Page 64 of Petrichor

“I want you to stay inside me until you’re ready to fuck me again,” he slurs, placing sweet kisses over my collarbone. His hands keep touching me, light brushes here and there over my back and chest.

“I own this hole. Can do whatever the fuck I want with it,” I state, tugging his head up for an ardent kiss.

“Within reason.” He tightens said orifice around my dick, making me curse for how damn good it feels. I spank him in fake retaliation, and hefakescowls at me before giving me a peck on the lips. Which I turn into a heated make-out session.

Sometime later, when his lips are puffy and red and my jaw aches, I hear him sighing happily. “I love the way you smell.”

It makes my lips twitch once again. Only Fly has the ability to make me feel this light.

I look around the neat living room. I know the fridge is full, the sink empty, and everything is clean and shiny. Whatever task I give him, he does without complaining and still finds time to sit at the table and work on his lingerie. I like his perseverance and hardworking attitude. His sweet disposition and fighting spirit. I like him.

Holding him to me, I twist our bodies until I’m lying on the sofa with Fly on top of me. Our hot bodies are cooling down, but I’m still buried inside him. The change of position pushed me deeper. I intend to sleep like this—I’m kind of used to this cock warming kink now. His thighs are spread to fit me in between, but the slight discomfort of the position makes it oddly better.

His head is under my chin. I wrap my hand around his nape—the other lands firmly on his ass cheek. The grip is firm. Possessive. He liquefies on top of me like his bones are made out of butter.

I burrow my hand in his hair, it’s loose now, he must have lost the tie at some point. I love the silky feel of the thick mass, and I gently rub the blond strands between the pads of my fingers.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence around us.

“You have a bed aversion. My body is definitely harder than a mattress.” My voice sounds hoarse, my eyes closed, enjoying the occasional clenching of his hole around my cock.

“It is. And warmer. Your hairy pec is the perfect pillow. I like this…a lot.” He takes a breath like he wants to add more, but he remains silent.

That won’t do. “Tell me, pretty Butterfly.”

He lets a couple of seconds go by before answering. “The bed is okay if I share it with you,” he confesses softly. “What I hate is waking up and not having you next to me.”

I don’t sleep with people I have sex with, but doing it with Fly? He makes me want to try things I’ve never thought about before.

“I don’t know what happened,” he adds after a while. His fingers brush near the gun graze on my bicep and trail down, touching other old scars until they reach the long one on my side. “But I’ll tell you what my brother used to say to me every night. ‘You’re not alone, you’re safe, everything is going to be just great.’ It always made me smile.” It still does. I can feel it on his lips. And I can almost see the profound sadness, like a blanket descending on him.

“How did he die?”

“A fire.” I can barely hear him, but I feel how hard it is for him to talk about it. “There was a neighbor, an old woman who had a soft spot for me. When…my father died, my brother took me to her. She couldn’t take care of both of us, so he left. We moved to Boston two days later and I never saw him again. He died a few days later.”

He tightens his thighs around me, his inner muscles as well. Mouth or ass, he just needs me in him. Nobody has ever needed or wanted me like this. Like they can breathe more easily if I’m near.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you later with my cock.” I kiss the crown of his head.

“You better,” he has the audacity to say. When did I start to like this side of him? I hated it when we met. Felt disrespectful. Now it makes me want to smile—before fucking him.

He nestles further into my arms, and soon his breaths even out.

I like him. I really do. Can I let myself feel again? Last time, a knife pierced my spleen, and I almost bled out. This time, it could be my heart that shatters.

My thoughts are still a jumbled mess as exhaustion overtakes me.

And once again, I have the same dream.

Two kids. Under a big tree.

Small fingers exploring my face.

A sweet smile.

“Can you smell the rain?”

Chapter Nine

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