Page 66 of When I'm Gone

When he has three of them sliding easily in and out, he eyes me. The lust is so strong, it’s hard to breathe around. If he doesn’t fuck me immediately, I’m going to die. A pang of awkwardness surges in my chest. This is the part that is the hardest for me, the distance. But I roll over as Chase finally loses his underwear and rips the condom open, swallowing my mixed emotions. I get the briefest look at him in all hisnaked glory, his cock long, thick and absolutely perfect, before my face is buried in a pillow. At least it smells like him. That makes some of the yucky feelings trying to creep in through the cracks in my resolve go away.

Good. There’s no space for any of that. This moment is for me and Chase, something special. My ghosts aren’t welcome here.

Chase runs his hand up my thigh reverently, making my heart clench. He’s too good for me. The way he’s cherishing my body, it’s evident in every single touch. This is important. I’m important to him. The head of his dick presses against my hole, making me clench involuntarily—I really have never been good at this part.

The soothing, rumbly voice from behind me wraps around me like a hug. “Relax for me, baby.” With a deep breath in and out, I do. “That’s it. You’re doing so good,” he praises as his tip enters.

The burn is there, the stinging sensation of being stretched, but it’s less than normal. Manageable, even. I can totally do this. When I notice he’s not moving, hell, not even breathing from what I can tell, it occurs to me what he’s waiting for. “I’m good, Chase. I promise.”

He grunts an acknowledgement before sinking deeper, slowly. So maddeningly slowly that the pain quickly morphs into pleasure before he’s even halfway inside of me. At long last, his thighs brush against my ass, and I breathe a sigh.

If I thought his dick was big before, I was underestimating him. It’s got nothing on how it feels shoved up my ass. The moans threatening to climb their way out of my throat are getting harder and harder to swallow down.

“Fuck, Easton.” It sounds like his teeth are clenched together, just imagining the cords of his neck strained and standing out makes my mouth water. Fuck, I wanna see him. The whine I release is unavoidable. “So tight. Hot. God.Damn.” He punctuates his words with shallow thrusts that I feel in my damn ribs.

It takes shoving my fist in my mouth to keep silent after that. When he moves my legs further apart and pushes on my lower back so it’s arched, I see stars. Each thrust lights me up in the best way. The sound of skin slapping together is obscene. The groans of pleasure mingled in with mumbled praises makes me itch to see his face. See what he looks like as he pounds into me.

Stop it,I scold myself. I’m lucky enough to even be here with him. Be happy with that and leave it the fuck alone.

Chase is ruthless with the pace he’s setting, only the grip he has on my hips is keeping me from sliding up the bed, but there’s no hope for the pillows. They’re everywhere. Probably because I can’t keep my hands still. Reaching for Chase is a temptation I can’t seem to shake. To see, to touch, to fucking kiss. It’s overwhelming. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, I’m pretty sure I can feel him tickling my tonsils for fuck’s sake, but he’s a million miles away.

Maybe I could say something. He always course-corrects if I need him to, right? He’s never even made me feel bad about it.

But he could.

No. He could, sure, anyone is capable of it, but he never would.

Until he runs out of patience with me.

Jesus, can I just fucking stop? I hate that I’m like this.Just focus on how good your body feels,I tell myself. And holy shit does it. Heat is gathering low in my belly. Each time he rubs against that special spot inside me, it gets more intense. Like it's turning me inside out if I give in to it. My dick aches with the need to be touched, the sheet below me is sticky with pre-come.

But the dark thoughts I’ve been battling to keep at bay areseeping in, warring with the all-consuming pleasure and trying to snuff it out. If Chase says anything, I can’t hear it over the roaring growing in my ears. All the praises he so freely gives become absent, each avenue he uses to reassure me is being stolen. There’s no hearing the sweet words that soothe my racing heart, making my lungs struggle to keep up. If only I could just look into his eyes, I could stave this off. However controlled he tries to remain, I can always see what he feels there.

Just a quick peek over my shoulder, that’s all it would take to solve this. Get me back, present in the moment where I want to be. Where I need to be.

I try to do just that, but there’s something in the way. Something over my head. Unbearable cold starts in my chest and travels through my veins. There isn’t enough air. This is exactly how he liked me. Face buried, so he doesn’t have to look at me, just a warm hole to get him off. Not a person who deserves romance and intimacy.

Any second now, he’ll finish and shove me away. Discard me, like the piece of garbage I am.

I need more fucking air. Please, god, make it stop. Hot tears stain my face as I struggle to breathe.Please, I don’t want this. This can’t be happening again…

CHAPTER 20

CHASE

It starts with his breathing, not unusual for someone to start panting mid-sex, but it makes me slow down and keep an eye on him. Something feels a bit off, just a couple of times for the briefest second. I chalk it up to my own insecurities, because every time I check in with him, he’s been good. Great, even. Enthusiastic.

When he doesn't respond to his name and tenses up like he’s been electrocuted, I’m done. Anxiety crawls up and starts clawing at my throat, but I can’t deal with that right now. Easton starts fucking shaking as I toss the condom somewhere off the bed and yank on my sweats that are thankfully within arm’s reach.

I don’t know what to fucking do. His panic attacks slash PTSD flareups slash whatever the fuck you call it scare the hell out of me as is, but now I caused it, and none of the ways I normally can help him are relevant. My hand reaches out towards him of its own volition, swiping the pillows covering his face away.

He’s the picture of agony. Eyes squeezed shut like he’s being struck as tears fall onto the sheets. As if he can sense it,he flinches hard before I can even get close to attempting physical comfort of some sort. I don’t. Know. What. To do. “Easton, baby, talk to me. Please.” I’m not above begging or pleading, if he’d just give me a hint of what happened or what to do.

Problem number one is definitely that he’s going to hyperventilate if he doesn’t calm down. He’s already beet red, and if he starts turning purple, I’m really going to freak the fuck out. Is it purple? Blue? Fuck, I don’t even know what color I should be looking for. “Easton, you have to breathe.” I aim for the stern, steady voice that usually penetrates the fog, but I fall way short. Because, of course, I can’t even do this right.

Dear god, what have I done?

Nope. Do not have time for that. Spiral of regret later. Now, I’ve got to get him breathing. There’s still no sign he’s heard me, much less absorb anything.

---