Page 184 of The Last Good Man

Either way, I’m happy we’re no longer talking about it, but nothappythat my mood is so affected.

That changes dramatically when he slides his hand undermeand also grabs the back of my neck.

If this were a fight, I’d surely tap the floor.

But it’s not.

He locks me in place, strokes my clit with deft fingers, and rams into me like he wants to rip me open.

The thoughts get pushed to the back of my mind as I get transformed into bits of pleasure by the man plunging into me from behind.

34

MELODY

Monday

I spent my weekend running online searches about sore vaginas.

And today, Monday, I have to face the ugly truth.I can’t walk without experiencing painbetweenmy legs.

He fucked me for about three hours Saturday night with small breaks to shower and light a cigarette, breaking the rules of the building again––with my blessing, I might add.

He leaned against the window sill with only a low–sitting towel around his hips and his tattooed body on display while I studied him with wonder in my eyes.

He invited me to smoke with him, and I said no.

I had given in to enough guilty pleasures––he was one of them––and I didn’t need another one.

When he finished smoking, he checked his phone for messages––I thought it was odd––and then signaled me to the bed while he unwrapped his towel, his erection jutting in the air.

He wanted me naked all the time, which pushed my limits in new ways. I’m not used to walking naked in my house. I’m more of a creature of soft, silky, or fuzzy fabrics sliding over my body with infinite tenderness.

I like to be tucked, held, and pampered.

But I complied.

Generally speaking, I’m comfortable in my skin and don’t dwell on my physical imperfections. My perception is skewed when it comes to them, anyway.

So I’m mildly confident about how I look, but he changed that every time he reached for me, ran his hand through my hair, pressed his lips to mine, and nudged my mouth open.

Without my sexy heels, I was no longer the sassy woman.I was the girl swept off her feet.

The mistress.

The lover.

We had sex several times, and I made myself available for him with perfectly lubricated sex and orgasms that throbbed around his length.

He liked to fuck me.

And I liked how he fucked me.

We never talked about us or any other life issue.

We had sex, and he fucked my brains out.Just what the doctor ordered.

At one point, he was in the bathroom, showering, and I was in bed, basking in the afterglow. The sensation was sublime, so I fell asleep.

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