Page 52 of Misery

I shatter with waves of pleasure I've never felt alone.

Never thought I'd feel with another person.

Never thought I'd want to feel after what happened.

He works me through it, extends it until I'm shaking for entirely different reasons than panic.

"Beautiful," he murmurs. Pressing kisses to my thighs. "So fucking beautiful when you let go."

I'm still floating when I reach for his jeans. My hands shake, but not from fear. "Your turn."

"Elfe, you don't have to?—"

"Iwantto." I fumble with his zipper. The button. Why are there so many obstacles? "Show me how. Teach me."

He helps me free him, and oh. He's big. Thick. How is that supposed to fit anywhere? The physics seem impossible.

"Second thoughts?" There's amusement in his voice. Also strain. Control held by threads.

"No. Just... logistical concerns."

He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound surprises us both. "We're not going there tonight. Use your hand. Your mouth if you want. Nothing else."

I stroke him experimentally, and he's hot in my palm.

"Like this?"

"Harder. I won't break either."

I tighten my grip, stroking from base to tip.

I learn the rhythm that makes his head fall back, makes his hands fist in the sheets.

"Fuck. Yes. Like that."

I watch his face as I touch him, notating what makes his jaw clench.

What makes him groan. What makes him say my name like it's the only word he knows.

I feel powerful for the first time in months. I'm doing this to him.

Me. My touch. My choice.

"Can I... with my mouth?"

"You don't—Christ, yes. If you want."

I bend and lick the tip experimentally.

Salt and skin and uniquely him.

Nothing like I expected.

Everything I didn't know I wanted.

"How do I?—"

"Just—fuck—just do what feels right. No teeth. Everything else is good. Everything else is perfect."