Denial (55 page)

“I love you, Maya. I love your hands, I’m completely obsessed with your fingertips.” He toys with them, kissing each one as he grinds into me. “I love your lips,” he murmurs as he kisses me. “I love your crazy hair.” I moan as his hand finds its place at my nape. “I love the sounds you make when I fuck you, and the ones you make when we cuddle. Your laugh is the most beautiful sound in the whole fucking world.”

“Isaac,” I groan, my stomach fluttering.

“And I love the way I fall apart inside when I look into your eyes.”

“Me too.”

“I love your smart mouth and your sharp wit. I love your big heart that you don’t even know you have.” His voice cracks as he picks up speed, shifting us upwards. “I love the way you think, the way you see the whole world the way I do. The way you see me. The way you let me see you. Every single thing about you. I love you.”

I scream it back to him as I disintegrate again. And again. He coaxes another one out of me with his smiling lips and pinching fingers at my nipples. With a satisfied grunt, he lifts my body upwards, driving himself in deeper as he catches me in his lap. This is one of my favorite positions. Face to face. No one on top, our hands free to explore each other.

It’s my turn. I’m not a poet, I can never find the right words the way he does. But there’s another language he understands, one I’ve only ever spoken for him, the one he taught me. His hold on me goes lax, his hands sliding down my flanks until they’re resting on my hips.

I want him to feel this, I need him to feel me. My back arches and the urge to claim him takes over. This body is mine now and so is the man inside of it. I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole. There’s no going back. My lips are so desperate
to kiss every piece of him, devouring his throat, apologizing to his shoulder even though I’m not really sorry. I hope it scars. I want everyone to know that he belongs to someone else. To me.

My hands are just as frantic to stake their claim. It’s like caressing a statue. His body is everything a body should be. There’s a direct line running from the fingertips he loves so much to my clit. Every peak and valley they touch sends my arousal higher, along with my mania.
All mine
. The long channel of his spine flanked by the flexing muscles of his back, capped by his sculpted shoulders, leading to his chiseled collarbone. All of him, from the top of his curly dark head to the tips of his lanky toes. And every piece of the playground in between.

His jagged hip bones dig into my thighs as he grips my ass. I buck down into him, spreading my legs as far as I can go, squeezing him as hard as I can to make the most of each thrust. I refuse to let go until he does, suckling his neck, toying with his hair. His breathing tells me he’s close and if I can just hold out for a little longer…

I can’t. Luckily, he boils over with me, screaming loudly, clutching me as if his life depends on it. I need him just as badly, probably more. It’s undeniable now. We screech together loudly until everything disappears.

“Holy shit, Maya,” he exclaims before his mouth crashes into mine.

I turn to jelly as he lays me back on the bed. We’ll go again, soon, but right now we get to enjoy this peaceful moment before the frenzy returns. He rolls beneath me, his body becoming the slab I love to lie on, rising and falling with each breath.

I wake up there a few hours later. He’s still slumbering peacefully but I only get to watch him for a second before his eyes flicker open and meet mine. We laugh because we both know exactly what’s going to happen next, well, what’s going to happen tonight anyway. In the whirlwind that follows, I discover that there is no fucking way in hell I am going to lose this. Him. I will gladly give up anything else, everything else, I don’t care what it takes. I am not going down without a fight. Not when I have this much to live for.

43

His arm snakes around my waist, gripping me tighter as he shudders, crying out as I come with him. “I love you,” we pant in unison into each other’s mouths. That perfect floating feeling soothes me and I start to drift away until I realize that I am in fact being carried.

“I’m tired.”

“Me too. But we’re taking a shower.”

“Aw,” I groan, making him laugh. “Red!”

He feigns a shocked expression. “A quick one at least,” he coaxes, running the water. “Though we should probably scrub the sex out of your hair.” I glare at him.

“Fine,” I concede. Every strand is coated in a thin layer of lubricants and bodily fluids after all.

“You are so beautiful when you’re tired.”

“You pronounced amenable wrong.”

Stilling, his lips break away from my neck into a laugh that heats my skin and creeps into the flesh below. “Those attributes are not mutually exclusive, you know.”

His arms surround me and I seek shelter for the hot water in his chest as he whirls us into the shower. It’s hotter than I like, but just right for him. I’ll get used to it. That’s how things usually work out.
Steam fills my nostrils as droplets propel toward my face from around his shoulders. My cheek is pressed into his pec still flexed and firm from exertion, his hand tickling my hair as the other travels up and down my flank, slow and soft.

“Do you have plans to fuck me in here?”

“Wait, that isn’t how showers always end?” He lifts my chin to meet his gaze, planting a kiss on my nose. “Right now we’re going to clean you up.”

I grumble, falling forward, but he stops me with two firm hands on my shoulders as he tips his head back into the stream. Popping up with a grin, droplets cascade through the rivulets between the muscles on his chest and stomach. I am so fucking lucky.

“Your turn.” I gasp as his arms pull me into the harsh reality of the water. “I turned it down.” My eyes fly open. They feel swollen, but I’m waking up. Isaac’s soapy hands slide over my ribs and up my spine in long strokes.

“I’m awake,” I say, squirming when his fingers form channels through the frizz that we call hair to wet it. “I’ll do it.”

His hand tightens into a fist and he guides our naked bodies closer. “Stop squirming and let me wash you.”

I blush. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sleepy. Just relax.” He attempts to lower me to down to the marble bench where I usually slump backwards and let him taste me.

I resist, locking my knees. Isaac doesn’t push me. “I’ll let you if you tell me why you really like it,” I bargain.

He hesitates. “Deal, but I get to play with your hair first.”

Before I can protest, he attacks me with shampoo and a mischievous grin that renders me immobile until I’m surrounded by suds. His hands are clumsy for once and catch in the tangles awkwardly. Sliding my fingers over his, I guide them to work like mine do. His lips clamp onto mine as he picks up the rhythm and pressure with eerie expert precision.

“Don’t cut it,” he mumbles, his mouth on my breastbone traveling lower as his fingers tug and toy with the tendrils landing on the small of my back.

“You can’t make any more deals until you come though on the last one,” I breathe out as his tongue dances with one of my nipples. Fucking distractions. “Isaac…”

Despite my pathetic resistance, I’m on the bench and he’s kneeling between my legs. Just as I’m about to protest he says, “Aftercare.” I’m slumped backwards but not screaming as he avoids my eyes, gathering my hair up into a clip. “That’s what they call it, in the nicer circles.” Coating his fingers with shower gel and starting at my neck, his thumbs slide behind my ears as he kisses me. “Those Doms, the guys that actually give a fuck, they take care of their subs themselves. Pamper and soothe them, especially after heavy play.”

“So it’s some BDSM thing you do?”

“Not really. It doesn’t exist in my world.”

“Were you ever in a world where it does exist?
” I press him.

“
I still visit occasionally. One day I’ll explain, but I don’t want to get into it while we’re here.” His lips pull at my nipple forcefully. Unfortunately for him. I’ve figured out this little noise I can make that undoes this mood just as quickly as it creeps up. “Yes,” he sighs. “I’ve done it before. But I’ve never actually craved it until you.” His eyes meet mine before dropping to my breasts.

“So you enjoy it, erotically?”

“I do,” he whispers, his lips exploring my freshly rinsed neck as he soaps between my legs. “We need to get edible soap.”

I giggle as his finger slide through my folds, occasionally stimulating my clit, circling my swollen entrance. Isaac’s face is next to mine breathing
heavily. I can feel his desire to slide inside of me, but Mr. Proper Care and Feeding of Vaginas says no soap up there.

“Is that the only thing you like about it?”

He lets out a small groan, his head sinking into my shoulder, nuzzling as his sudsy fingers toy with my anus. I’ve only let him wash me like this a few times. It’s a lot like letting him have his way with my body in bed. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. And dare I say it, cherished.

“No,” he finally answers, taking so long I nearly forgot the question. “I guess if we were going to psychoanalyze this kink we’d determine there’s an emotional need being fulfilled as well.”

“Would we?”

“Yes. Whatever itch is scratches, I think it comes from this strange caveman urge to take care of you, give you things, make sure you’re healthy.”

“Crashing into some methodical sex god ritualism?”

“Maybe.” He pulls me down into his lap. “At first I only felt it when I was rough with you. Now it doesn’t stop.” My hands still on his solid shoulders as his mouth crashes into mine with surprising force. “Like every other insatiable urge
I have around you. It’s relentless. It
never
fucking stops.” I’m rinsed and I think he’s done talking, his kisses growing hungrier. My legs are spread wide across his thighs, open and vulnerable to the upward thrust that claims me. “Maya,” he breathes, grinding into me deeper as my fingernails dig into the flesh across his back. I sink down onto him with a growl that echoes off the shower stall walls and mingles with his satisfied laughter.

“Are we having sex again?”

“Apparently.”

We laugh together. It’s like we don’t have a choice, it just happens. We’ve been at it for days, but I can’t get enough of him, especially when it’s so obvious he can’t get enough of me. Maybe because deep down we both know that this might be it. All we get. The countdown is constantly in the back of my mind. And so far, there’s only one way to quiet it.

I sink down on him forcefully, making us both groan. It’s only the last day or so that he’s comfortable to let me go for a ride, and every time I do, I want to leave an impression so he’ll want me to do it again. He’s so gorgeous, lying on his back, eyes half open and completely relaxed, pumping into me as his fingers lock into mine, but I’m setting the pace. He says doesn’t like getting topped, but you wouldn’t know it from this vantage point. That’s not what it feels like I’m doing anyway. We might have moved beyond those terms.

“I didn’t know what desire was until I met you,” he whispers, bucking up, filling me completely. “That the spectrum of human emotion and pleasure extends this far.”

I didn’t either
. But I can’t tell him because I can’t say anything with his tongue wrestling with mine. Or when I bounce this much, each thrust hitting the end of me, inspiring a melody of choppy cries that tilts his perfect grin into that playful smirk. I’ll never get enough.

An unidentifiable rumbling shakes us both out of bliss. I didn’t really hear it as much as feel it, but there it is again. This can’t actually be happening, can it? Isaac’s smile is gone and his eyes are wide and worried as he slides out of me. Pulling me to my feet, he cuts the water and throws a towel around my shoulders.

“Who do you think it is?” I peep, breaking the silence.

“I’m not sure.” He tosses me his black t-shirts lying on the floor. “Put that on.”

“You have to wear a shirt to answer the door.”

“I’m not leaving you in here naked, Maya” he croaks.

“The bite mark…”

“Fuck!”

He takes the shirt back from me and pulls it over his head as I try to make my oversized towel look more like strapless dress. We’re in the doorway, still holding hands but getting farther apart when he tumbles back into my arms and kisses me with quivering lips and ragged breaths.

“You stay hidden in here, understand?” he says firmly when the dreaded knocking tears u
s apart. “If I take them down the hallway to fuck you, run out that door. I
will
get you out that door.”

“Is that actually going to happen right now?” I squeal, reaching out for him. This isn’t the last time we’ll touch each other is it?

“Probably not. But if it does, you go home and I will find you, I swear. And if I don’t then…” he trails off, kissing my forehead. “I put a shoebox under the passenger seat of your car few days ago, in case you ran off on me. There’s instructions, advice, whatever on how to deal with Luke, at least two sappy love letters I probably would have taken out and, um, forty thousand dollars. Cash. Just in case.”