Page 93 of Selfish Desires

“Yes, but believe it or not, I’m kinda sore.” Wendy half laughed and cupped my face, bringing our lips together, our tongues dancing against the other.

“Fine. I’ll let you rest.” I paused. “For now.” I winked and rolled to the side, my hand still fondling one of her hard nipples. It was impossible for me not to touch Wendy. My body craved constant contact with her warm, silky skin.

“Vincent.” Her voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter, “I've been thinking...”

Sensing the seriousness in her tone, I shifted my gaze down at her. “What is it?” My hand reached up to tuck a thick, stray, dark lock of hair behind her ear.

She bit her lip nervously. “How come you hold back when we have sex now?”

“What do you mean?” A shadow crossed my face, and Wendy must have noticed because she shifted away and drew the sheets up to cover her juicy breasts.

“You know what I mean.” Wendy tucked in her chin.

“Use your words, Wendy.”

“I'm not sure how to...” She fumbled, her gaze rooted to the ceiling above us.

“Try.” My tone was gentler. I turned on my side, propping my head up with my hand as I waited for her to find the right words.

“I mean... before, when we made love,” she started, her eyes finally meeting mine. The vulnerability in them was raw. “You were always... rougher.”

“And now?” I prompted, tilting my head slightly.

“Now,” she paused, “it's like you're afraid. Like you're holding something back...” Her voice trailed off, and she shifted uncomfortably under my gaze.

“Didn't think you'd noticed,” I admitted, running a thumb over her swollen belly. “What do you miss specifically?” My eyebrow raised.

“I miss everything. Don’t get me wrong, you are the best and still the best…”

I threw my head back, laughing while still rubbing Wendy's stomach's sweet, taut skin. “But, there must be something you miss the most?”

“I told you I miss it all,” Wendy insisted, wrapping her hand around my forearm.

“Show me what you miss most.” And I already knew as her grip slid up my arm until her fingers tightened around my wrist.

Wendy considered my request momentarily before guiding my hand and opening my fingers with hers. She positioned my hand inches away from her neck. When I didn’t protest but didn’t grant permission either, Wendy cautiously moved my digits until they pressed against her skin.

I froze, and my eyes shot to hers. She met my gaze, an unspoken question hovering between us. Swallowing thickly, I began to pull my hand away, but she tightened her grip around my wrist, holding me in place.

“Is this what you want?” My voice came out as nothing more than a whisper. The question hung in the air.

“Not if it scares you,” she murmured, looking down at where our hands were entangled together.

“No,” I quickly denied, “it doesn't scare me.” Liar. “But I don't want to hurt you, Wendy.”

“You never hurt me before...” Her voice trailed off as if she was lost in her own thoughts. Her hand relaxed its grip on my wrist but didn’t withdraw from its position over her throat. “I miss this.”

“But why? I mean, I get it. I really do,” I said as my hand closed around Wendy’s smooth, elegant neck, but I didn’t squeeze. At least, not yet. “It’s sexy as fuck, and it gives me a rush, knowing I’m taking something from you, bringing you to that edge of vulnerability. But what does it do for you?”

“But, what does it do for you?” Vincent asked as he applied just the slightest amount of pressure to set my skin on fire, and a gush of warm arousal flooded my pussy.

I had thought long and hard about why one night I suddenly yearned for this treatment whenever Vincent and I fucked. Even when he was gone, I missed it. I couldn’t just accept sex without it. This moment with the man I loved, who shattered me once, where I almost permitted it to happen again, granted me the clarity I needed.

Through it all, the love, the heartbreak, the reconciliation, it came down to trust. I trusted Vincent would make me feel like the most amazing person. At the same time, the unspoken possibility of being hurt always existed. Even the simple things, like walking side by side in the street, taking a wrong step, and falling, I’d trust his instincts would be present enough to catch me or pick me right back up after falling. And when I was in his arms, amid passion, having Vincent’s hand wrapped around my neck, threatening to deprive me of an essential function to live but knowing he’d keep me safe, ultimately made me want to forfeit that control, especially to him. I could have spelled all this out to Vincent, and he must have known it to an extent, except he didn’t need to hear every single thought or rationale flowing through my mind. Sometimes, it was okay to keep reasons to yourself and let the person closest to you figure out the rest.

“What it comes down to for me is the ultimate form of trust, on top of you making me feel fucking amazing during sex.” I sucked my bottom lip through my teeth, quelling a smile as a rush of color flooded Vincent’s cheeks.

He fake hid behind his side of the blanket and playfully pushed my shoulder. “Aw, shucks. Well, if you’re going to put it like that.”

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