Chapter 15 #3
He slicked himself slow, hands a little steadier now that I was the one shaking. The slick on his cock made him shine in the lamp light. The head of him glistened. He fisted the base of himself and pumped twice, smoothing the lube down his shaft, his eyes back on me.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
He lined up. Forehead to mine. His other hand stayed flat on my heart. The blunt head of him pressed against me, the slick of him meeting the slick of me, the warm wet circle of it making my breath stop.
“Look at me.”
I gazed at him.
He pushed in slow.
The stretch of him going in was unlike his fingers.
Wider. Hotter. A long, slow press that asked my body to make room and let him fill it.
Two openings, simultaneously. My body had never done this.
My heart had never done this. Letting someone see what my face did when all the armor came off.
The careful architecture I’d built across years of careful nothing came down in pieces, and Ellis was the one watching it fall, and Ellis was the one inside me, and I couldn’t tell where the body ended and the heart started.
A tear slid down my cheek before I knew I was crying.
He noticed. His thumb caught the wet.
“Hey.” His voice wrecked. “Hey, hey. Talk to me.”
“I’m okay.” A laugh broke out of me, thin and real. “I’m so okay. Just. Give me a second.”
He gave me a second. A long one. His hands trembled against my thighs. His hips didn’t move. He let me hold him inside me, full to the ribs, his cock seated deep, the head of him pressed up against something that lit me up from the inside. I learned how to breathe inside this new shape.
When I could move, he moved with me. Slow.
Deep. His breath broke, rebuilt, and broke against my cheek, his hand stayed on my heartbeat, and every push of his hips was a sentence I’d been refusing to read.
The drag of him pulling back. The slow press of him going forward.
The head of him catching that spot inside me every time he bottomed out.
The wet sound of slick and stretch. The way his thighs pressed against the backs of mine.
The brush of his balls against me on every push.
“I love you.”
On an inhale, broken around the words.
“I love you.”
Like he’d only just learned how.
His free hand left my chest and slid between us.
Found my cock between our stomachs. He wrapped his hand around me, slick from the lube on his fingers and the pre-cum I’d been leaking the whole time, and worked me in time with the rock of his hips.
His thumb dragged across the slick at my tip the way he’d learned worked, the steel warm against his palm.
His eyes on my face the whole time. The wet of me made his fist slide easy.
The pressure of him inside me on every push paired with the slow tight grip of his hand on me.
“Stay with me.” His voice cracked. “Stay right here.”
“I’m here.”
I came with his hand on me and his eyes on mine.
I came hard, broken open, the kind of release that didn’t feel like coming, something giving way, the wall behind my ribs going down for good.
My cock pulsed thick in his fist. The cum spilled hot across my own stomach and his, white on the brown of me.
He kept his hand on me, working me through it, my body clenching down on him from the inside in waves.
He followed a breath later, his forehead pressed to mine, my name in his mouth.
The pulse of him inside me. The hot wet flood.
His hips stuttered. His mouth opened. The cum of him filled me in slow pulses that rolled all the way through my body.
He shook above me. His whole long pale length trembled and stilled.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Don’t.” My voice barely a whisper. “Not yet.”
“Not yet.”
He stayed. We stayed. His weight settled. He was still inside me, slowly going soft, the wet of us mixed everywhere. On my stomach. On his. Between my thighs. Across the duvet, underneath us. His mouth pressed slow against my temple, my cheek, my mouth.
“Thank you,” he murmured against the ink.
Whatever was left of me unstitched. I cried. The ugly kind, tears leaking sideways into the pillow, into his shoulder, into his neck. He held me through it without fixing it. Without making it smaller than it was.
When the shaking slowed, he eased out of me. Slow. Careful. The slip of him pulling free pulled a small, soft sound out of both of us. He pulled me into his chest. Tucked my head under his chin. His hand spread between my shoulder blades.
“Are you okay?”
My voice came shredded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You’re crying.”
We lay there for a long time. His heart against my ear. The careful Ellis tic, that thumb sweep, traveling up and down my spine in long, slow strokes.
“She’ll come around,” he said, after.
“Yeah.”
“And if she doesn’t, I’m here.”
“I know.”
I pressed my face into the hollow above his collarbone. Closed my eyes. Felt the slow up-and-down of his thumb on my spine and the steady drum of his heartbeat under my ear and the wet ink of the Libre tattoo where my own tears had pooled.
Free.
Different definition tonight.