Chapter 38
UNTIL THE END
MOLLY
My heart jackhammers in my chest so hard I swear I can feel it behind my eyes. I'm still trembling, my thighs jelly as he reaches across me for his nightstand and rummages around. The drawer closes. Nerves skitter through me.
This is happening.
I watch him tear open the condom, my pussy flexing at the sight of him rolling it down the length of his cock.
It's mesmerizing, the way his hands move, efficient and practiced.
The way his cock looks, thick and flushed.
The way it stretches over him. I love when he touches himself, but this is a whole new level.
Because this means he's about to be inside me.
I'm terrified. It's delicious. I'm glad he stopped me and my slobbering pussy from bearing down on him in the heat of the moment--I really did need to stop and think with my brain for a second, tell him what I want out loud, with words. And now, this is it.
He slides up next to me, peering at me like he's memorizing my face as he touches my cheek, traces my jaw. A flash of fear burns through me, worries firing off in its wake. What if I'm bad at it? What if it hurts too much? What if I disappoint him? He has so experience and I have none.
"You okay?" he asks gently.
I nod. "Just nervous. A little scared," I say on a laugh so he knows what kind of scared.
His throat works, Adam's apple bobbing. "Me too."
Grey? Scared? The thought shocks me. "You are?"
A little nod. "Of hurting you. Of fucking this up." His forehead drops to mine so he doesn't have to look at me when he says, "Of not being what you need."
Oh my god. My heart is so tight, so full. It's all so much, too much, and I'm desperate to break the tension. So I smile.
"Well, I've done extensive research," I start.
His lips quirk. "Extensive, huh?"
"So much porn, Grey. So much porn."
He laughs, and my heart sings. "Jesus Christ, Molly."
And for a second we stare at each other again.
"It was always going to be you." The words slip out of me before I can stop them. I watch the shock on his face as it dawns on him. "I've known for a while now. Maybe since the first night you stayed. Maybe before that."
His eyes darken, something fierce and protective simmering there.
"I'm glad it's me," he says so quietly, I almost don't hear him. And then he kisses me soft and deep and reverent, like he wants to put the admission away, something to deal with later.
"Okay," he breathes against my lips.
"Okay," I echo, my heart skipping and jumping. I can feel it in my throat, in my wrists, my body buzzing with anticipation and fear and want.
"We're gonna go slow," he says, his voice rough, pulling me to my side for just a second, just long enough to kiss me sweetly and pull my thigh onto his.
And then, with the slightest shift, he rolls us over and settles between my thighs, my knees open, my body completely open, completely vulnerable.
His weight settles into me, heat radiating off his skin, the solid muscles of his chest against mine, our faces inches apart.
I can see every shade of grey in his eyes, pale and stormy and beautiful.
His cock is right there, the blunt pressure of him at the threshold, not pushing, just there. Waiting.
The anticipation is killing me.
My breath comes short and fast, and time slows down, stretches.
"Breathe," he murmurs.
My lungs burn when I draw a shaky breath and let it out.
And then--pressure.
Just the tip pushing against me. Reflexively my body tenses. He's huge. I know this. I have had him in my mouth. Is my pussy bigger than that? It better be.
Slow and careful, he advances, the pressure rising, then the stretch--oh god, the stretch. It's so much, I gasp. More than his fingers, so much more, not quite pain, but intense and overwhelming.
"Breathe, baby," he urges, and I realize he's shaking too. "Stay with me."
I'm trying, but my body fights him, clenching and tensing, trying to keep him out even though I want him in. I want him in so bad, I whimper.
"Shh. Relax," he says softly, laying slow, lazy kisses along my jaw, my neck. "I've got you."
I focus on his voice, his touch, try to unclench muscles I didn't know I was clenching. He flexes his hips, pushing deeper, inch by inch, pausing to let me adjust.
"That's it. You're doing so good. You're so good."
Another inch. The fullness is unreal. How is there more? I can feel every ridge, every vein, my body stretching to make room for him. The sensations stack and stack, relentless pressure, unbearable fullness, the stretch, the heat--I can't process it all. He fills me, taking me.
I make a sound, not quite pleasure, not quite pain, somewhere in between.
Immediately he stops. "You okay?" His voice is strained, controlled, and I see the effort it takes for him to hold still.
"No!" I gasp, begging. "Don't stop."
He kisses me then, kisses me with depth of feeling I've never experienced.
Kisses me deep and unhurried and intense, everything amplified by the feel of him inside me.
Kisses me until the sting eases just a little, replaced by something else.
Without realizing, my body melts, and he pushes and Oh. Oh!
He's reached the end of me, buried as deep me as he can get, filling me completely. I can't breathe, too full, stretched to breaking. He doesn't move, just holds himself deep inside me, his cock pulsing as he waits for my body to make room again.
My world has narrowed to where we are joined, the enormity of it crashing over me, and unbidden tears prick my eyes.
"Hey," he sounds worried.
"No, no--I'm okay. It's good. It's good, just…kiss me, Grey."
"Anything," he whispers. "Always."
I lose myself in his mouth until I am boneless, but he still hasn't moved. I shift my hips, the sensation making us both gasp. Oh! That felt--
I do it again, rolling my hips slightly.
Grey makes a sound I've never heard, his jaw clamped shut. He sucks in a noisy breath.
"Tell me I can move," he manages, his voice shredded, every muscle locked and straining.
"Move," I whimper. "Do it," I beg.
A shudder works through him as he pulls back, careful and controlled, the drag of him inside me sparking pleasure deep in my core. He pushes back in, just as measured, with steady pressure. Filling me again, his pelvis bumping my clit.
My back arches off the bed, gasping— his name. "Again," I beg. "Please--"
He does, this time more sure, steady and controlled.
Again, each one easier than the last, discomfort fading with every stroke, replaced by quiet, rising pleasure.
I don't know when it shifted, can't pinpoint the moment, but I'm not just enduring--I'm feeling everything, the drag, the press, the fullness, the heat growing low in my belly.
My hips move on their own, rising to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm instinctively. It feels right, it feels good.
"----" he groans. "That's it. Just like that."
His rhythm picks up, more urgent, deeper, hitting something in me that makes me see stars.
"Oh god--"
I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, holding on to the sound of skin against skin, wet and slick his breath, harsh and ragged, my.M gasps and moans, the creak of the bed.
"So perfect," he grits out. "You're fucking perfect."
His words wash over me, through me, stacking that pressure inside of me.
His rhythm breaks--he drives into me, each thrust pushing me up the bed only to rebound down into him again.
There's not enough air--I'm gasping and dizzy and it's so much that it's everything, my legs locking around his, trying to pull him closer, deeper.
And it builds, the heat coiling, electricity webbing across my skin, but unlike any orgasm I've had. Deeper. Consuming. It's him. It's us.
"Grey, I'm--…something's--"..
I can't form a sentence, the pressure unbearable, wound so tight I might shatter, every nerve in my body converging on where we're joined, so close, I need, I need--
"Please," I sob, not knowing what I'm begging for.
But he does. He shifts, does something with his hips, stays deep inside me but thrusts shallower to grind against my clit, and says, “I’ve got you. Let go, baby."
The pressure breaks, and I come with a cry, body locking for a long moment before pleasure slams into me, wave after wave.
Every rippling pulse of my pussy tightens around him, so intense it almost hurts, pleasure so sharp it's blinding, my body shaking and trembling and out of my control.
When the waves start to ease and I'm gasping for air like I'm drowning, I realize he's still, and then realize it's because he can't move, met with resistance every time he tries.
But then, I open up, open deeper. His eyes roll back as he begins to thrust again, pumping his hips, chasing his own release, swelling inside me.
I open my eyes, needing to see his face.
He's gorgeous like this, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched, neck corded and muscles flexed.
One more thrust, deep and hard, buried deep as he can get, and his body goes rigid.
And then, he shouts my name as he comes.
I can feel it, the pulse and throb, the new heat, and he pumps his hips, making a guttural, grunting, primal sound as he empties himself in me.
He collapses onto me, crushing me perfectly, and I take the weight of him, solid and real, hearts thump against each other until I don't know which is his and which is mine.
Neither of us moves. I'm not even sure I can.
Instead, we lay there, still connected. I don't want him to go. I don't want to be empty again.
Slowly, he lifts his head to press soft kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, gentle and reverent, his fingers twisting my curls. Leans back to look at me.
He's tender in a way that hurts.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod. "Don't move yet," I say, squeezing him tighter. "Stay here."
"I'm not going anywhere, Molly." He says it with such longing, I ache. And then he kisses me until, inevitably, we have to separate, his cock easing to the point that I suspect we'll have a condom problem if he doesn't.
Carefully, he pulls out, and the emptiness and longing is immediate. A small sound of protest slips out of me before I can catch it.
"I know," he murmurs, kissing me softly.
When he shifts away and the cool air hits my overheated skin, I shiver. Between my thighs is a slickness, a tenderness. Sore. Not painful, not exactly. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I watch his muscles bunch and shift, sweat glistening on his skin.
The thump of the trashcan, and he shifts, kisses me again.
"Don't move," he says and leaves the room.
I hear the bath start, and my heart flutters.
A minute later he's back with a warm washcloth, the bed dipping as he climbs back in.
"Spread your legs for me." His voice is gentle, and I do, blushing, surprised that I'm embarrassed after all that.
Tenderly, he cleans me up, the warm cloth rasping my sensitive skin. I hiss, flinching.
"Sorry," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to my hip.
"It's okay. Thank you. For taking care of me."
He pins me with a look I feel down to the bottom of my heart. "I'll always take care of you, Molly," he says.
And I know without a doubt that it's true.