Chapter 10 #2
My hips roll and swivel, turning his aggressive pistoning into a spiraling vortex of ecstasy that swallows him whole. My hand returns to the well-worn spot on his chest, my nails digging in, pinning him to the bed as my body rises and falls in a relentless, commanding rhythm.
My own whispers now aren't permission—they're praise, spat between clenched teeth, raw and guttural.
“Yes! That's it! Fight me!” I snarl, my own voice as ferocious as his. “Show me you meant every word you said!”
I can feel the pulsing, the vibration; he’s so very close. My own dextrous hips perfectly match every thrust and pull of his body. Synchronized doesn't do it justice; whatever this is is a crescendo, burning, building, running away with each motion.
But I’m still in charge, a fact I remind him of as my hands reach down, between us, one gripping the base of his shaft while the other finds my clit. This final act is too much, sending us both over the edge, earning a long, pained, enrapturing moan from my perfect acolyte.
My own world splinters into a million incandescent shards.
The scream ripped from my throat is not a sound of release, but of shattering, a cataclysmic surrender as a euphoric supernova detonates behind my eyes.
The carefully constructed walls I've built around my heart, my body, my soul—they don't just crumble; they atomize.
Wave after wave of violent, cleansing pleasure pours through me, and I pour it into him, a conduit for something divine and filthy.
We collapse in a heap, a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breaths, sprawled on the soaked bed of his borrowed temple.
My body, for the first time in years, feels weightless.
Unburdened. My head rests on the thundering cage of his chest, listening to the wildly erratic rhythm of his heartbeat as it gradually slows.
My fingers lazily trace patterns through the damp hair scattered across his pectorals.
Silence descends, but it's not an empty silence.
It's heavy, saturated, vibrating with the ghosts of what we just did to each other.
I let the silence stretch, content to float in this strange, placid aftermath, until it’s interrupted by the sound of a smoke alarm and the smell of something burning.
Our heads snap to the kitchenette, where the hookah coals are well past hot, one apparently having caused a nearby rag to catch fire.
In a surprisingly gentle move, Manny throws me to the side as I watch his naked, dripping form rush to move the now flaming towel to the sink and douse it with the tap.
A laugh rips from my throat so joyous and unburdened I don’t recognize it. The moment the panic on Manny’s face passes, he joins in, his own massive frame dwarfing the tiny sink.
I collapse back on the bed as he turns off the stove and returns to me, eagerly seeking my embrace. I tenderly stroke his hair, his head curled into the crook of my armpit like I were soothing a lost beast that only I could tame.
“Good material for your next book?” I whisper, my voice husky and raw.
He’s quiet for a long moment, likely still trying to collect his wits before finally managing to mutter, “I could win an award.”
The idea of me, my existence, no longer a sideshow, but as part of a story for the ages, earns a lazy, contented purr from deep within my chest. He nuzzles toward the source, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the skin along my ribs.
The feeling of him, the way just his words can send my mind racing with hopeful ideas, becomes a reassuring anchor in my usually turbulent mind.
“An award-winning novel…” I muse, my fingers still caressing him. My mind races trying to imagine the title. “How To Build A Goddess? A Monster Walks Into A Bar. Cadaver and the Beast?”
Each terrible title earns a weak chuckle from Manny. Yet, the idea that this transcendent, world-shattering experience could be distilled into ink on paper for others to consume is both thrilling and terrifying.
I prop myself up further, my hair cascading around us, creating a dark curtain against the world. I trace the lines of his smile with my fingertip, my expression turning serious, my eyes searching his.
“Just make sure the dedication is correct,” I murmur, my voice a low, possessive hum. “For Franky,” I dictate, tapping his chest on the blossoming bruise over his heart. “The girl who trashed my body and unleashed my soul.”
I give you a wicked grin, then a softer, more genuine smile. “Because I hope you didn't just get a story tonight, Manny. You got a whole goddamn epic."
As if to call my bluff, Manny’s face goes from soft, unburdened ecstasy to mild trepidation as he looks up at me. I worry he’s going to tell me to get out, even though I have no good reason to think that, but for some reason, what he says next feels so much worse.
“I know you are only in town for the weekend, but what if I don't want that?”
The simple, raw vulnerability of the question hits me harder than any frantic thrust or bruising grip.
The playful conqueror vanishes, the smug goddess retreats, and I am left, suddenly and terrifyingly, just Francesca.
Not even Franky. The hopeless, romantic girl who chases unworthy men without a second thought.
My breath catches in my throat, and the world outside our tangled limbs seems to creep back in, cold and unforgiving—one day, maybe twelve hours. The countdown clock, ticking in the back of my mind, screams in the sudden silence.
I slowly, carefully, extract myself from him, the loss of our intimate connection leaving an aching void.
Kneeling beside him on the bed, my own skin smeared with fluid and sin, I look down at him.
I don't answer right away. I study his face—the beautiful, honest concern etched there, the faint purple bloom of a bruise settling on his chest like a painful souvenir.
Suddenly, so much of my life snaps into sharp clarity.
How much of my life has been spent on weekends like this, where my own inner voice is a small thing I can barely understand.
I follow guys wherever they want, and then they just dispose of me with the trash.
That's why I came here, to get away from a guy, only to run right into the arms of another one.
I gesture vaguely to the space between us, to the wreckage we've made. “I can't keep doing this, Manny. I can't keep chasing guys who just throw me away.”