A Terrible Love

by Eros, Marata

  Pretty soon it wasn't going to matter, I'd be seeing him tonight.

  *

  Consummation

  Have you ever had that experience when you feel like you're moving in slow motion, as if traveling through water as you walk, or mud that you can see through? Well, that's what was happening with me.

  I see Devin like a small black speck at the far reaches of the parking lot, gradually growing large as I draw nearer. Even from the distance I can tell it's him from the body language alone. He's casually perched against his big Harley, his arms folded across and impossibly broad chest, feet crossed at the ankle. He almost appears to be slumbering like a bear put away for hibernation. I know that's a façade, Devin is a lethal man. He's proven it already.

  So why am I going with him to his apartment to finish what we'd begun? To answer the sexual mystery my body yearned to solve?

  The short answer was: I want to. That want had become a single drumbeat, drowning out reason, priorities and all common sense.

  I keep swimming upstream towards him. The night is cool; autumn is here and snapping at my heels with an almost unpleasant bite.

  We don't speak, our eyes never leaving each other.

  When I reach him and he holds out his big paw, I come into the circle of his arms and he takes my wrist in his mighty grip and holds me still while he presses a kiss, not to my lips, but the base of my throat exactly on the hollow.

  My pulse pushes against his lips as he lays soft pecks like fiery rain on the spot until my head falls back and he catches it with his free hand.

  “We're going or we'll give people a show,” Devin says against skin grown warm through his attentions. Then he lifts his head, his gaze pinning me intently. He grips my hair, just shy of pain and says, “Promise me you'll never do that again.”

  No more purse-bashing, I translate.

  I nod my head, his hand still buried in the tight plaits of my hair. “I won't have you in harm's way.” He kisses the tip of my nose then growls, “I can't protect you if you're walking in front of the truck, Jess.”

  I didn't know he felt he had to I think, as my body warms further from his admission.

  I nod wordlessly and he scoops me behind him. I wrap my arms around his firm middle, the helmet a snug brain trap on my head as I press my face against his back.

  As we roar off I catch sight of a lone figure standing in the middle of the large grassy swath that bisects the dorms from the parking area.

  It fills me with unease. It is the person's stillness that is noteworthy... and some kind of familiar something I can't put my finger on.

  Maybe it was Brock?

  No, I decide momentarily.

  Then who?

  I dismiss it as my increased paranoia has gotten to the red stage, alerting me so much that I'm almost becoming desensitized to the signals it sends me.

  I don't know it yet, but I've put myself in the worst position possible. In worrying too much, I've overloaded my sensory input and become careless.

  Just as I need to be the most vigilant, I become complacent. I should have taken the breaking news report for the omen it was. That after a two year reprieve, that horror and misery are now coming full circle.

  My mind left the person I'd seen and went to more important matters.

  *

  I trip over the threshold of Devin's apartment and he jerks me against him to keep me from falling, which serves to press me against him, hip to head. He floats me across a glossy wood floor, my toes not even touching the surface as his forehead remains against mine, his minty breath warm against my face.

  He kicks the door to a large bedroom open and flings me on the bed, the gentleness of the preceding moment gone.

  My heart rate jacks up a notch, my chest heaves and I scoot back instinctively. Castile frowns as he strips his leather jacket off, pulling his tight black tee-shirt soon after, taking it by the collar as all men do and tearing it over his non-existent hair.

  “No second thoughts, Jess,” he asks as a statement banked like a low-burning fire, prowling on his hands and knees across the orgy-sized bed, cornering me. I guess if you're as big as Devin is, you need all that room. I find my back crammed against the headboard and he smiles, the muscles of his pecs like hard balls of flesh as he pounces on me, hauling me against the bare skin of his torso and part way beneath him. I wrap my hands against him, half-hugging him, half-holding him off.

  “It's been awhile,” I say softly and he leans back, his eyes almost black in the low light of his bedroom.

  “How long is awhile?” His eyes study my face, searching for... I don't know what- guile? I don't have the heart of a manipulator even though I live a life in disguise; in my heart I'm honest. An oxymoron to beat all.

  I'm embarrassed to admit my lack of experience and don't know if a throwaway of my virginity for curiosity's sake and a boyfriend that couldn't last through the worst of the Thad siege counted.

  However, Castile is waiting and I tell him the truth. “Two years,” I say with hesitation, feeling inexperienced and suddenly foolish.

  “How many lovers,” he asks as he seizes both my breasts and pushes them together through my light sweater and I gasp at the suddenness of the movement. His fingers graze my nipples with a light touch, the flesh pebbles rising to move into his nimble tweak and roll.

  “Ah...” I moan and he smiles and growls, “How. Many?”

  “It doesn't matter... I'm not asking you for a list of your lovers,” I say, slightly indignant as he works my breasts over, his body covering mine.

  “It's not a tally, I just want... I want to know how far we can go. If you're a novice then I don't want to scare you off.”

  My eyes shift to his and whatever he sees there causes him to lift his head from the place where my breast swells to my nipple and laughs. It's hearty, full and real.

  I can't help but smile.

  “You're a vanilla girl, aren't you Jess?” he asks softly.

  I have a vague understanding that “vanilla” means “normal.” So I answer, “I guess so.”

  “We'll change that, but not today,” he says, his voice lowering as his lust heightens. “Today, I want to be inside you... here,” he says, pressing the width of his palm across the mound of my sex. It heats right through the denim and a small inarticulate sound of desire breaks the seal of my lips and he nods, all seriousness again.

  “I'm going to take off your clothes now.” Devin waits for my assent and I give it with my eyes. A part of me still can't believe I'm doing it and the thought shatters when he slowly unbuttons my sweater. With each button undone he moves to the next, lighting a kiss upon my flaming skin in a rhythm of one button undone, one kiss landing on my flesh like intermittent heated butterfly wings. When Devin reaches my belly button he licks a circle around the divot and I shiver. My hips involuntary lurch upwards eliciting a low chuckle from Devin.

  “My eager ballerina,” he murmurs against my skin, throwing my sweater onto the pile of his own shed clothing. I sigh, taking my hand and moving it to the skull that has a soft ebony shadow of growth on the top. Celtic tattoo symbols swirl at the base of his skull, framing his neck as it meets his head. I can tell he likes it as he puts the side of his face against my flat stomach, his eyes rolling up to meet mine. His hands hold the small mounds of my ass, gently kneading the flesh there and I melt into the rough caress. We gaze at each other for a moment and he says, “I'm going to enjoy fucking you, Jess.”

  I move to sit up and he puts a staying hand on my belly, then adds, “Over and over.”

  I hate his words because they're delivered like a crass promise but the effect is undeniable. My parts moisten, readying for what he says he'll do. The sad truth is no matter how crude the delivery, I can't stand the thought of him not fucking me.

  I want to be fucked: over and over.

  By Devin Castile.

  He sees inside me better than I see inside myself and moves closer to my face. I think he'll kiss me but he surprises
me again, lowering his head to a lace-covered breast and sucking my nipple through the material and that imaginary thread is plucked like a guitar string, it runs back and forth with delicious heat from his suckling mouth to the bud of nerves in the soft cleft between my legs. I'm throbbing for him and he knows it. Never breaking his kiss of my breast he undoes my pants with an expert flick and drop of the button and zipper, shimmying the jeans from my hips.

  When my pants are at my ankles, and my matching lavender panties and bra are the only scraps of material between us he glances at me from his position at my tit.

  “Spread your legs, Jess,” he says.

  I resist and he sucks harder. I so don't like to be told what to do.

  I don't move my knees apart and I can feel him smile against my breast like it's a game.

  It is. The next moment his thumb is pushing my clit back and forth, through the material like he's doing with my bra, the nub so engorged with my arousal it is a terrible kind of pain/pleasure and I groan, my hands convulsively clenching the back of his skull, pressing his mouth harder against my nipple. Instead of increasing the pressure on my nipple he completely takes me off guard. Lifting his lips off my right nipple he moves to the left and does a featherweight tongue swirl as he whips his thumb across my clit.

  Back and forth, back and forth, the material of my panties drenched with my own juices, the fabric sliding underneath the unrelenting pressure of his thumb in a delicious velvet friction.

  I feel the orgasm of all orgasms beating along the edge of my consciousness and I grunt in frustration.

  “Spread. Your. Legs, Jess...” he commands with his own urgency, his breath coming in short pants.

  I'm ashamed but I do. And not a little bit, but until I feel my feet dangling off the edges of his huge bed.

  “Thank you,” he breaths against my breast and in a smooth movement he leaves my clit and pushes the tiny strip of my g-string aside and puts his finger deeply inside me.

  I come hard, my back arching. “Ah!” I scream in a hoarse yell that is both soft and shaky, intense and alive. My channel clenches the finger he has shoved inside me, my wet pulsating orgasm causing us both to groan against each other.

  “Now... I fuck you,” Devin says. He rises on his knees above me like a Titan, the tattoo sleeve on his dominant arm a mix of geometric symbols melded together, transitioning to band type wrist cuffs. He tears the wrapper off the condom with his teeth, blowing it out of the way, and sheathes it on himself with a practiced roll.

  Castile moves over my body, my panties disappear and all I can do is look at him mutely, my channel still giving soft pulses of pleasure.

  When he moves into the low bedside light I see his sprung dick. I gasp and no, just no I can't take what he has, my eyes wide.

  He reads my expression. “You can and you will, Jess.”

  I begin to move and he falls on me, the tip of his cock nudging my entrance. “I'll be slow.”

  I close my eyes as his cock takes the first sensuous inch of my entrance by quiet storm.

  “Ah...” I groan, my fear groundless as he's true to his word, the progress gradually widening me, filling me with his girth.

  “Jesus, Jess... I'm not gonna last inside you... so tight, you're so tight,” he whispers against me, his hips rocking deeper inside me and my sex stretching slowly to accommodate him.

  I spread my legs wider, understanding his prep work: he wanted to make it good for me. He knew I'd not had sex in awhile and wanted to give me pleasure.

  Then he is at the end of me, his cock throbbing inside my deep wetness, the tip of his dick kissing my womb. He cradles my face, looking into my eyes.

  The look is uncomfortably intimate and he pulls out halfway and thrusts into me like that, holding my face still with both his palms as his thrusts become deeper and faster and I become gradually unfocused as another orgasm builds off the first.

  “That's right, Jess... just one more time,” Devin says and thrusts so deeply inside me it feels like his balls are inside me too and he comes... and I yell out loud again, his shattering release bringing mine in perfect sync.

  He swivels his hips inside me and I groan, my hips flexing against him as if they always had, a second orgasm exploding after the first. My mouth goes dry and I am limp, boneless and floating, a residual tingling like a low-level electric current has shorted me and I get a stupid grin on my face.

  “Thank you, Jess.”

  I say nothing. It's impossible after what he's done to me, what he's torn from me that I didn't even know I had. How can I ever be with anyone else besides him? I think, my smile fading as he's pressed into my neck, his body softening inside mine.

  Castile's it for me.

  I don't want a relationship.

  Devin moves to slide out of me and my body fights him as he does, clenching against his penis and he laughs, looking down into my face. “It's like you're custom made for me,” he says in wonder, his smile lighting up every corner of his face.

  I smile back at him wistfully, touching his face, the stubble rough against my palm.

  If I don't want a relationship, then why do I feel so much like crying?

  10

  I don't want to leave and know I must. It doesn't matter that it's Friday. I don't have ballet practice on the weekend but that doesn't mean I don't have barre time.

  I'm already mourning thinking of leaving Castile.

  That makes me realize something.

  I turn to him, still naked. “I’m wondering…

  He smiles, all his attention riveted on our laced hands, seemingly fascinated by it.

  I lift my brows.

  “You're so tiny,” he says with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners and I'm suddenly struck that he doesn't look like a college senior, but maybe older. I shake the momentary image away and then he just looks like Castile again.

  I look at our clasped hands, my fingers swallowed by his. Then I think of how overweight I am for a ballerina and that old familiar shame instantly flows over me.

  Devin catches my expression. “What is that look for?” he asks, letting our hands fall, a small frown landing between his eyes.

  I glance away but can feel the pressure of the silence, commanding me to answer. It's not the first time I consider why I always feel that I must answer when I'm around Castile. The answer is: I don't know why.

  I never talk about my family. It's painful and I feel a weight descend on my chest. But somehow, Devin makes me feel better... more.

  “Tell me, Jess,” he says in a low voice of encouragement.

  I give a small shrug. The sheet falls away from my breast and Castile bends to suck it into his mouth,effectively blanking my thought process.

  “Tell me,” he commands around my breast and despite the fantastic tingling he's causing, I do.

  “My family used to tell me I was 'too big',” too fat- “for ballet,” I say in the softest confessional voice I've ever used.

  I feel my nipple pop out of Devin's mouth with a small release of suction, my eyes are clenched shut, it's all tactile.

  “You've got to be fucking kidding me,” he says.

  I shake my head miserably. “No.” I open my eyes and those deep chocolate eyes see into me... all the way in. I feel like Devin Castile can hear my heart beating as he sees straight to my toenails.

  He cradles my head again and does something no one has ever done: he unbraids my hair, his fingers breaking each plait. “You'll wear your hair down when you're with me, Jess Mackey.” When my hair is a waterfall between us, he spears it with his fingers, gripping so tightly it's just shy of my pain threshold.

  “Listen to me,” he instructs, his eyes searching mine with an unnerving intensity. I gulp.

  “Okay,” I murmur. I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to. I don't.

  “You. Are. Perfect,” he says with quiet emphasis. It stands between us with the resonating harmony of truth. I feel it thrumming through my body.

  “Let me show
you just how much.” Devin moves to my toes and sucks the middle toe and I gasp. He rolls his eyes to mine and I look down the line of my own body, between the peaks of my breasts, over the sheared mound of my pubic bone to his large hands that cup my ass again. He's so tall he can grab my ass cheeks and suck my toes simultaneously. My breathing becomes irregular with his attentions.

  It's sensual, not sexual and I wonder briefly at the difference. Then his words shatter me along with his actions.

  Devin Castile moves up my body with languid slowness, the ease of his feelings for me, our mutual chemistry, paving the way.

  “You're perfect here.” He puts a gentle hand underneath the bend in my knee and places a moist hot kiss on the tip, moving on, he slides his palm up my thigh, stopping just short of where things get interesting.

  “And here,” Castile whispers, flicking his tongue against my inner thigh and I moan my pleasure, my arms flinging behind my head as I try to stay still when my entire body wants to move against that gentle seeking touch.

  “And here,” he says in a tone I can barely hear. But hearing means nothing when I feel his warm tongue at my entrance and with a single pushing lap, he drives it up the middle of me and I shudder under his wet caress.

  I forget that I'm not perfect.

  In his arms, I am.

  *

  I follow Devin to his bike and stuff the helmet on my carelessly braided hair. Without a hairbrush, I could only manage a single plait. I was back to grinning like a fool, as sore as I could stand.

  The wonderful kind. My aches were from my body's satisfaction.

  I could still feel the rasp of his stubble against my lips... and not the ones on my face.

  He turns and laughs at my my goofy expression. He grabs me and pulls me against him, slamming his lips against mine and I can taste him and myself.

  It's erotic and wonderful.