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Fifty-seven
Conner
I’m breathing underwater. Killingmyself, themoment I asked her to do it.
I want you to kiss me.
My only solace is that she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Doesn’t understand what I’ve asked her to do. What it means to me.
What any of this means to me.
Because I’m a big fat, fucking liar.
I cannot do this.
I can’t.
I can’t fuck Henley without it meaning something. I can’t give her what she wants without hurting myself.
Without allowing her to hurt me.
I told her I could.
I told her I was over her.
Didn’t love her.
Fucked her out of my system a long time ago.
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
So, naturally, I ask her to do the one thing that will cut me deeper and kill me quicker than anything else she can possibly do to me.
I ask her to kiss me.
But she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Doesn’t understand.
Knowing that makes it easier to pretend a little while longer that I’m not a dead man walking.
As soon as her mouth closes over mine, it all goes away and I sigh, part relief, part death-rattle. She moans softly in response, her hands closing around my forearms, anchoring me to her, holding me steady while she slants her mouth over mine, her tongue skimming the seam of my lips, asking for entry and I let her in, groan deep in my throat. Feel her tongue lick and tangle with mine, the lingering taste of her pussy mingling with the taste of her mouth lancing through me so quick and sharp I barely feel the pain.
My hands fall from her hair to grip desperately at her hips, flexing mine to give her slow, shallow thrusts while I rock her against me.
She keeps kissing me, her fingers wrapped around the back of the chair using her grip as leverage while she fucks my mouth with her tongue, working herself with my cock until she’s shaking and moaning against me.
I push a hand between us, skimming my thumb against her clit, pressing and circling it while my other hand tilts her hips against mine, faster and deeper, until she’s shuddering and coming all over me, her core contracting and grabbing onto my cock so tight I can’t breathe.
I follow her over the edge, the force of my orgasm knocking the wind out of me, rocketing up the length of my spine, hitting my cock so fast and hard I shout, the gruff sound of it lost in the swirling rhythm of Henley’s mouth on mine.
The weight and press of her against me.
The taste of her mouth.