29. Anthony
twenty-nine
anthony
I can’t mess this up .
It’s a mantra that’s on an A-B-pattern loop in my head with God, I love her , and I fear for a second that I might say one of the two out loud. She’s sitting back on my thighs, gloriously naked, her hands gripped against my pecs like she’s holding on for her life. There’s a sheen of sweat on her brow and a lustful haze in her eyes and her full tits are heaving with every panted breath and she has never looked so gorgeous.
While I’d thought she could have joined the night sky as a constellation back on that Florida beach, here in my arms, she has become the stars.
“So…” she says, biting her lip. Her tone tastes of sweet anticipation, but the hesitation has me gripping her hips.
“You take the reins, boss. You’re in control.”
She nods. Slowly at first, then her breathing ramps up. She pushes up on her knees and hovers over my cock, sinking to the tip without even using a hand to guide her.
“ Wait ,” I groan, gripping her hips in both hands. She whimpers.
“What?”
“I just wanna take this in for a second.”
I blink up at her slowly, and my girl doesn’t even hesitate.
“I’d like to take it in too. So badly, Ant.”
She pouts. Apparently, that’s my kryptonite.
I force her down all the way, and the sound that comes out of Penelope Barker might just be the solution to all of my alarm clock problems. Forget the bunker bomb. Give me Penelope Barker bottoming out on my cock and begging for more and I’ll be up on the first ring every time.
She takes her time, eyes closed, swiveling her hips in a slow, circular pattern.
“You good?” I choke out. If she keeps this up, I’m going to bust in record time.
“ Mhm ,” she moans. “It’s just… Fuck , I hate saying it out loud, but you’re big.”
“Guess I don’t have a mean dick after all?” I ask, smirking. “You can keep saying it out loud. I don’t mind.”
She grunt-laughs, then lifts up so that only the tip is inside, and slams back down with a thud.
“ Oh ,” I cry. When my eyes flutter open, she’s smirking at me, blush dusting the apples of her cheeks. “Truce?”
I thrust my hips upward, just testing the waters. Her mouth pops open, forming a perfect O .
“Truce, truce , just keep doing that .”
“Aye, aye, Captain.
She grunts a laugh, this broken little sound like a moan that I want to wrap my fists around and hold onto.
“I thought I was boss all of a sudden?” she chuckles, gripping my pecs as I start a slow, shallow thrusting rhythm.
“You’ve always been the boss. Now keep moving those hips and I’ll make you see stars again.”
She laughs, but complies.
“Who said anything about stars— oh. God! ”
“That’s what I thought.”
I picked up my pace to get that sound out of her, and the swivel of her hips has me notched right up against her G-spot. She keeps swiveling, keeps muttering a symphony of broken curses and delicious little noises. She’s going to come, and I have a front row seat.
“Gonna… Ant ?—”
“Anthony,” I grunt. “Come on, P, say my name when you come.”
She whines, the swivel of her hips and the upward slap of mine crescendoing to the point of her echoing my name off her bedroom walls.
“ God, fuck, Anthony .”
Oh, she’s lucky I have some semblance of control. It takes everything in me not to come. Because the clenching of Penelope Barker on my cock has me seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Fuck, she’s so snug, so wet, so warm, so tight . And the fluttering of her walls against me has me drowning and coming up for air.
The swivel of her hips slows, and I can feel her grip slipping, so I sit up with her still on my lap. She grips my shoulders, her forehead falling against mine. I kiss her there. Kiss each cheek. Both eyelids, until she opens them.
“You did so good, P.”
She tilts her mouth and purses her lips, and I linger my kiss there. By the time my tongue starts teasing inside her mouth, she realizes it.
“You’re still hard. You didn’t come yet? I want you to come inside me.”
She whines and pouts her bottom lip against mine, and fuck , does her wanting me to come make me high.
I huff a laugh against her lips.
“Sure am. I can’t help it around you.”
It’s as close to a confession as I’m going to get.
I flip us, reversing our positions so she’s beneath me on the bed. An inferno flames out amongst the pillows, lighting her up like the siren song that she is.
“You can take another, can’t you?” I ask, notching myself at her entrance. She gasps, but nods furiously. “That’s my girl.”
I slide home. And when I say home, I mean seated fully inside her, yes, but even more than that, it’s drowning in the blue of her eyes, the ones that bat up at me with a glimmer of trust, a glimmer of hope, that maybe this isn’t going to be the end. That maybe, we can enter this next chapter together.
It can’t be the end. Having an end with Penelope Barker would ruin me. It nearly gutted me the first time.
My hips notch against her pelvis, and I rest my forearms on either side of her head, putting us nose to nose as I cock my hips back and forth. My rhythm is quick, sharp, our breaths syncing up to the snap of our skin.
“ God , you feel so good,” I pant, kissing her temple. “Think you can?—”
“No question there.”
She reaches between us for her clit, but I stop her, pinning both hands above her head—being careful of her wrist brace—and shake my head.
“Nope. I am responsible for my girl’s orgasms.”
I rub tight little circles over her clit, and she weaves that hand through my hair again, gripping my butt with the other. She digs her nails in, tugs on my hair, tilts her neck so I can kiss her there while my hips snap against hers.
She pants my name against my ear, and I lose my rhythm.
“Anthony. Anthony , I want you to come with me.”
Her walls cinch up like they did the last time and I know she’s close. Pushing up, I grip her cheek and press my lips to hers.
“Say it again.”
“Anthony, come for me .”
And God, do I.
With two more thrusts, I shoot off inside the condom while her grip on me becomes bruising, her pussy tightening like a fist. It’s a shot of white lightning and the breaking of the sky after a storm.
I collapse, from the intensity of letting go, from the weight of the last two years slipping off my body tonight. But she catches me, where I was once afraid she would let me fall flat on my face for how I left things.
When I open my eyes, it’s like I’m back on that beach again. The girl in my arms has an open heart, one that saw my scars and didn’t run. One that took me in, and reminded me that the pattern they made created someone worthy.
I can’t let her go.
“Oh my God .”
It isn’t said as in, Wow, that was amazing, Ant!, but something more akin to terror. I lift my head and follow her wide gaze across the room.
“What?”
“ Elvis Squirrel is staring at us .”
“What?” I chuckle. Sure enough, one of my mom’s weird statues—a squirrel dressed in traditional Elvis garb—is sitting on the dresser, its beady little eyes on us.
“Do you think he enjoyed the show?”
“Anthony Ellis!” she gasps, slapping my chest. I flatten her hand there and hold it, kissing her knuckles before readjusting myself so that I’m not squishing her.
“Guess we’ll have to sleep in my room, then.”
“Excuse you?”
I lift her, cradle her in my arms, and snag the box of condoms off the bedside table as an answer. If I don’t sleep beside her, I’ll have let the greatest opportunity slip through my fingers. And I can’t let her get away this time.