Page 97 of Never Let You Go

“Christopher,” I pant.

“Alexandra. Come for me. Now.”

I keen, my knees tremble, and my arms grow weak as I let out a wail that doesn’t begin to match the undoing that tears my insides deliciously apart.

He places a hand over my mouth. “Fuck, baby, love the way you scream for me.” He’s still pumping in and out of me, harder and stronger and faster, one hand wrapped around my waist as the first tremors of my orgasm render me unable to hold myself up, while his other hand muffles my wailing. I arch against his front as my orgasm rolls out, seizing me body and soul. His thrusts increase until he stiffens, his arms clamp around my body, and he growls against my ear as our eyes lock again through the reflection in the window.

We stay like that several moments without breath, heartbeats wild, hair matted, my limbs weak, his strength alone carrying us both.

Then he lifts me into his arms and sets me on the bed. He takes care of the condom and lies on his back, pulling me onto his chest.

His heart is still beating fast, and I love the way his hand plays in my hair.

I love it and it scares me.

twenty-six

Christopher

For three days, I resisted having sex with her.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I told myself this would be a fuck session of the basest kind. I was going to blow my load and get out.

With all the other women, I’d begin to lose interest after the first time, anyway. The novelty wore out.

It’d be the same with her. Especially if I kept it raw. Sexual.

That’s the promise I made myself when I broke my personal commitment and went to her room.

That I wouldn’t do anything tender or sensual.

I wouldn’t give.

I’d only take.

So when I saw her in that dress, I was ready to take. But what I saw in her eyes the minute she started talking?

So vulnerable.

So tender.

So fragile.

I forgot her body for a hot second.

I wanted to take her, all of her, and not in a sexual way.

Then she said something about leaving. About me having a few months to get her out of my system. And I got it. She’s too good for me. She’s not gonna stay. So what? I can still have her, sexually, I thought, as long as I protect myself.

So I came up with a plan, fast, while we were still standing, but she was already panting, her hand exploring me, her body already against mine.

The plan I devised while we toyed around and bickered and figured our shit out, was: Avoid looking her directly in the eye while I fucked her. Avoid having her wrap herself around me in any way that could be tender. Therefore, use doggy style. Blow my load like a caveman. Leave.

Fucking her in front of the window—the whole town was asleep, there’s no chance in hell I would let anyone see her magnificent tits—was in line with the plan.

What was not in line with the plan, was the way she reacted to every one of my moves. The way she liked everything I did to her. Genuinely liked it.

The way she said my name.

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