Walk Backward into Hell #2
I sank into her in a single, slow stroke, filling her completely.
She clenched around me, her body eager and greedy, and the pleasure hit me so hard I nearly collapsed.
Instead, I held her down, my palm flattening over the delicate bones of her wrists, and began to thrust. Not at a frantic pace, but a measured, relentless rhythm that made her whimper and gasp with every movement.
I watched her face the whole time, reading every flicker of sensation, every bite of her lip, every fluttering eyelash.
The firelight painted her skin in shifting golds and shadows, and I wanted to burn these images into my memory, to hoard them for the dark mornings I knew would come.
She tried to kiss me, but I wanted to watch her when she came, wanted to see the pleasure play out on her beautiful face.
But I broke when she whispered my name as though it was an invocation.
I rewarded her with a bruising kiss, tongue deep and possessive.
I chased her moans with my mouth, swallowing every sound, feeling them reverberate down to my bones.
Her legs wrapped tighter around me, ankles crossed at my lower back, and she rolled her hips in time with my pumps, meeting me stroke for stroke.
We were locked together in a loop of friction and wet heat, lost to everything but the storm of want and the relief of finally, finally, being inside each other again.
Her breath started to hitch, her muscles trembling beneath my grip.
I could feel her getting close, the way her walls fluttered and clamped, the flush creeping down her chest and the desperate arch of her back.
I released her wrists and tangled my fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so I could watch her as she came apart.
My other hand found her breast, thumb circling the tight peak, and the extra stimulation sent her spiraling.
I could feel her core tighten around me, and I know she’s close. “Come for me,” I whisper, voice raw. “Let go, Sadie. Right here with me.”
She cried out, nails digging into my shoulders as her climax tore through her. The sensation of her pulsing around me was too much, and I let myself go with a low, feral growl, thrusting hard as I emptied myself inside her, every muscle drawn tight in blinding ecstasy.
When the last aftershock subsided, I rolled onto my back, so I didn’t crush her, and we recovered together, panting, sweat slick on skin, the fire crackling beside our tangled limbs.
I smoothed my hand down the length of her spine, tracing every vertebra, committing it to memory.
She trembled, but I knew it wasn’t from cold, it was the same shock that still rattled through me.
I’d replayed our times together a thousand ways in my head, but the memory didn’t live up to the reality of the way her body fit with mine, how even in exhaustion her touch felt urgent, necessary.
I was terrified to let her go, half-convinced that if I loosened my grip she’d disappear, fade back into the cruel reality where I woke up alone every morning.
The thought caused me to tighten my hold on her, crushing her against me, her head resting on my chest just below my chin. I kissed the crown of her head, inhaling the sweet, fruity aroma of her, losing myself in the simple miracle of holding her again.
We lay like that for a long time, the fire popping softly and casting shadows on the walls.
I felt her breathing slow, her body relaxing by degrees as the adrenaline ebbed away.
I almost said something, but the words jammed in my throat.
What could I possibly say that wouldn’t ruin this?
So I just held her, my hand splayed over her back, my lips moving against the crown of her head in a silent prayer of gratitude and regret.
Eventually, she shifted in my arms, lifting her head so she was looking up at me.
Her eyes were lit by firelight, serious and soft all at once.
I didn’t know if she was going to slap me or kiss me, but I would have taken either to be with her.
She ran her fingers over my jaw, her touch featherlight but somehow searing.
“You still want me to go?” I whispered, the words scraping past the lump in my throat.
She shook her head and blinked once, slow, like she was seeing me for the first time. “Stay,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
I said nothing, just crushed her to me, desperate to keep her as close as physically possible, to let my body do the talking where words had always betrayed me.
She tucked her face into my neck, her hair brushing my jaw, breathing me in.
The ache in my chest morphed into something softer, almost sweet, like maybe the two of us could survive the world if we stayed right here, suspended in this little pocket of forever.
I pressed my lips to her forehead, her temple, her eyelids. “Anything you want,” I promised, and I meant it. I would do anything she wanted.
She made a small, content sound and curled herself into my side, her hand drifting over my chest in slow, lazy circles.
Her touch was different now, less urgent, more like a benediction.
She traced the lines of old scars, the bones under my skin, as if reacquainting herself with the map she used to know by heart.
I kept my hand on her hip, anchoring her to me, refusing to let the moment slip away.
We lay in silence, letting the fire lull us into a kind of peace. It felt like the world outside had stopped, the storm paused at our door, the past and future waiting out in the hallway. There was only the soft click of embers and the cadence of her breath against my chest.
Eventually, her breathing evened out, her body melting into mine as she drifted toward sleep.
I didn’t dare move. I watched the shadows crawl across the ceiling, listening to her tiny, unconscious noises, the way her fingers would clench and release against my skin.
I thought about all the nights I’d spent alone, haunted by the ghost of her.
All the women who’d tried to fill the Sadie-shaped hole in me, and how none of them ever stood a chance.