Walking Heartbreak

by Sunniva Dee

  “You’re special,” I whisper as I kiss her backwards in through the apartment door. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Nadia. Jesus, you’re so…”

  I’m not a bedroom talker. I’m your quiet guy, the one who prefers to make the girl babble and moan and scream. I observe, enjoy what I do to her. My own voice? I hear it enough as it is. And yet here I am, rambling to Nadia between kisses.

  Her mouth puckers through our kiss, tongue meeting mine and sucking. My bedroom door is behind her. I push it open and bring her with me, an arm under hers, lifting her off the floor. I’m impatient. Damn, I’m—

  Bo, she’s skittish. Calm the fuck down.

  I need to rein myself in.

  With a palm at the back of her neck, I angle her upward for better access to her mouth. I lick, and ah, the top button of her shirt has come undone. I slide a hand inside, flat against her sternum, and stroke downward until I cup a breast inside her bra.

  “Uh.” The sound puffs out of her, and it’s natural and genuine. Such a small sound. She’s not trying to impress with fake pleasure—I’m losing my shit!

  “I love your tits, all of you. You’re so damn delicious.”

  Her breathing speeds into short, shallow pants at my words, and I haven’t even removed her clothes yet.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come with me tonight. So glad you did,” I pant out, grinding her against the leg I’ve wedged in between hers. She clamps around me, not riding, but holding on like a good girl.

  “I… wanted to,” she says.

  “You like me?” I sound like a five-year-old.

  “Who doesn’t?” is her answer.

  I lift her and press her against the wall—the same wall Emil is already banging Zoe against on the other side. I smooth my palms against her skin, pulling upward, crumpling her shirt up and helping her raise her arms so I can tug it off. Boob, lots of boob quivering on such a skinny little body. I stroke the indentations between each rib and wrestle her bra up over taut nipples.

  “I don’t know all of your secrets, baby,” I groan, pressing myself into her, crowding her. “But I’m going to extract every damn detail. I want to know everything about you. Nadia, you’re a mystery, a fucking million songs waiting to be written.”

  She likes what I’m saying. She lets out a small, guttural sound, her body alive and squirming against me.

  “Since the other night, you’ve been all I can think of,” I whisper, setting her down to work on her skirt. “The way you felt under me, and…” I cover her mound with my hand, pressing my middle finger inward right at the center. “…around me.”

  Shock and pleasure intermingles in her eyes, and I let go of her panty-clad pussy to grab her face and hold it steady against the wall. I suckle on her mouth, lubricating it with my tongue the way I will her honeypot in a minute. She’s going weak in my arms, but she’s holding on, fingers clutching around my shoulders.

  “Did you like it too?” I ask, daring her to peek outside her sheltered, demure world. A small whimper is her answer. I thrust myself hard against her center and repeat, “Did. You. Like. It?”

  Her whimper is louder, and it turns me on so hard I’d come on the spot. I don’t though. Hell no, I’m not ruining this.

  “That a ‘yes,’ baby?”

  “Yeah…”

  Because she made me wait, because I didn’t speed up and pound her the way I wanted to the last time, because I dreamed of her while writing Fuck You—I grab her panties on both sides where only a string holds them together, and rip them off.

  Nadia lets out a shocked little squeal, and I’m hardly recognizing the way I make love nowadays. It’s her. All her. So modest, reserved, unpretentious, worried… secretive. I want to own her, and I’m impatient. I want her free—as free as in that small moment when she came the other night, spasming around me.

  “Turn, sweetie,” I manage, my voice thick.

  She does, and she’s all naked, the slope of her behind arching for me to feast on. I push myself against her first. Then I lower my shorts so I can rub my dick through her crack. Nice, warm cheeks just here for my pleasure, ready to do with what I want.

  My hands go around her waist, fingers digging in so I can hold her tight. “Have you had sex against a wall before?” I ask, thrusting without entering. I shift to reach her boobs and knead while I work against her, gliding in her juices.

  “No…”

  I’m relieved and pissed for her at once.

  Fucking husband.

  “Raise your butt in the air,” Emil grunts.

  “I am!” Zoe replies.

  “I know, but higher. You want me all the way in, right? This is, like, half the length—you’re squeezing me out!”

  “Hold on,” she mumbles. “There?”

  “Yeah, spread those bunny-buns, baby,” he smarms, and I rip Nadia away from the wall and carry her to the bed.

  “Shit, so sorry. It’s ridiculous in this apartment.”

  “In ours too… the neighbors… all the time,” she manages.

  Emil has a full-on headboard. It’s heavy hardwood, and I’ve told him time and again that he needs to move the bed farther out into the room. The guy never does. Now, it rattles hard against the wall as the two of them agree on a breakneck speed.

  Nadia’s eyes glimmer beneath me, desire and shame warring in them. She’s withdrawing from me, becoming unreachable, and for her sake—for mine—I can’t allow it.

  I form the comforter around her, a makeshift cocoon, revealing enough skin for me to caress. In sweeps much lighter than I crave, I tease her with my nails first, then add the length of my fingers as I draw a nipple out in a gentler version of a kiss.

  I keep my gaze hidden beneath my hair; she’s not the type who gets a kick out of me studying her. I might get her there at some point, but tonight she’s too conflicted, maybe too hampered by her upbringing as well. I need her to feel safe, safe enough to fall apart despite the insanity in the next room.

  I’m over her, leaning on one elbow, thighs pleated with hers, my dick resting along her hip. I don’t push against her anymore. No, I want Nadia to climb so slowly she’s unaware of what’s happening. I want her to surrender to pleasure in a way that would disregard a jumbo jet crashing into our room.

  I make out with this girl slowly. We’re already naked, and I’m dying to rush things so I can feel her around me, but we’re better off with me putting no pressure, no time constraint on this.

  The slightest massage of one breast as we kiss changes the rhythm of her breathing, and I don’t move down her belly, don’t explore other parts of her until she’s arching into my caress with each hard inhale. When she does, I shift my hand to the delicate skin beneath her arm, touching her lightly, adding pressure with my fingertips. It’s not what she wants—she’s eager, goose bumps mixing with hot dampness.

  Oh Nadia. She’s impatient. We’re getting there. I subdue my own need to groan. I wonder if I can make her beg? It might be too much too soon. Subtly, I rub myself along her hip in one stroke. She whimpers, a strong response to such a small move, and I pucker my mouth into our kiss to hide my pleased smile.

  Finally, I lower myself. Slide my hand down her waist and find her hip. Just once, I grasp it firmly, showing her the control I could exert over her if I wanted to, and she lets out the smallest sob that goes straight to my cock.

  “You’re destroying me,” I whisper.

  “Why aren’t you…?” She doesn’t continue.

  “Because I’m not sure you want it.”

  “But…” her voice is a whimper.

  “But what?”

  “I—do.” Two small words that take effort for her to push out.

  The headboard has stopped rocking in Emil’s room. Thank you, Lord. Just quiet murmurs and small giggles reach us now and then.

  “Can I unwrap y
ou from the sheets?” I ask, nuzzling her ear.

  “Yes.”

  I pull the blankets to the side one by one like I’m opening a gift. It’s how I thought of her the first time too: a fucking present. If she were a guitar, she’d be a custom Fender in comparison to the crappy Epiphones offering themselves up after every show.

  I want to play this Fender the way it’s supposed to be played. I roll down her body, licking my way to that succulent flower of hers. Its light aroma causes that groan to finally vibrate from me, and she lifts her ass from the mattress, wanting my tongue deeper.

  I’ll give you deeper.

  “Oh goodness,” she sighs, surprised, a slight tremble in the muscles at the back of her thigh. I squeeze them and lap at her. “Bo…”

  “Yes, darling?” The endearment just escapes, and I don’t regret it.

  Oh darling.

  “I think I need…”

  Ah she’s about to beg. My hard-on rages. I want her to continue.

  “Tell me what you need.” I suckle, waiting, burying my tongue in her, tasting, loving her heat, and hoping she’ll do it.

  Nadia undulates against my face, working with me, helping. She whimpers again, and I adore the understated sounds she can’t hold back. They mean so much more than any screams of pleasure.

  “You don’t want to say it?” I whisper hot against her clit. “Ask me, darling, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  She inhales sharply and holds her breath for an instant. There’s an internal fight going on, that much I catch. Then she exhales, and with the air she lets out comes what I’ve prayed for. “Bo, please… can we be… together?”

  “All the way together? Joined?” I lash out a long stroke across her cleft again, making her jolt.

  Her impatience with me is growing. Good. “Yes!”

  “As in you want to feel me inside of you?”

  “Oh God,” she says, squirming beneath me. She doesn’t answer, so I act like I’m going to lie back down again. “No, no! I mean—yes, please come inside of me.”

  “Come. Inside of me.” Oh fuck me.

  And so I do. I wrap myself in latex and press inside of her. I flip us around and stretch her out on top of me. She’s timid, barely moves, flat and tense against me—until I start rocking into her, pressing her hips down so there is no space left between us.

  “Oh darling,” I mumble, “darling, darling,” and her body reacts to my pleasure and starts a rhythm, rubbing her sweetest spot against me. When we come, we do it together. I’m deep inside her, swelling, twitching, and she clings to me, arms around my body and thighs clamped around mine as her orgasm shivers free.

  I don’t withdraw right after. The intimacy of the moment is too great, and I’m not going to lose it right now. Nadia’s face is buried deep against my neck, and I feel her heart skittering as she comes down from the heights I sent her to.

  I stroke her back like I’m her boyfriend. Soothe her until I realize she’s crying. I drape a sheet over us because I don’t want her to get cold.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, because you never know with girls. Ingela cried a few times after a good orgasm. I hope that’s Nadia’s issue right now.

  “Yeah.” She sniffles. Rubs her face against the pillow beneath us before she turns back in against my neck. “I liked it a lot.”

  “So you’re crying because I was a good lay?” I want her to giggle.

  “Many reasons. That. My husband. My life. You know, good and bad mixed together,” she says.

  I roll her to her back. It’s time I look her in the eyes again. I’ve never run away from hardcore emotions, and I’m not about to start now that this girl might be cracking a door open.

  “Uh,” she protests while I pick a strand of hair from her face and pull it out of the way. “You… slipped out.”

  “Feeling empty?” I ask, and she looks up at me.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve had girlfriends.” I don’t commonly speak about my past. I sing about it.

  “Do you have a girlfriend now?” she wonders, blinking. I can’t tell what she’d think if my answer had been yes.

  “No, we broke up a year ago.”

  “Do you miss her?” The question surprises me. Sure, this is pillow talk, but usually girls prod to make me say the sex was bad, that they’re better, etc. etc. I never bite.

  “Yeah, I do,” I say.

  “She broke up with you?” she asks too, and it’s such a high-school question it makes me chuckle. What does it matter who breaks up with who?

  “Yes, she finally found someone better. Someone who had it in him to love.”

  “To love her, you mean,” Nadia says.

  “Yeah. That too. I don’t actually love though. I’m not made that way.”

  A small frown appears between her eyebrows, and maybe it’s good we talk about this. I might as well lay it out in the open in case she, against all odds, ends up attached to me. What a shitty situation, right, to be married to a guy who doesn’t appreciate her, and then taking a lover on the side who’s unable to love her either. I laugh softly to myself.

  “What?”

  “No, I mean, really. I had the best girlfriend in the world. I meant everything to her, and she meant more than most things to me. But that was it. I’m a walking heartbreak.”

  She smiles at me instead of being outraged. Tips her chin up as if she’s above me and looking down at me. “Nah. Hey, I believe the last part, that you’re a walking heartbreak to the girls at your concerts, but of course you can love someone. You’ll see.

  “One of these days you’ll meet the right girl, and you’ll love her like crazy. I might not have much experience, but the way you listen to my needs without me even speaking tells me what an exceptional human being you are. Once you find that girl, the one you’ll love the way your ex loved you, she’ll be the luckiest woman in the world.”

  I’m stunned silent. It’s the most I’ve heard this beautiful girl say in one sitting.

  “Huh,” I muster in the end. I knew she had depths she wasn’t showing, that the mystery surrounding her is a big part of my attraction to her, but—wow.

  “Sorry.” She hides against my neck again, and I have no idea what she’s apologizing for. “It wasn’t my place to go in and psycho-babble you,” she clarifies. “That just slipped out.” She pulls away enough to meet my eyes again for a split second and says, “I meant every word though. You’re a little bit… amazing.”

  Oh no, and then there’s a sob in her throat again. She swallows it quickly, but she’s still in my arms so I feel it quaver before it disappears. “Nadia,” I say, sounding sterner than I am. “Just… ah. We need to talk. Can we talk?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  I wish I knew what triggers her sadness. Is it just her husband? The whole getting hitched too early and being stuck in a cold marriage? She’s too young and too special to deal with that. I can’t even imagine.

  “Nadia.” I sit up against the wall and hoist her with me. She lets me, a small sigh of reluctance surging from her.

  “Listen,” I murmur. “There’s this huge elephant in the room. I’ll be nice—I won’t pressure you into talking about it. I’ll just tell you what I’ve gathered, and I want you to nod if I’m right and shake your head if I’m wrong. Can you do that for me?”

  It takes her forever to respond. She’s mulling it over. Her body rests on me, the weight of her head nice against my chest. I wonder if she hears the slow, steady thumps my heart makes, so different to the rhythm it jackhammered out while we made love.

  “Darling,” I whisper against her head. “That okay?”

  This time she nods uncertainly.

  I rake my hand into her hair and pull her back. Nadia’s face is innocent, open, and anxious. The mixture does it for me, my dick engorging l
azily beneath her thigh. It’s been a long time since everything about a woman turned me on like this.

  “So,” I begin. “Your husband might have made you happy at some point, but he doesn’t anymore.” Really, what does it matter today if he made her happy back when? “Am I right?”

  I wait. Slowly, she nods against my chest.

  “You wouldn’t have had sex outside your marriage if you got it at home.” Every silent inch of her screams that I’m right. I still hold my breath, steeling myself for her answer, because what if she does this often? She could patent that look, that gorgeous display of innocence and restrained carnal need. Who the hell wouldn’t want to please her right the fuck now with those eyes?

  Yeah. I don’t want that to be the case.

  “No. Never,” she says, and it’s fierce and open and so true my chest tightens with relief.

  “Okay, down to the tiny issues. I’m curious. Bear with me.”

  She groans, worried, but she doesn’t object. She snuggles tighter into me beneath the covers, a bare, warm embrace I haven’t indulged in for months.

  “Your husband’s name is Jude.”

  She nods.

  “He was born… the same year as you?”

  She nods.

  “You don’t spend time together lately.”

  She doesn’t nod. She doesn’t shake her head at me either. Is there an intermediate level to this? You either spend or don’t spend time with your significant other, right? Like when Ingela and I lived oceans apart. No time together. When we both lived in Gothenburg: tons of time together. Duh.

  “No answer?”

  She nods to that.

  “Because it’s complicated?”

  She nods.

  “Okay. Here’s a new addition to your answers,” I improvise. “If the answer isn’t ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ just kiss my chest.”

  Through the mist of sadness my questions bring, her eyes narrow in a smile. “I can do that,” she murmurs, and I kiss her lips, sucking a little on the lower one because I need to.