Page 59 of When We Were Younger

I'll never get enough of you.

I can't take his sweet nothings. Not when I know they're not nothings. They're everythings. They're his promises. They're his prayers. They're his devotions. He'd give me all of him again if I asked for it. Wouldn't even give it a second thought. He's already given me his heart to hold, and I can't return his sentiments when I know I'm going to have to hand it back to him, sooner rather than later.

The buzz of reality kills the buzz of my orgasm, but if I can't give Stephen my love, the least I can do is give him my body. I grip his cheeks and pull his lips away from my mouth.

"I thought I told you to fuck me," I purr, and in an instant, he's up and shucking his shirt over his head. His pants follow, and then his briefs, and his cock bobs up, painfully hard-looking and leaking from the tip.

"On your hands and knees, Dorothea," he commands, running a hand down his belly and then gripping his cock. He pumps it slowly, and in the light of the moon shining through the window, I can see his forearm flexing, his veins protruding with the motion. I position myself so that I'm facing the end of the bed, close enough to where he's standing that I'm able to stick my tongue out and lick that bit of precum that's tantalizing me.

"Jesus," he hisses as my tongue dances over the head of his dick. "Put that tongue away before I come all over your pretty face."

That image should not be so hot. If we had more time, I might ask him to do it.

Instead, I go down to my elbows and arch my back, giving him a view of the top of my ass. It's not until he moves, stepping around me while his fingers glide down my back that I notice the mirrored closet door staring back at me. I watch as he climbs onto the bed and rolls a condom down his length, his thick thighs bracing on either side of my legs.

"This," he whispers as he rubs the head of cock up and down, coating himself in my wetness. "This is what I fantasized about the most."

He leans forward and smacks a hand over my mouth right as he thrusts deep inside, burying himself to hit. I bite his palm to suppress my scream from the delectable stretch of my body taking him in and squeeze my eyes shut as he pulls back and repeats the motion, fast but just controlled enough to prevent the unmistakablesound of our skin slapping together. His chest hits my back as he brings his mouth down to my ear.

"Eyes open, Dorothea. I want you to watch, please. Please watch me fuck you," he hums, so fucking sweetly. The dichotomy of Stephen is painfully erotic; he's so big and masculine, muscled and rough around the edges, but so amenable, so eager to please me while begging me to give him what he wants in return.

I open my eyes, and if it weren't for his hand still covering my mouth, I'd go slack jaw at the sight of us. His other hand digs into my hips as he swivels his hips, and his bottom lip is pulled between teeth. He leans back, lifting his chest off my back and I can see his abs, cast in shadows, contracting in the reflection of the mirror.

I drop my head to the mattress, overwhelmed by the pornographic debauchery of it all, but he scoops me up, up, up, until I'm up on my knees and my back is colliding with his sweat slicked chest. I throw my arms up and behind me, wrapping them around his neck, and his hand drops from my hips to find the rise of my clit.

I meet his eyes in the mirror as he starts to rub, bringing me to the brink with his fingers as his cock rubs against my G-spot.

"Look at how beautiful you are, sweetheart. So gorgeous, so sexy. Watch. Watch us come," he whispers as he lightly pinches my clit between his fingers, and I fall. I swallow my moans, gritting my teeth as myorgasm rips through me, shattering me into a thousand pieces as everything turns to starlight. Three fast strokes and Stephen is following me over the edge, burying himself deep inside of me as he comes. All the while he whimpers and whispers in my ear.

So perfect. My perfect girl. My perfect Dorothea.

He stills completely, just as I begin to shake. I try to stuff it down, to put my emotions back on the shelf where they belong, but my body betrays me. Tears sting in my eyes because I know. I know what comes next. I know everything, and I wish I didn't have to. Wish I could live a little longer in the blissful ignorance where I'm not so fucked in the head. The bubble where I'm less of the bad stuff and more of the good. The bubble where this is all real. Not a vacation from real life, not a teenage dream come true until the clock strikes twelve and I turn back into a pumpkin.

"You're crying," Stephen whispers as he pulls out of me. I turn my face and give him my fakest smile.

"It's a good cry."

A lie laced with shame.

"That was incredible. Life changing."

The truth, covered in a thick coat of self-loathing that only I can see.

He kisses the tears off my cheeks, and I go limp in his arms. He mistakes my insurmountable grief with a pliant, sated contentment, and I let him. He dresses himself and crosses the hall to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. I lie back and allow him toclean me, his touch gentle and caring and peppered with kisses to the tops of my thighs.

When he's done, I mindlessly lift my arms as he pulls his hoodie–my favorite one, the one with the worn out 'Hudson Family Construction' logo on the front–over my head. We lie down, his back against the wall and my back against his chest as he spoons me. I've gotten used to falling asleep with my head on his little nook, the spot where his chest and arm meet, but I can't face him. Not when the tears have worked their way back out of my eyes and into my ear, all while he nuzzles into the top of my head, inhaling my hair.

He has no idea, and I let him stay in the ignorant, blissful bubble a little longer. He says my name, and I don't answer. I let him think I'm asleep.

Just when I think it all can't get any more impossible, his voice cuts through the night, low and raspy.

"I love you, Dorothea. I have always loved you."

The last pieces of my fractured heart shatter like glass, and all I can do is lie there and pretend to be asleep.

I listen as his breathing turns shallow and his wandering hand stills on my hip.

I count backward from one hundred.

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