“All you saying that makes me think is: you’ve actually fought someone with your dick swinging in the wind.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
He sounded pretty relaxed, when he said it. In fact, he even sat down on the bed as he did. And he didn’t sit far away, either. He sat close enough that she could see every line and curve of that glorious body, in vivid detail. She could see it all, and this time, she didn’t feel bad about looking. There was no sense that she was doing something wrong.
Not even when she noticed another reason for his possible shyness.
“You have a lot of scars.”
“None of them are as tragic as you’re thinking.”
“So you don’t wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night because someone stabbed you here and left you to bleed out in some dirty alley?”
She almost touched her fingers to the twisted mark she was talking about, just above his right hip. But he didn’t flinch away. He didn’t look perturbed.
And he didn’t sound troubled, in the least. In truth, he seemed more conspiratorial, then anything. He even leaned in, like he was sharing some embarrassing secret. “I got that one because I fucked up clearing a razor wire covered fence.”
“Oh. Well, that still sounds super dangerous and awful, to be honest.”
“The only reason I jumped it is I wanted to get to a Subway faster.”
“Is that because you hadn’t eaten in three days?”
“I had eaten two hours before.”
“Okay fine, I concede.”
“You should. I have at least a dozen stories about the various incredibly foolish ways I got injured. See this one?” He twisted his body, so she could see a mark like the letter C between his shoulder blades. “Target comes at me with a machete; I get fucked up by a coat hook I backed into on the wall behind me. Literally almost died because I stabbed myself on a thing you use to store outerwear.”
“See, target and machete are the things I’m fixating on, there.”
“Yeah, as soon as I said those I thought: you’ve just undermined your point.”
“Not undermined it. More like fucked it in the butt.”
He laughed, for that.
An easy one. A good one.
Even though he was still talking about utterly wild things.
“In fairness, his machete was very small,” he said.
And she had to fight to keep from goggling at him
“Oh, well thank god this enemy combatant wasn’t fond of large weapons.”
“He wasn’t an enemy combatant. He was an explanation redacted.”
“Ah. So now we’re into the terrifying government secrets part of this conversation.”
“Substitute terrifying for shameful and usually pointless, and you’ve got it.”
There was less amusement in his voice, now. Not enough to grind the conversation to a halt, but it was definitely noticeable. It was there—a slight hollowness, where none had been before. Though still, she couldn’t stop herself asking.
He had opened this door, at last. It was impossible not to go through.
“Is that why you don’t do it anymore? Because it was shameful?”
“That’s why I left the organization I worked for, yes. After a while, you start wondering why you’re killing some kid just trying to keep his country free from people like you, instead of the person who sent you to kill him.”
He looked away then, just like he usually did when things got heavy.
But here was the difference: after a moment, he started to look back. And he didn’t do it smoothly, as if he’d just shaken the whole thing off. There was no let’s change the subject about it. Instead, his gaze almost kind of crept back to her. Like he was just certain a blow was coming and feared it with all his heart—yet couldn’t help hoping that it wouldn’t, anyway. That somehow, she would accept what he’d said.
And when he saw that she had…
His relief was palpable. “Kind of thought there would be more horror and disgust when I told you this stuff, to be honest.”
“Oh there’s horror and disgust. Just not for you.”
“But those things were me. No one else did them.”
“Who’s more responsible? The knife, or the one who wields it?”
“Sometimes I think the answer is the latter. But mostly I know: knives can never make a choice. I made one every time my conscience told me no yet I decided to go ahead anyway. Every time I justified it with protecting my country and saving other lives, I made myself a moral coward. And nothing I do now will ever make up for that.”
This time, he didn’t look away. He held her gaze, in a way she understood completely. Now, he was trying to challenge her. To push her into some kind of disapproval. His chin was metaphorically jutting out, almost begging for the blow.
So, instead, she just went ahead and did the only thing she wanted to.
She pressed her lips to his, long and soft and sweet.
And when she pulled away, her reward was his startled expression. It was his tone, full of hope and wonder. “You really want to kiss me after that?”
“I wanted to kiss you during. I want to kiss you now while you’re wasting time asking stupid questions. In fact, every second that I’m not kissing you feels like a waste.”
“Sometimes, I really wish I didn’t feel exactly the same way,” he said, and she went to ask why. The word was on the very her tip of her tongue, when he decided to explain.
Only he didn’t do it in words.
He didn’t say because I can’t stop myself from doing just that.
He just did it. He kissed her, hot and eager.
It fact, it was so eager she was starting to think those small shifts she’d noticed were not so small at all. They were seismic. They were inescapable. They were in every single thing he did, from the second his lips pressed to hers. Suddenly, his hands were on her body, instead of staying balled at his sides. They slid inside her pajama top without her having to ask and found her breasts without needing a push.
Then even sweeter, even better—he actually eased her top up. He bared her already stiff nipples, and licked, oh god, he was licking them. He was making quick little circles around each one, around and around until she was almost beside herself. She was moaning and rocking her hips and trying to urge him on without really urging him on.
But the thing was—she didn’t have to now.
He looked up from her breasts, mouth filthily wet.
Hands still on her, fingers still teasing.
Then he said, “You want to come?”
Just like that. Just like it was nothing.
And god, it was all she could do to stop herself sobbing a yes.
“That might be nice. That might be good.”
“Take these off then.”
He snapped the waistband of her pajama bottoms.
He actually snapped them.
Still, she felt she had to be certain.
“Are you sure because—” she started.
But he cut her off before she could through half her sentence.
And he did it with the sexiest thing she had ever heard.
“I’m sure. I want to taste you.”
“Ohhhh, god. Yeah, yeah. Please.”
“I want you to come all over my face.”
“Jesus Isaac. I’m gonna come now, if you don’t stop talking like that. ”
“That’s not really giving me an incentive to stop, to be honest. In fact, I think I want to hear more of those sounds you make when I say something dirty. More of those breathy moans when I tell you things like: spread your pussy for me.”
She knew there was a chance he was just trying to get her going. But at that point, she just didn’t care. He said the words, and she simply couldn’t stop herself obeying them. She just scrambled to do as he’d suggested. She finished pushing off her bottoms and opened her legs, then as he watched, she pushed her fingers through her slick slit. She parted it, so ev
erything was right there for him to see. Her clit, all stiff and swollen. The flushed folds that surrounded it, all coated in evidence of her arousal.
And her slippery hole, just aching to be filled.
God, she was aching to be filled.
She couldn’t even resist slipping a finger in there.
Though he didn’t mind. No, he didn’t mind at all.
“Fuck, look how wet you are already.”
“I’m always wet for you. Always.”
“And your clit...” he said.
But he didn’t wait for her answering moan. He just bent and licked between her fingers, right over the thing he’d just sighed over. And he didn’t do it slowly or teasingly. He did it like he wanted her to really feel it. Like he wanted her to buck and cry out—and dear god, she did. Her hips rocked up before she could stop them, a sound like something dying pushing past her lips.
Though, that was fine. He was ready for that move. In fact, it almost seemed like he’d engineered it, because the moment she lifted off the bed he got hold of her around her waist. He pulled her close to him, so firmly it should have been a shock.
Instead, it had her shaking. Twenty seconds in, and she was shaking—another twenty, and she’d be there. She knew she would. She could feel it coiling in the pit of her stomach and pulsing in her stiff little clit. Every insistent stroke of his tongue just sent a hot ache through her, until it just couldn’t be denied.
She was going to come. Any second now.
Just a little more, she thought. So close.
And then he pulled away, and she wanted to scream.
She almost did scream, in fact.
Until he spoke.
“Want to do it on my cock?” he asked.
Then seemed to delight in her losing her fucking mind.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, yes.”
“Turn around then. Like yesterday.”
“Like this? Is this good?”
She got up on her knees, shakily, clumsily.
Then just about managed to turn and get hold of the headboard.
But he wanted more. Jesus, he wanted more.
“Spread your legs wider.”
“Okay, okay yeah.”
“Show me that sweet little pussy.”
“Ohhhhh fuck, Isaac, I’m so close, hurry.”
“Wait, wait. Be patient. I have to get you ready first.”
“I’m ready now. Please just do it. Just work me open with your cock.”
She didn’t really expect him to. But the next thing she felt was the swollen head of his prick, rubbing over her entrance. She felt him pushing against her, slow and gentle but firm enough that she started to give. Her pussy opened for him, enough that he could slide a little way in. And then a little more. A little more.
Until finally he was there. He was inside her.
And lord in heaven, it was as good as she remembered.
All she had to do was rock against him, and that thick cock shoved against all the best places inside her. It sent sparks of white hot sensation through her body, so bright and beautiful she couldn’t help gasping. She couldn’t help doing it again, and again.
Really, he didn’t even have to fuck her.
But when he did…when he grabbed her hips and started to move… It was like nothing else in the world. It made her cry out too loudly and clutch at him too wildly.
And most of all, it made her talk.
“Tell me how it looks,” she said, before she could stop herself.
But that was fine. He didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary—it only seemed to make him fuck into her harder. He started near pounding her, and oh, his voice was strained when he answered. “Like you can hardly take me.”
“Ohhhh, yeah. Oh, that’s so good.”
“You’re so tight around me.”
“Yeah keep going. Keep talking.”
“When I almost pull out, you cling to the head of my cock.
“Mmmmmmm, yeah, yeah, more.”
“And you’re so wet, so slippery—I can see it shining all over me. I can see it spilling through your folds whenever I draw back,” he said, and then, she was just there. She was coming. She was gasping and shuddering, loud and hard enough that she was sure he was about to pull away. Though, when he didn’t, it wasn’t quite the relief she was hoping for.
Instead, it just made her realize something.
“Have you…did you come?”
“It’s fine. It’s fine I don’t need to.”
“Of course you need to. That’s crazy.”
“No honestly I just…I’m good.”
“What do you mean? What—”
She stopped mid-sentence, there. Though really, she’d known as soon as she’d felt him shaking against her. It was the reason he’d put his back to her, she knew.
Though it seemed so crazy she had to ask.
“Oh my god. Have you actually had an orgasm since we started doing this?”
“Uh…I guess that depends on how far back you mean when you say started.”
“I mean the start of this weekend, Isaac. I mean since you jerked off.”
“Well, I’ve definitely enjoyed myself during that time period.”
If they’d been face to face, she would have shaken her fist at him.
Instead, she gritted her teeth and ground out, “That is not an answer.”
“It is. You just don’t like it.”
“Of course I don’t like it. You’ve made me come like a million times, and you haven’t done it once? That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. You must be in agony.”
“Honestly, it’s not so bad.”
She could practically feel him shrugging.
But there were other things she could feel harder.
He was still shaking, for a start. He was shaking so hard she was convinced she could hear his teeth chattering. And his breath against the side of her face was incredibly hot and really wavery. Like he was just barely holding on.
Like it was driving him out of his mind to be this restrained.
And she just couldn’t allow that to continue.
“Tell me how to do it. Just…tell me what you want me to do.”
“Sometimes, there isn’t something that can be done.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. This is all about you still trying to stay in control—well, we’re going to get past that right now. Just say what you need to get off.”
“I have no idea. Honestly, Lydia,” he said.
But she could tell he was lying.
“You do have an idea. Tell me.”
“It’s not something I really think about.”
“Then think about it now.”
She expected it to take some time.
“Fuck me.”
“We’re already—”
“No. No. I mean, you fuck me.”
“You want me to…you want—”
“I want you to get on top and fuck me.”
“Okay. Okay yeah I can do that. I can do that,” she said.
Though, somehow, she didn’t think it would make much difference. It seemed like such a small way of tackling something so big—yet as soon as he was beneath her, she saw the shift all over his face. She didn’t even have to sink down on his incredibly swollen cock to get him to some lust-choked place.
Then when she finally did, his head went back.
A sound came out of him, unlike any she’d heard before.
It was almost a grunt of sheer and unadulterated pleasure, and it wasn’t the last one he made. He didn’t get a hold of himself, at that point. There was no reining anything in. Her being over him just seemed to knock down whatever walls he’d built up, and once they were gone, that was it. He moaned, and gasped, and bucked up into her, until she wasn’t sure who was enjoying this more. Him, as he finally got what he needed.
Or her, just watching it happen.
Though, when he finally started to tip over, she knew for sure. It was him, it was him, oh, it was
definitely him. He almost seemed to come apart at the seams. Seventeen different expressions poured across his face—and all of them were amazing. All of them were things she hadn’t seen before. Things she hadn’t thought were possible for him. There was wonder and awe and excitement and then finally, finally.
Just bliss, sheer bliss.
Chapter Fifteen
It was just a small sense that something was wrong at first. Small enough that she didn’t even open her eyes. She just batted it away and tried to go back to sleep, but of course, as soon as she did, the feeling spread. The faint dreams that flitted through her mind turned sour. Awareness crowded in, too sharp and too clear.
Then she reached across the bed for Isaac, and there it was.
His warm, heavy presence was missing. In fact, the sheets were cool—as if he’d been gone a long time. So not just a glass of water or the bathroom, her mind informed her. And after that, she was wide awake. She sat up, straining for signs of him. The pad of his feet on the wooden floors, maybe. A creak from a chair he’d sat in.
But there was nothing. Just silence, silence, silence and a completely irrational sense that things had gotten too good. They’d gotten too good, and now it was all going to fall apart. The pressure had gotten too much for him. Their lives were too incompatible. He had probably fled to Europe, to start a new life with a girl who didn’t like sex as much.
Though, it wasn’t a relief to discover she was wrong.
She padded into the living room, and found him standing by the front door. Only standing wasn’t exactly the right word. He’d pushed his back up against the wall and seemed to be crouched almost—like he was listening, she thought. Listening intently, and with that kind of alertness he had, dialed up high.
Oh, and then there was the gun.
He had fucking gun in his hand.
She has no idea how, or where he’d gotten it from. But it was there. She wasn’t imagining it. There was no way to imagine it. The thing was the size of a brick and blacker than tar. He had to use both hands to hold it—though part of her wondered if this was just the way you were supposed to do it.
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