Page 48 of F*ck Marriage

“Lift your hips,” he orders.

I slide my leg straight to match the other, and with my face still pressed against the bed, I lift my hips slightly. I can feel him looking at me as he caresses my backside, running the pad of his thumb across the wetness between my legs until I want to scream,Hurry up! Hurry up!

I feel him position himself against me, but he doesn’t push in; it’s a hard pressure that opens me and promises to deliver.

I groan, wiggling my hips. “Satcher... ”

As soon as I say his name, he pushes into me; a drop and a slide so sweet and painful the rest of my words are cut from my lips and replaced by a gasp.

He drags in and out, lazy movements that rub along my throbbing muscles, making me shiver in anticipation of the next. And while he pushes and pulls—in and out, in and out—he massages my back, my shoulders ... hard when he pushes in and soft when he pulls out. I’m lost in the rhythm, the muscles in my body in ecstasy.

When I twist my head back to see him, his eyes are open and glassy, his tongue gripped between his teeth. He’s making a low humming in his throat. When he catches me looking, he smiles a sleepy, closed-mouth smile.

“Turn over,” he instructs me. “I want to see you when you come.”

I roll my body and he’s between my legs, lowering himself onto me. I close my eyes at the sheer pleasure of his weight. Running my hands along his arms and back, I wrap myself around him. In the five seconds it’s taken to turn over I am desperate to feel him inside of me again. He watches my face when he sinks down and fills me once more.

“You’re not wearing a condom,” I say. It’s not a rebuke, more of an observation. Satcher has made jokes about never being caught without a condom.

“Do you want me to put one on?” His breath catches my hair and glides along my ear.

I hesitate. “No,” I say. “Do you want to put one on?”

“Not even a little bit,” he breathes. “I haven’t done it like this ... in a long time.” I’m conscious of his hands, his fingers, pressing into the softness of my lower back as he lifts my hips to meet his thrusts.

He starts to move again and my body responds instantly, opening up for him with a trust that scares me. This is Satcher: I don’t have to be scared of him. I know everything about him—good and bad.He’s been here all along, I think.Right in front of you and you almost missed him.

“I’m going to come hard.” His voice is raspy with pleasure, his eyes closed. “But first I want you to come ... on my dick. Can you do that, Billie?” He’s barely finished his sentence when I do. It was his saying my name in that voice of his that threw me over the edge. My legs clench around his body and I scream into his shoulder, lifting my upper body off the bed to meet him where he holds himself up to watch me.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “That was good.”

He laughs with his face buried in my neck, and I hold onto him as he moves harder.

There is pressure, and a pain so good my eyes roll back in my head when his whole body stiffens, his muscles tensing underneath my hands. I feel him come. I’ve never felt a man come before; but suddenly he gets even harder and I have to adjust my legs, opening them wider to accommodate him. With me spread out beneath him whimpering, he looks at me with a strained expression on his face.

I don’t hold back as I clench around his dick, lifting my hips to take all of him. I can feel his cum leaving his body and pouring into me. It’s one of the most erotic moments of my life.

Later, we do something I have not done in a very long time: we lie together, our bodies curled around each other.

“The last time I was cuddled like this it was by my parents’ bulldog,” I say.

Satcher laughs into my hair, tightening his grip around my waist. “What’s his name?”

“Gerard.”

“Lucky Gerard,” he says.

Chapter Twenty

When I wake up, I’m sore. I bury my face in one of Satcher’s pillows. How long has it been since I’ve done that, and with such enthusiasm? I can’t imagine Keith Gus touching me the way Satcher did. He was more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. On more than one occasion I had to walk him through getting me off. And Woods, well, he always made sure to take care of me before we had sex, that way he could focus on himself the remainder of the time.

Satcher has a latte waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I wander out of the bedroom. I peer into the mug blinking in surprise; it’s the perfect milk to espresso ratio. The espresso machine is humming as he makes one for himself, flicking switches and using the frother like a professional barista.

“Are you good at everything?”

He looks up from what he’s doing. There’s stubble on his jaw. I get a flash of him with his eyes half closed as he pounded into me, and my stomach does an unwelcome flip.

“You tell me,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

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