response.
Aside from Zajre, I didn’t have a lot of friends.
I didn’t have the time, and the security business was so predominantly male that even the two other women who worked at FX acted as if merely associating with someone who wore lipstick and heels was professional suicide.
Whether I was willing to admit it to myself or not, having any kind of allyship with someone like Abraham made me feel infinitely safer.
Even if it wasn’t true.
“Okay.”