by C. C. Morian
Her hand dove for her clit, but Marcus was faster, he grabbed her arm and pinned it to the bed. “Nothing for you,” he snarled, and kept at her, harder and harder, and though Melissa wanted to touch herself, she just smiled at him. “It’s all for me, Marcus. Aren’t you doing this just for me?”
She clenched her ass as tight as she could, closing herself around his shaft.
And Marcus drove into her, over and over, and then his eyes fluttered, rolling a little back in his head, the iris so white against his beautiful ebony skin, and then he let out a moan, and though she couldn’t feel it inside her now she knew he was releasing into her again.
And for the first time since she had known him, just for the briefest instant, Melissa saw him exhausted, not just physically, but his whole being. It was as if he had drained every bit of his energy into her.
She didn’t need to touch herself now, this was better than any orgasm, seeing how Marcus had completely lost control, how she had made him lose control, how she had made him give all of himself.
Then his eyes were back to normal, his face shifting into its old pattern, but in his look she knew that he realized what had happened.
Marcus rolled off her, and this time she didn’t stop him. “Bitch.”
Melissa stared up the ceiling, smiling, not hiding it. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You did that so I’d come three times.” He just lay on his back, not looking at her.
“It’ll be something for you to remember. You know, three times in one session.”
“Something for you to remember too. You won’t be able to walk for a week.”
Melissa turned on her side to face him, just a bit of seriousness in her voice, but not so much to make him think she was asking for anything. “I won’t need that to remember this, all of this.”
Marcus glanced over at her, in his way recognizing her change in tone and accepting it. “I won’t either.” But then, perhaps not wanting to make it go too far, he added, “And I’ll always remember you, Edith. I mean Gertrude. What was your name again?”
Melissa slapped his chest, playfully, but hard. He didn’t even flinch. This was his way of showing some feeling. This joking, a rare glimpse into not a softer side, but a hint of softness.
Maybe this was the closest she would ever get to some feelings of a deeper love for him, something beyond the lust.
And maybe the closest to what he would, or could, give.
So unlike Richard, who was serious when he needed to be, often serious when he didn’t need to be. Marcus, never serious when it came to talking about anything like love.
“No one is named Gertrude anymore.”
“What can I say? I like older women.”
“Then what are you doing with me?”
“Aren’t you older?”
“I don’t feel that much older. Do I feel older to you?”
“More demanding.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining.”
The moment of seriousness was gone, whisked away by the return to their casual banter. After a moment Marcus got up and headed off to the bathroom without another word.
Melissa flopped back down, once again staring at the blank ceiling, an empty canvas. If she could only draw a picture of her wish list there. What would she capture?
Much of this weekend, certainly. The sex, all of it. The intensity, the passion, the unbridled desire. The complete and utter surrender to a beautiful, powerful, often mysterious man. And the little back and forth, the joking, the ongoing verbal jabs. The ability to talk about sex. In a word, Marcus.
But she’d also draw something else. The closeness, the absolute trust, the sense of responsibility. The undivided care and desire of someone else to want nothing more than to make sure she was happy, and protected, not just physically, but emotionally. Richard.
Richard, who had been willing to let her explore her needs, just for her. If the roles were reversed, and Richard wanted to explore being with another woman—Melissa couldn’t even imagine it, and even if she could, she’d never be able to honestly say it was okay by her. Richard loved her so much he would do something for her that didn’t think she could do for him.
Melissa rolled over on her side. The bed was soaked, sweat and fluids everywhere. She felt some cum leak out of her, and she curled into a ball, wanting to hold it in her, her emotions still a confused jumble, her body caught between relaxed fatigue and sheer joy.
And a little angry, at the unfairness of it all, why couldn’t one man fulfill all her desires? Someone she could love and lust for, know and be surprised by, trust and yet wonder about?
What would she do now? She had surrendered her heart to Richard, but her body to Marcus.
In some ways she had found out everything she had come to discover, she had confirmed what was perhaps the worst possibility, that she needed this kind passionate craving, this all encompassing sex. And that it was not likely something she could ever get with Richard.
And it wasn’t just the sex Melissa missed. She missed Marcus.
Yet, lying there, she was thinking of Richard, missing him too. She saw her phone on the nightstand, tempting her to call Richard. But what would she say? That she was thinking about him and she loved him? But wouldn’t that be ridiculous? I want to hold you because another man just came in my pussy and ass? That I got excited about the danger of him impregnating me?
She had a lot of decisions to make.
Suddenly, with a strange clarity, Melissa realized that she wasn’t the only one needing to make decisions. Marcus did, and so did Richard. It was so obvious, but she had been so focused on herself she hadn’t thought about what might be different now. Sure, she knew Richard had decided he wanted to try to do what he could to save his relationship with her, even at great risk. Marcus had decided to come to the reunion, he had decided to sleep with her.
But now both men would have more decisions to make, no matter what Melissa decided. How would Richard respond when Melissa told him what had happened? And she’d have to tell him. Even if she tried to hide it, Richard would figure it out right away.
And Marcus. Would he bend? Would he offer her more than he ever had, more than he probably had offered any other woman? Even that would be nothing close to what Richard gave her without even thinking about it, nothing close to the perfect picture she had tried to paint on her life canvas.
The water in the bathroom shut off. Marcus had finished cleaning himself up, removing the vestiges of sex from his body. The door opened, and Melissa turned to see him, naked, staring at her, as if he were deciding what to do. Or waiting for her to say something, to ask him to stay.
Melissa wasn’t quite ready for his decision, or to make one herself.
“Can I talk to you tomorrow?” she said, trying to keep the dread and hope and panic out of her voice.
Marcus paused, then nodded once. He dressed quickly, grabbed his cell phone off the table, gave Melissa once last look. . . and walked out the door.
Chapter 21
Melissa awoke with a start. Cold and stiff, for a moment totally confused as to where she was. She had been having the most intense dream. . .
She twisted in the bed, the sheets still damp, and it all slammed back onto her, the entire weekend flashing in her head, the memory moving as fast as the two days had gone by.
Melissa saw the clock, muttering to herself. “Shit.” She’d have to rush for the flight home.
Home. Odd that she immediately thought of it that way. Of course it was her home, but even after all that happened, even with what she still needed to decide, that was her first reaction.
Melissa gingerly pulled her legs over the bed, sitting up, her ass sore as hell. Marcus had been right, she was going to feel that sex for a long time. But she had no regrets. This is what she had come to find out, and had she ever. There would be no lingering doubts as to what she really needed in her life.
But there was still the question of wha
t her cravings would do to her, and how she should satisfy them. Could she lock them away in some corner of her mind to only pull out every so often? Or was it the other way around: Should she live a life where she satisfied her cravings at will, and seek out some kind of emotional solace only now and then?
Marcus or Richard.
Melissa dragged herself to the shower, letting the water get good and hot before stepping in. She wished she could luxuriate in the tub, but she had overslept, she didn’t have time.
After finishing up in the bathroom she quickly checked her flight status. The plane was running a half hour late. For once she was happy with the delay.
She rummaged through her luggage, finding her last pair of clean underwear, immediately reminding her, as if she needed a reminder, of how Marcus had ripped one and she had soaked through the others. She dropped on the bed, her panties clutched in her hand, thinking they were some kind of gauge of the heat and the desire and the sex she had experienced.
Melissa sighed and pulled on the panties.
The travel skirt, and her last clean blouse. Barefoot, she stuffed the rest of her clothes in the bag.
Finished, she sat down on the bed, surveying the room. It was hard to imagine how much had happened there. Just a hotel room, and yet she’d never forget it, no matter what happened next.
She had told Marcus she would call him. Not now; she didn’t have her head straight yet. Briefly she wondered where he was. Had he gone back to the platinum blonde bimbo? Melissa couldn’t help but think of her that way, even knowing it was unfair and mean.
Melissa grinned. For some reason, she was sure the blonde was all alone this morning. That was mean too, but Melissa, right now, didn’t care.
She’d think on the plane, let it sink in, and call Marcus when she landed. Make a decision about what to do next, one way or another. And then see what happened, how it would all play out. There was nothing she could do now.
Julie. Damn, she had forgotten about Julie, she would be worried sick. Melissa reached for her phone again and texted, ‘Sorry. I bet you were wondering about me. Everything is fine. Heading to the airport soon.’
Melissa went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and finish packing her toiletries and makeup. When she got back her phone was lit, a message back from Julie. ‘I wasn’t worried, not too much anyway. You are a big girl and can take care of yourself.’
Melissa smiled. What a wonderful friend, it was exactly what Melissa needed to hear.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Housekeeping?
“Who is it?”
“Room service.”
Melissa got up and headed for the door, saying “I didn’t order room service.” She glanced through the keyhole, and it was blocked, then something moved, and she recognized a Starbucks coffee cup being dangled.
“Cappuccino, extra whip, light, two shots,” said the voice, muffled by the door.
What the? That was her favorite coffee, she had been drinking it since college.
The cup fell away, the hand came into view, a black arm, her eyes refocusing on the man holding the cup. Marcus.
She was staggered, not expecting this, not sure if she wanted it, but touched. He had not only remembered her favorite drink, he was delivering it to her.
Melissa opened the door.
Marcus stood there, wide awake, cleanly showered and dressed in a new outfit.
So he had gone home.
He handed her the cup and pushed past her without waiting for an invitation. For a moment Melissa stood in the doorway, still astonished.
“Marcus?”
“Better drink up, it’ll get cold.”
Melissa let the door close and took a sip of the coffee; it was still hot, he must have driven fast to get it to her. But she didn’t really taste it, her mind was on him. “I was just leaving, I don’t have much time.”
He just stood there, eyeing her, not saying anything.
Flustered, but not knowing exactly why, Melissa added, “I was going to call you when I landed.”
“I’m here now.”
“I’ll miss my plane.” It sounded lame, and it was.
“Take a later one.”
“I can’t.”
Marcus turned away, and, in an offhand voice, but one that didn’t fool Melissa, said, “Or won’t?”
Melissa walked past him and set the coffee down. The drapes were still wide open, she had never closed them from the night before. A jet revved, another reminder of the clicking clock. She saw it appear in the sky, lumbering up, hanging there, seemingly half way between soaring and falling back to earth. Just as she was.
Without turning she said, “Does it matter?”
Part of Melissa wanted him not to answer, but another part of her wanted him to say yes, it did, that if she admitted she didn’t want to stay then he’d be done with her, she would be free from her choice because he would have taken it away from her. If she didn’t want to stay he would offer her no escape from her problems.
“You’ll be back, you know.”
Melissa spun on him. “Don’t be so sure of yourself.”
Marcus shrugged, unconcerned, or pretending to be, now he was back to his inscrutable self, she couldn’t read him, or she wasn’t letting herself read him.
“Admit it,” he said. “It’s why you came here.”
“I have admitted that. You are why I came here. I’m not embarrassed to say it. I’m not afraid to say it.”
“Maybe you did just come for the sex. Something you weren’t getting. Not good enough, anyway. Or maybe you want a kid, is your husband shooting blanks? You wanted my help with that?”
She flared, then turned away. That hurt. Marcus didn’t mean it, not the way it sounded, she knew that he was lashing out at her to protect himself, that he wondered if she was going to reject him.
She doubted Marcus had ever been rejected.
Even after what he said, Melissa sought to give him a way out; she had some responsibility for putting him in this position. She could live with herself if she had made him angry, but not if she had hurt him. “Maybe you are right. That I just came for the sex.”
They locked eyes, and he seemed to be waiting again, for her to do something, and that little hesitation was like a shout for him, an acceptance that, no matter how he controlled much of their interactions and their sex, he was going to wait on her decision, that he would accept, or at least be guided by, what she wanted.
In that precious moment Melissa felt something change, something about Marcus would be different, but at the same time she yearned for him all the more. He had lost something and gained something.
“Okay, then,” he said, and he took two quick strides to her and his arms were around her and her lips were on his, and she didn’t know if she was starting something new or kissing him goodbye. The kiss was deep, both of them accepting, equal, her arms thrown around him, pulling him in, his hand cradling her head. But then slowly but surely he took command, pushing her backward until she was up against the wall, right next to the window.
He broke the kiss and turned her around to face the wall, his hand running up her leg, under her skirt.
“Marcus, no—”
He leaned his face close to hers. “You just said you came for the sex.” He wrapped his other hand around her breast and squeezed, her nipple responding instantly as it always did with him, the pressure of his body on her forcing her into arousal.
Why was he here? Did he come back to prove his virility? Or to show her that he had made a decision, that he wanted her? That he wanted her to be with him?
Or just to prove that she needed him?
He held her like that, up against the wall, his arms around her, one hand grabbing her breast, the other her thigh, his chin clamped against the top of her head. His groin was thrust against her ass, and she could feel his hardness.
“I don’t have time, I have to go,” she said, almost pleading, not just with him, but with her body, which w
as reacting on its own, reaching out for this familiar dance, this joy.
“I’ll be quick,” he said, “and I bet you will too.”
Melissa tried one more time, pulling her legs together even as she felt her pussy betray her. He’d stop if she really wanted him to. She was sure he would. She thought he would.
But could she trust herself to?
Marcus slid his hand up onto her waist.
“Say it again,” he said. “Say this is why you came here.”
Melissa nodded, the last of her resistance collapsing, deserting her.
Marcus lifted her skirt higher and grabbed her panties.
“Don’t tear them! That’s my last pair!” Realizing how stupid that sounded, as if saving her underwear was important now.
Marcus withdrew his hand, and Melissa felt a sudden loss, even as she wondered if this was the right thing to do she wanted his strong hand back on her, taking her.
She heard a click. The unmistakable sound of a switchblade being opened.
Already locked in place, sandwiched to the wall, she froze even more, her breathing stopped.
Marcus whispered in her ear, so close it was as if he had a different voice. “Do you trust me?”
Melissa hesitated just the briefest second. Then she shook her head. No!
“Now we are getting to it,” he said, as if he wasn’t surprised at her response. “Do you think I’d hurt you?”
She felt the tip of the knife drag along her thigh, riding up, over her hip. Onto her back. A gentle caress of danger.
Who was this man? Was this the same Marcus who she had given herself to, who had never raised his hand against her? Or was he someone else, some new Marcus, corrupted during the years she hadn’t seen him?
Or corrupted by what she had done this weekend?