Page 58 of Rectify

As if she can hear my thoughts, and doesn’t want to listen anymore, she crashes her lips to mine, shutting the noise up indefinitely.

She rises and falls on my cock, while her tongue tells me how close to the edge she is.

Cupping her tits, I roll and squeeze her peaks, with precision and purpose.

“Touch yourself, Pretty Girl. Let me watch you fall.”

She throws her head back, and reaches for her clit. The faster her fingers move, the harder I pinch her nipples.

She cries out, as my shoulders tense, and heat cinches the base of my spine. We’re both pulled so tight, ready for the inevitable snap.

She calls out my name, and detonates around me, as I piston my hips one last time, and explode inside of her.

Her body sags on top of mine and I hold all her weight, until she’s ready to move.

“I don’t think I can get up,” she says breathlessly.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I hold her to me, and let myself enjoy our closeness. “You can sit here for as long as you need to, I’m in no rush to let you go.”

* * *

After cleaning up our second mess of the evening, I manage to convince Sasha to lay on the couch naked with me.

In these four walls for one night a week, I want unfiltered access to her. I want to touch, kiss, or fuck her whenever the moment strikes.

And being naked, is very much conducive to the way I'm thinking. Covered in a beige waffle blanket, her back curves into my front, as we flick through mindless shit on the television, and sift through every topic of conversation we possibly can.

“So, tell me about Dakota?” I ask, running my fingertips up and down the arm resting over the covers.

The pride in her voice is instant. “What do you want to know?”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned sixteen.”

I imagine being as young as Saha waswith Lily, and my level of respect rises based on that fact alone. Being a parent isn’t easy work, a single one even harder, but a teenager; there’s only a selected few who could handle that.

“What’s it like having a sixteen year old?” She turns in my arms, and looks up at me as best she can.

Her face turns sombre. “It’s scary. People get married at my age, have kids at my age. Start their lives, and I’m here more than likely going to be an empty nester at thirty-two.”

“Do you want that stuff? Marriage, and other kids?”

“Unless those things appear out of thin air these days, I don’t think it’s on the cards for me.” Her matter of fact attitude regarding things most people spend their whole lives searching for has me curious. When did she become so blazé about her happy ever after?

“And you and Dakota’s dad couldn't give it a go?”

She looks at me pointedly. “There's no way you don't know who Dakota’s father is.”

She's right. I do know Jagger Michaels is Dakota’s father, and not just because of the few photos I’ve seen around the house.

But I want her to tell me it all herself, anyway. I don't want to come here all guns blazing, amped up because of neighbourhood politics and years of Chinese whispers.

“Just tell meyourstory, Pretty Girl.”

She bunches the covers up to her chest and attempts to put some space between us, but I don't let her. I manoeuvre her on top of me, same position as earlier, but the mood now tense and reserved.

I drape the material around her shoulders, and cover up her nakedness. As beautiful as her fair skin is, on display. This moment isn't about that, and I don’t want to fuck it up by thinking with the wrong head.

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