“It’s new. I haven’t had a chance to use it.”
Ah, fuck. This just keeps getting better and better. “Do you think we should fix that tonight?”
She bites her lip, glancing at the plug in my hand and then back at me. “We can try. Maybe see if I can handle it?”
“If you can handle this, you can handle me.” My cock kicks. “Would you like that?”
She moans softly.
“Is that a yes? You want me to fuck your pretty ass, Amie?” She nods once and I roll my hips, cock sliding over her clit. “Talk to me. Tell me what you want.”
On a tremulous breath, she wraps her legs around my waist, tilting her hips up. “I want you in me everywhere.”
My smile echoes hers. “Be explicit, please.”
“I want you to fuck me like this.” She shifts her hips and I slip low, the head nudging inside all that soft, warm, and wet. “With nothing between us.”
We’ve had condomless sex a few times over the past two weeks on the heels of a brief discussion about safety. Amie’s on the pill, but we still use condoms most of the time just to be safe. Tonight I’ll give in to her, though. I ease inside, slow and controlled.
“And then I want you to get my ass ready for your cock.”
My hips meet hers on a low groan.
“Was that explicit enough for you? Or do you need more details?”
“I like details.” I rock against her, staying deep so I can hit that spot that makes her eyes roll up and her muscles clench.
“I want you to take me every way you can. I want you to fuck my ass until I come. I want to feel you everywhere in me even when you’re not with me.”
My thrusts speed with every dirty admission and detail she provides until we’re skin slapping, sweat dripping, bed rocking. I don’t slow down until she’s screaming my name as an orgasm rolls through her. When she recovers, I pull out and flip her onto her stomach. Then I take a moment to move most of the sex toys to the carry-on lying open on the floor, keeping only the lube and the plugs—all three of them.
Amie watches me with her cheek resting on her folded arms, her breaths still quick and shallow. Once the comforter is cleared, I drag a single finger down her spine, enjoying her shiver.
She starts to push up, lifting her ass in the air, so I place a palm at the base of her spine to stop her. She glances over her shoulder at me, confused until I stretch out on top of her, moving her hair to the side so I can kiss and nibble her neck. “We’re going to take it slow tonight from here.” She twists enough that she can find the back of my neck with her palm. As we kiss she pushes her hips up, my cock nestling in the cleft of her ass.
I’m in no rush, even though I’m aware that every passing moment brings us closer to the end. I want to draw it out, make these hours last for years. Eventually her moans turn into pleas for more, so I kiss a leisurely path down her spine until I reach her ass. I don’t stop though, instead I nibble my way across the plush flesh, kneading and kissing and biting. I’m straddling her legs, so she can’t push up the way she’d like to. The longer I hold back, the more she wants what I haven’t given her.
As soon as I lift my weight she pushes up on all fours and smoothes her hand across the comforter, grabbing for the travel-sized version of the lube that was not confiscated at the airport.
Popping the cap she holds it out, but instead of dropping it in my hand she squeezes, cool liquid running down my fingers. I rub them together, then drag the tips along the divide. I circle the tight opening over and over, not penetrating, applying the tiniest bit of pressure before I circle again. At least until she pushes back. Resistance gives way and her head drops, back arching as I ease one finger into her perfect, tight ass. As promised, I take it slow, adding a second finger, listening to her soft sounds grow deeper and louder, less delicate and more primal.
She groans my name when I add another finger and clutches the comforter tightly.
“Is this okay, baby?” I think it is. I’ve become fairly adept at reading her level of enjoyment over the past two weeks.
She exhales a shuddering breath with the slow, deep penetration. “Better than okay. So good, Lex.”
“You’ve got three of my fingers, what do you want me to replace them with?”
She stills. “Three?”
“You sound surprised.”
“You have big hands,” she murmurs.
I keep finger fucking her ass, slow and easy, spreading them, stretching her. “Should I just try the steel?”
Long moments pass and I beg the gods of anal to give me the all-clear, which is when she says, “You can try.”
I leave my fingers where they are, hoping this is going to help pave the way for my cock. I grab the plug, sliding the cold steel over her clit. Amie sucks in a breath. “What are you going to do?”
“Warm it up for you.” My fingers stay where they are while I tease her pussy with the plug. When she’s ready I exchange my fingers for the plug, easing it in inch by slow, steady inch.
The needy sounds she makes, and her soft whimpers and pleas, are exactly what I want to hear.
When her ass is full of plug, I fuck her, holding her body against me, keeping pressure on the end. Her neck is craned at an awkward angle, so we can kiss and maintain our connection. She comes on a scream, nails raking across my shoulders as she tries to hold on, biting my lip as she bucks.
When she sags in my arms. I lay her on her side.
“God that was intense,” she sighs.
I tuck her body in close to mine, her back against my chest, her damp hair sticking to her neck. I kiss her shoulder. “If you can’t handle more we don’t have to go there.”
She shifts, eyes rolling up at the movement since the plug is still filling up her ass and I’m still filling her pussy—and I’m still hard because I haven’t come.
She touches my lips with fingers that tremble. “I want it. I want you everywhere. I want this with you.”
I kiss her softly for minutes that seem like hours. When she’s languid in my arms I ease out and then I remove the plug. I’m not much bigger, so she’s as ready as she’s ever going to be to accommodate me.
And she does accommodate. She’s still on her side, eyes on mine as I sink into her, pushing past the resistance. I ease inside her, tight and slow and controlled. When my cock is finally all snug up in her ass I slip my fingers between her legs and circle her clit. She arches and fists the sheets, chanting oh my god as an orgasm rolls through her.
Amie’s mouth drops open, eyes hazy with need and desire when my hips meet her ass. “That’s it, baby, you’ve got all of me.”
“This feeling, it’s indescribable.” Her shaking fingers brush over the base of my cock.
“Talk to me. Try and find the words to explain the feeling.” I lean over her, getting in close, one hand on either side of her, caging her, protecting her, my thigh pressed into the crook of her knees. We stay like that, lips barely touching as I stay deep and fuck her slow.
“You make everything so . . .”
“Everything so what?”
“Real. Perfect. Endless. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to lose this.” I feel the pain of her words in my chest.
“I’m right here, going nowhere.” But she is, sooner than either of us want.
There’s nothing wild and untamed about the way we claim each other. It’s not fast and hard. It’s intimate and soft, it’s trust and gentleness. When she comes her eyes are on mine.
Afterward we go for a swim, followed by a bath. It’s late by the time we order dinner and later still when we climb back into bed again. I can feel her fear expanding with every passing hour. At three in the morning I watch her pack up all her sex toys. She rides me hard after that, desperation bringing back the wildness.
At four-thirty she curls into my side. “Set an alarm just in case I nap for too long,” she whispers.
She has to leave for the airport in two hours. I’m going with her. I stroke her h
air and kiss her forehead. “For how long from now?”
“Half an hour.”
I set it for an hour. We’re both exhausted. Bodies spent. I feel her tears on my chest and I hold her tighter. “You want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head and sniffs. “I don’t want to go home.”
I kiss her forehead. “I know.”
“I wish I could play pretend a little longer.”
“Me, too. Then I could go anal on you again.” I make light of it, because if I don’t I’m going to say something I shouldn’t. Like telling her she should cancel her flight. That she should stay here with me until I go home—I have no set end date, we could stay here for weeks if she wanted to. I want to tell her it doesn’t have to end here. But I know it does. She has an estranged husband to deal with back in New York. One I’m related to. I’m an escape, not a long-term reality for Amalie.
She laughs but it ends on a soft sob. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do this.”
“Do what?” There’s a tightness in my chest I don’t want to think too much about.
“Get emotional.”
I caress her cheek, wetness cooling my fingertips. “Can I help distract you?”
“I don’t know if my body can handle any more of your distractions.”
“I could just kiss you, wherever you want me to.”
She lifts her head, eyes shiny with tears she’s losing the fight against.
Amie taps my lips and then hers. “Start right here.”
So I do. I kiss her until the alarm goes off and our time runs out.
Seventeen: Alone and Lonely
Amie
“This is me.” I turn to Lex, who looks amazing and exhausted, the latter of which I’m sure is mirrored in me. Neither of us has slept, not even for a second. My lips are chapped, my body is sore, muscles aching and tight. My eyes are puffy and they feel like they have sand in them every time I blink.
He rolls my carry-on to a stop, which he insisted on being responsible for. This time it’s not full of sex toys, those are checked, so I won’t have to worry about being embarrassed while going through security.
He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and smiles. That’s his thing, I realize, the hair touching. He did it countless times last night. When we weren’t having sex, we were touching endlessly, like we were trying to fit in a lifetime of physical connection into those remaining hours.
“Thanks for making my honeymoon not suck.” I laugh at how awful that sounds. God, this is harder than I thought it would be. I can’t decide if I don’t want to go home because of what I have to face, or because I really don’t want to leave Lex, or if it’s a combination of both, or if one influences the other. My emotions are frayed like spliced wire.
“Thanks for making this the best work trip I’ve ever been forced to take.” He steps into me, wrapping me up in a tight hug.
I press my face into his chest, willing the tears not to come, but they do anyway. I should be out of them by now. My body shakes with the effort to silence the sob pushing its way up my throat. Lex’s lips brush my temple, his palm curving to cup the back of my head. “Shhh, it’s okay, baby, everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. You’re stronger than you realize.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“I know. I don’t want you to go either.” He tips my chin up. His eyes meet mine for the briefest moment before they fall closed, sealing his emotions behind them. Ones I recognize. Ones that feel all too familiar. He dips down to press a soft kiss to my lips.
I’m sure he means to keep it chaste, but the second we connect all the desperation comes bubbling to the surface, erupting like a volcano, and suddenly we’re devouring each other. I feel the loss of him in my chest already. I don’t want to walk away from this, but there’s no other choice. This isn’t love, this is lust and comfort, this is a diversion from a life I don’t want to go back to. These are the things I tell myself so I’ll be able to let him go.
I pull away first. His resigned sigh echoes in my heart. He presses his lips against my forehead and then releases me. When our eyes meet his gaze is void of emotion, as if he’s shut them all down, locked them away. I don’t know if I’m as successful at hiding the way I feel right now.
His voice is as flat as his expression. “Have a safe flight.”
My smile is forced, weak. “I will.”
“Bye, Amalie.” I like it better when he calls me Amie.
“Bye, Lex.” I grab the handle of my carry-on. My legs feel wooden as I walk toward the security check. Tears track down my cheeks and drop to my shirt faster than I can wipe them away. I don’t turn to see if he’s still there.
I don’t understand why it feels like my heart is cracking open in my chest. Or why this ending hurts so much worse than what Armstrong did to me.
My security check goes without incident. I sit in the lounge and order a breakfast that goes uneaten, my exhaustion so complete that all I can do is periodically lift the napkin in my lap to wipe away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s no relief in getting on the plane, just dread rooting itself deep in my stomach, making it roll.
An elderly woman who apparently doused herself in an entire bottle of perfume takes up the seat next to me. She seems rather preoccupied with my teary face and my constant sniffles, but my one-word responses eventually dissuade her from her continued questions and I’m able to close my eyes. The tears don’t stop for a long time, and my mind is spinning, but I finally fall asleep with the help of some sinus meds and a small bottle of champagne.
The eighteen-hour flight home seems to take twice as long, even though I sleep through a good portion of it. My eyes are puffy and swollen, so I cover them with sunglasses. Cold New York weather greets me after I’ve collected my bags. The dismal, dreary winter the perfect accompaniment to my somber mood.
My apartment is exactly how I left it; tidy, apart from a few papers on the counter and the checklist for the wedding stuck to the fridge. I tear down the list and the magnet keeping it there falls to the floor, breaking in two neat pieces. It’s a heart with Armstrong + Amalie written in the middle. I toss the fragments into the garbage, thinking about how it’s pretty much my life right now; fractured crap. I haven’t checked email once since I’ve been away, which was probably a bad idea, but then so was marrying Armstrong. Complete avoidance mode seemed easier than dealing with life for the past three weeks.
I fire up my laptop. While I wait for the updates to load, I message Ruby to let her know I’m home safely. Lex’s contact sits below it, my mother farther down, my brothers below that. I kept in touch with everyone while I was away, but there was no real discussion about how I would handle things with Armstrong upon my return, beyond getting him to sign the annulment papers, which still hasn’t happened.
I stare at my phone for a long while, debating whether I should let Lex know I’m home. He didn’t ask me to message. At no point did he suggest continued communication once I returned to New York, and neither did I. And as much as I want to maintain contact, I don’t know that it’s fair to him or me. We defined the boundaries in Bora Bora. It can’t be anything more. Not while I’m still married and not while I’m trying to put my life back together.
Besides, I don’t even know if it’s possible for it to be more anyway. Being together will complicate his life and mine, especially since he’s related to my soon - to - be - ex - husband. I can’t imagine Lex wanting to invite that kind of discord into his life. Keeping the lines of communication open will just confuse things—and make it harder for me to let go.
I scroll through the endless messages back and forth over the past weeks. And, of course, I start to cry again. I miss him so much already. Which is why I go to his contact, scroll down, and hover my thumb over the red delete button. I have to take several deep breaths before I screw my eyes shut and touch the screen, erasing him. My heart aches sharply, and my regret is immediate and painful as tears pool and fall. My reaction to th
is loss is how I know I’ve done the right thing. I can’t change what’s happened between us, or make it more than what it is.
After half an hour of tears, I finally get it together and log into my email. I have 357 new ones. This requires coffee. I put on a pot, take a much-needed shower while I wait for it to brew, and return to my laptop feeling slightly refreshed. Not even close to decent, but better than I did fifteen minutes ago. I begin the process of opening emails, responding to the important ones, deleting anything junky.
I’m through the first two hundred—most of them emails from all the wedding vendors I subscribed to—when I spot the one from work, which is odd, since this is my personal account. I wasn’t even going to tackle the work ones until later. I’m not expected for another two days. Not that I’m going to go in. At least not to perform any kind of actual job. My plan is to draft a resignation letter and drop it off. I have enough contacts in this industry, I’m highly employable, and the last thing I want is to be under Armstrong’s thumb.
I click the email, which is tagged as urgent. A single paragraph appears on the screen; it’s from Armstrong’s personal assistant, Savannah. I wonder if she’s on the list of women he cheated on me with.
I have to read the email twice before it sinks in. I’m being transferred to another department. Or I already have been. The date seems to correspond quite nicely with our second altercation in Bora Bora. As I read on, my irritation turns to rage. Based on my new job title this isn’t a department transfer, it’s a demotion. My salary is being cut by nearly fifty percent.
That fucker.
I have to hold on to the edge of the table so I don’t throw my computer, or my coffee mug, or any other breakable thing across the room.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise, now that I’ve experienced the real Armstrong. There’s no way he’s getting away with this. I shove away from the table and stalk to my bedroom, aggressively searching my closet for my most professional-yet-sexy outfit. I ruin three pairs of hose with my jabby frustration. Anger is so much easier to manage than sadness and heartbreak.
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