Page 32 of Selfish Desires

Vincent pulled out of my pussy mid-clench, tore off the condom, and then I felt his hot jets of cum paint my back. He groaned as his fingers traced patterns over the sticky heat on my skin. Our pants were the only sounds as we caught our breaths. His hands moved slowly but with a purpose; they touched me everywhere as if he were trying to memorize every inch of my flesh.

A bitter chill rippled across my skin when Vincent’s hands left my body. And when his footsteps moved away from the chair, my pulse soared, and instantly, I thought he was doing it again: abandoning me. I heard the faucet turn on from the bathroom, not daring to look. I let my ears guide my emotions, convincing me that he would be back.

Soon, the gush of the water ceased, and I listened as footsteps padded softly against the plush carpet. I held my breath, waiting with baited anticipation for the uncertainty of his return to shatter. Soft material brushed against my sticky back, and a soothing voice whispered, “I’m here, Wendy, I’m not going anywhere.”

The cotton towel swept over me gently, clearing away the remnants of our mixed juices. My heart still raced, but a comfort snaked around it now, hushing its frantic beat.

“Turn around,” he commanded gently. A contrast to the earlier dominance he exuded minutes ago. I obeyed, turning to face him, bracing myself against the chair for support. I looked up at Vincent as he towered over me, a soft smile on his lips. He dropped to his knees in front of me and took my hands. His rough palms felt comforting against my flushed skin. His thumbs traced circles on my knuckles as he lifted one hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss.

“You're still here,” I whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

Vincent looked startled momentarily before bringing my hands to his chest, resting over his heart. “I'm not going anywhere,” he vowed again, looking deep into my eyes.

I nudged forward to press my forehead against his. His warm breath mingled with mine. Our lips met in a lazy and lingering kiss, with no urgency like before. It was as if, with each passing second, he was assuring me of his loyalty, commitment, and love. But was it enough for me? I could have said something to add to the moment, except all I wanted to do was listen and stay quiet.

“Come here,” he said, lifting me like a feather and carrying me to the bed. He laid me down like a precious piece of crystal glassware. His eyes, those intense ocean-blue eyes of his, bore into mine, speaking volumes without uttering a single word. “I'm here, Wendy.” He repeated the line at least three times. His voice was as soft as the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across our entwined bodies. Vincent covered me under the thick golden duvet blanket and handed me a chilled glass of water. He brought the cup to my lips, and I drank obediently. While I downed half the glass, I watched Vincent pull on his black boxers and raid the mini fridge, grabbing whatever overpriced snack he assumed I would enjoy.

He returned with a small packet of chocolate-covered almonds. He sat on the bed beside me, his back leaning against the headboard and one arm draped over my waist. His lips brushed against my forehead. “I assume you still like these?” Vincent tore open the pack, offering me a few morsels. I took it because that was what I was supposed to do. First, listen, and then be taken care of. Except, something about this felt too easy.

“I do.” I chewed slowly.

“Do you remember the night on the yacht?” he asked.

A smile tugged at my lips as I recalled the memory. “How could I forget? You'd been trying to impress me with your sailing skills.”

“And I ended up capsizing the boat,” he finished for me, laughing at the story, and when his eyes searched my face to join in, his face dropped.

Because I wasn’t smiling. I was a statue.

Vincent cleared his throat, shifting away from me. “I know it’ll take time to rebuild what we lost, but I’m ready to do whatever I need to do to make you believe me.”

“You used a condom,” I blurted out, sitting straight up but bringing the covers with me to conceal my breasts.

A half-nervous laugh escaped Vincent’s mouth. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“We never used condoms when we were together.” I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly realizing I didn’t want to be here. What I needed to do was think about everything alone.

“Well, it’s been a while since you and I…you know.” He gestured between us. “And I wasn’t going to assume you’re on birth control. I was just acting responsible.”

“Responsible?” I repeated and then understood how much work it would take to fix things between us and how much time we lost. Throwing off the blanket, I stumbled off the mattress when Vincent’s fingertips brushed my forearm, but I jerked it away. “I’m fine.” I grabbed my discarded clothes from the floor and threw them onto my body.

“Wendy, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m getting dressed. I have to go home.”

He shot up, the sheet pooling to his waist as he watched me. “Wendy, wait.” The desperation ran thick in Vincent’s tone.

“Vincent, I need time.” I fumbled with my jean’s zipper before managing to pull it up. My heart hammered in my chest as I kept my back to him, afraid of what I'd see in his eyes if I turned around.

“Time for what?” he asked as his bare feet padded across the plush carpet toward me.

“Are you serious right now?” I spun around, finding Vincent hovering over me.

“Look, I know this is a lot, but let’s figure this out together. It’s always going to be us going forward.”

“I’m not sure what I want right now.” I delivered a deadpan expression, only to be met with Vincent’s wide, shocked orbs. He really thought he had me. Well, he was about to find out he would need to work like a fucking dog to earn me back. I pulled on my leather jacket and grabbed my purse from the table while Vincent continued to study me like a math equation he couldn’t solve. “Did you really think by fucking me tonight, you’d have me just like that?” I snapped my fingers.

“Wendy, it’s not like that.” Vincent shook his head.

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