by Alex Wolf
She moans my name once more as the orgasm rolls through her in huge undulating waves. Then when it subsides, she gasps out a breath she’d been holding the entire time. Her chest rises and falls her lungs practically begging for oxygen.
I immediately sit up and strip my shirt off, then look down at her. Her eyes are hungry, unsatisfied, as if the previous orgasm was just an appetizer, and now she needs more.
I unbutton my pants and fling them down my legs, freeing my dick. I’m so fucking hard it hurts, and when my eyes land on her glistening pussy, my nostrils flare.
Annoyed, I start to get off the bed to reach for the drawer, but Meadow’s hand flies out and stops me.
I know exactly what she’s suggesting, her intent clear just by the look on her face, and fuck me if I don’t want it too. I don’t know how wise it is, though. I don’t want to take advantage of this situation and end up doing something we both regret. The burden falls on me to be the voice of reason right now. I know this, whether she does or not.
“Meadow, I need to get protection.”
She shakes her head at me again. “I want to feel you. Please.”
It’s so reckless and stupid. My brain knows this. I have a multi-billion-dollar business it puts at risk. If she gets pregnant, something happens, it’s dangerous.
But the look in her eyes, the thought of coming inside her, finally marking her, letting the world know she’s mine—it’s unbearable.
Before I know what’s happened, I’m between her legs, my dick lined up, my forehead pressed against hers, staring into her eyes.
“You’re sure?” Goddamn, the thought that with one quick movement of my hips, I can slide deep inside Meadow’s hot pussy—the animalistic urges are overwhelming.
She nods. “Yes. I’m sure.”
My lips press into hers as I slowly thrust forward, and holy fucking shit. Sex with Meadow is already an out-of-this-world experience with a condom. Without one, it takes it to an entirely new level.
She’s so hot and tight, the physical differences alone are enough for me to never want to use a condom again. But the real difference is all mental, emotional, the connection I feel with her now, like we’re one, joined together. It feels so fucking good and right, and I don’t know if anything has ever compared to this before, or ever will after.
I continue to kiss her, our tongues exploring one another as I slide in and out of her, over and over. She gasps against my mouth with each deep thrust into her, then her teeth come down and bite my lower lip.
I kiss down her jaw and up to her neck. “You feel so fucking good. You don’t know how happy you make me.”
The second I say the words, she clenches around me. She squeezes me so hard, I damn near pass out from the euphoria. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, having her bare, but I guess I have all night long to do whatever we want.
It’s all so surreal. Just a few months ago, I don’t think anyone could convince me I would ever actually care for a woman. I would’ve laughed. Now, with Meadow beneath me, writhing against my chest, I don’t think there’s anything in this world I wouldn’t do to protect her, keep her safe. I never want her out of my sight, which is so fucking unreasonable it makes my head spin, but that’s what I feel inside. This unbelievable urge. She drives me insane in the most intimate, important ways.
This whole experience is different because I realize I’m making love to her. She’s the only woman where there’s been an emotional connection during sex. I’ve fucked many women, but I’ve never cared about them.
I kiss down to Meadow’s collar bone as I thrust into her, over and over, trying to go deeper each time, feel a new part of her I’ve never felt before. Both of us begin to sweat, and our bodies glide together, panting, gasping, fingers roaming.
It’s finally too much, and my balls tighten.
I reach down between us and stroke her clit with my index finger, hoping I can get her off again before I explode. “Fuck, I’m close. Are you?” I ask.
Meadow nods against me, her whole face tight, like she’s barely holding on too.
I stroke her clit faster and increase the tempo of my hips. The wet clapping sound of my thighs driving up against her ass echoes through my bedroom.
“Oh God.” Her nails dig into my back, hard enough to leave marks up and down my skin, and she shudders, then clamps down on my dick.
As her orgasm crests and she comes with me inside her, it’s too much to take.
I start to pull out, and her nails dig even harder into me, yanking me against her. “Come inside me.” It’s the sexiest fucking words ever whispered in history.
My heart redlines at the sound of it, and I shove into her as hard and as deep as I can. I try to hold it, but it’s too much, and hot jets of come shoot into the depths of her as I groan and grunt.
It’s so primal, humanity on its most basic level, doing what it was meant to do. Fuzzy stars dance in front of my eyes, and this euphoric rush, just a complete daze wafts over me as I come so hard inside her it streams out the sides of my cock and drips down her thighs onto the mattress.
I’m not even sure how best to describe the feeling, the symbolism of what just happened. Sure, it’s sex, and a biological release and all that. But it’s so much more than that too. It’s like we’re bound on a spiritual level, souls intertwined, quantum entangled together. It’s something we’ll always have, and that’s between only us and no other person on the planet.
It’s special, something I will never forget.
One thing I do know as I stare at Meadow, our eyes locked onto one another, is that there’s a satisfied grin on her face, and there are no tears in her eyes.
She’s happy.
For at least one brief moment, I actually did make her forget, eased all the pain in her heart, and gave her a momentary reprieve.
I kiss her once more, then roll over and collapse on the side of her, pulling her close to me. We stay wrapped up, just like that, and silence stretches between us for what seems an eternity as I spoon her in my arms.
All I do is kiss the back of her head, her neck, her shoulders, over and over. I want to worship her nonstop, prove to her she’s the only thing in the world I give a fuck about. Show her how special she is to me, how I’ll do anything for her, and that I’ll always be here.
She needs to know I’m not some stepping stone along her path in life; I’m a permanent fixture, here to stay.
Eventually, she just says, “Thank you.”
I roll her over, so she’s facing me, and shake my head at her. “You never have to thank me. I’ll do anything for you.” I stroke the side of her cheek with my hand. “Anything.”
She leans into my hand, and her eyes close. I glance around, and only one thought crosses my mind. This is where she belongs. Not this physical place, in my house, but with me. She belongs with me, always, for the rest of our lives. I’d give up everything I own for just one fucking day of this if I had to.
I want her—forever.
She curls up against me, nuzzling into my shoulder, like she just wants to be protected from the world. She’s the toughest woman I’ve ever met, but it just proves that everyone craves comfort when things get tough. They want safety, and I will fight to the death to give it to her.
She tenses up a little in my arms and says, “Can I ask you to do one more thing?” The way she constricts in my arms tells me it’s going to be a very serious request. “I feel so bad, like I keep trying to take and take from you.”
“Don’t. I told you I’ll do anything. I mean it. I want to be there for you.”
Her voice cracks a little when she tries to ask, but she takes a deep breath and says, “Will you go to the funeral with me? I don’t know if I can make it through this without you.”
I lift her chin with one finger, angling her gaze up to mine so she can see the conviction in my eyes, and tell her everything she needs to know just with my stare. “Of course I will. Anything you want, I will do it.”
> She nods a little, as if to tell me how grateful she is, then nuzzles back into me. After a long yawn, she whispers, “Thank you.”
I nuzzle up against her to let her know I’m not going anywhere. It’s only about six pm, but within a few minutes, she’s asleep in my arms.
Guilt riddles my stomach. Not that I’m hiding anything or doing anything wrong. I just hate profiting from her pain like this. Because while she’s probably never been sadder in her life, I’ve never been happier with her in my arms.
Meadow Carlson
I’m a wreck at the funeral home getting things ready. Honestly, the fact Dad is here helping me might be the only thing that has kept this from being a complete shit show. I know Mom wouldn’t care one way or the other, as long as everyone she loved was there and getting along. Her bar would seriously be that low.
Somehow, something tells me if this isn’t perfect, it will dishonor her in some way. Maybe it’s all the guilt from neglecting the time we did have together.
The fact is, doing something like this, it’s something I would’ve asked my mom to help me with. I feel lost without her here. That hits me all at once, and I just—the only thing comforting me is that Wells will be here soon. I told him he didn’t have to come early and help with stuff, but he pretty much told me there was no way in hell that was happening.
I just hate forcing this kind of situation on him. Truth be told, though, I’m super impressed with how he’s handled this whole thing. Mom didn’t have a church or anything, and I certainly don’t go to one, so Wells talked to some friends at The Hunter Group, and they put me in touch with Pastor Jeremiah.
I was a little skeptical about the religion aspect, but to be honest, the man is perfect. He hasn’t mentioned God or Jesus once, in fact. He’s so helpful and says all the right things. We just met up with him last night, and he’s helped Dad and I get through all the preparations for the service, and I couldn’t have asked for someone better.
Despite everything Wells has done, I still have this vision of him in my head, only caring about his own interests, only doing what’s best for himself. It doesn’t line up with reality at all. He’s been there for me more than I could’ve ever imagined, and I’m falling for him so damn hard and fast.
Who am I kidding? I fell for him a long time ago. He’s pretty much everything I have, the only person I can really trust.
Dad is great and all, and we’re mending things, but Dad is still Dad. He’s just—flaky. It’s in his nature. There’s still a lot of distrust there, feelings that need to be dealt with over a much longer timeline.
Dad comes around the corner, looks at me, then says, “Shit, the programs.” He spins on a dime, and it’s so cute, as cute as it can be, I guess, that it momentarily takes me out of the fact I’m trying to prepare this place for my mother’s funeral.
Pastor Jeremiah comes up and goes over the itinerary once more with me.
“Thank you so much.”
“Not a problem.” He puts a hand on my arm and whispers, “This shit’s hard. Trust me.”
I actually laugh. I’ve never heard a pastor talk like this guy. I might’ve actually given church a go if I knew someone like him was the leader.
He gets a serious look about him and says, “I want to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“You will experience emotions you’ve never felt before once we’re in the middle of this thing. Please, be in the moment, and just honor your mother. Feel how you feel, and don’t try to force yourself to be one way or another. I will be right there as backup, so you can express those emotions however you see fit, deal with them in any way you wish. Do not worry about a thing. You don’t have to put on an Oscar-worthy performance. Nobody is grading you. Just be yourself, grieve, and celebrate your mother’s life. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I nod. “Seriously. Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me.”
It’s incredible how he anticipates every single thing, but he’s like eighty and has probably done thousands of these, so I guess you get pretty good at your job.
“I need to go do a few more things. Holler if you need anything.”
“Will do.” I check my watch, to see if it’s time for Wells to get here yet. I need him more than I need anyone else.
Pastor Jeremiah walks off to another room of the funeral home.
It’s still fifteen minutes prior to the time I asked Wells to come. It feels like it’s going to be an eternity, and I’m getting more anxious by the minute, despite Pastor Jeremiah’s little pep talk.
The more I think about Wells, the more I realize I haven’t even told Dad I’m dating someone right now. I haven’t even mentioned him to Dad because I’m a private person, and my father hasn’t really earned the right to know that kind of information yet. Over time, I think the two of us can heal, but right now, I’m still guarded around him.
Plus, I didn’t really know where things were going with Wells until the day he called that meeting at my office. The way he took charge, wanted to handle everything for me but not take things over. He wanted to make my life easier, so I could focus on the things I needed to focus on.
I think that’s really what it’s all about. Finding someone who complements you, wants to ease your burdens, and you want to do the same in return for them.
I’m aware I really don’t know a ton about his past yet because we haven’t had a chance to really dig into those things. Everything has been so unconventional, not a standard courtship, so to speak. But I don’t even care. I just know with him I feel like we’ve pretty much already been battle-tested more than most couples who have been together for years.
In a matter of a few months, we’ve been through a lot.
I used to make fun of people I knew for falling head-over-heels, but now I kind of get it.
Just as I’m thinking about him, how special he’s become to me, the man himself walks through the front of the funeral home, ten minutes earlier than I asked him to be. I know he has to feel a million different ways about this; unsure, worried about how I’ll react. I know he has to have a ton of reservations, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him.
He’s one hundred percent confident, and God, I feel even more guilty for even noticing, but he looks phenomenal in his suit. I can almost hear my mother from the grave, giving me an elbow nudge and saying, “Well done, Meadow. That is a fine looking man.”
We would’ve died laughing together, drinking a glass of wine and talking all about him after he left the room. I wish she could have met him. She would’ve loved him. I can picture him trying to win her over, wooing her, just to make me happy. She would’ve let him and enjoyed every second of it.
My eyes never leave his, but I’m somewhere else, thinking about him meeting Mom. Yeah, he would’ve definitely turned on the charm for her like no other.
I must be grinning right now, because Wells looks so somber and serious, then he sees me and smiles.
“Hey.” He walks over like he can’t get next to me fast enough, with huge, long strides. He kisses me on the lips but takes care to make it not inappropriate. His hands immediately find both of my arms and he caresses the backs of them. “What do you need?”
I look up at him, and for some reason, I just can’t stop thinking about how much Mom would’ve loved him. It’s not fair. If I’d just met him a few months earlier. That’s all it would’ve taken.
My thoughts go to Dad, and how he’ll at least get a chance to know him. Until he goes back to prison anyway, after all this.
Shit.
I need to introduce them. How did I not think about this beforehand? Introducing my boyfriend to my father at my mother’s funeral. It was the furthest thing from my mind the past few days. I’m a fucking wreck, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.
“I don’t need anything, but I have someone I want you to meet.”
Wells looks intrigued. “Think I can manage that. Easy enough.”
“It�
�s my father.”
Covington’s eyes get big. “Oh.”
Too late for warnings, I might as well rip this damn band aid off. I yell, “Dad! Come here. I want you to meet someone.”
Dad comes hustling around the corner with his head down at first, rifling through the stack of programs. When he finally looks up, he freezes dead in his tracks.
When I say freezes, I mean he freezes.
Looks like he didn’t just see one ghost, but a damn horde of them. His whole face is pale, and his hands tremble so hard he drops the programs all over the floor.
No, what is this? What’s happening here?
My stomach tightens so hard I almost think I might be nauseous. Something isn’t right. Something about how Dad stares. It’s not good. I can feel the dread pumping through my veins. I don’t want to turn back and look, but I can’t stop myself. It’s a natural reaction.
And what I find absolutely breaks my heart almost instantly.
Wells Covington might be the most emotionally controlled man I’ve ever known, has more restraint than anyone. He can sit there and take just about any kind of abuse with nothing but a cocky smirk on his face, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, because everything will always work out in his favor. But I’ve never seen him look like this before. I don’t know if anyone has ever seen him look like this.
His face is bright red, nostrils flared, teeth clenched shut. My eyes dart down, and both of his hands are balled into tight fists. Fists so tight the whites of his knuckles show.
What the fuck just happened?
“What is this?” I fold my arms over my chest, despite the fact I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared in my life. “What’s going on here? Wells?”
He lifts one of his hands slowly and points his index finger right at Dad. “That’s your father?” His words come straight through his teeth, and the tone in his voice rips me apart from the inside. All I can think is this is so wrong. This should not be happening, no matter what’s going on, or what history there is here. “Him?” He yells the last part, so loud it echoes through the funeral home, all the way into the sanctuary.