Page 23 of Sex. Love. Marriage.
I glare. “I asked you if I pooped, and you said no.” My eyes are drawn lower to his arousal for me, and I smile.
“I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed, so I didn’t say anything.” He grabs onto my hips, his eyes on the prize. “You’re not going to poop on me.”
I inhale a deep breath and take the lube in my hand squirting a small amount into my palm. Noah’s breath hitches when I stroke him once, coating him with the cool gel.
After some clever leg placements, he has me up against the shower wall again, but this time my face is pressed into it. It’s better than the back of my head. And then we go for it.
Reaching between us, Noah positions himself at my backdoor exit, and I look over my shoulder at him, our eyes lock as he slides inside, slowly.
With his head dipping forward, he bites his bottom lip, his brow contouring in pleasure. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, growling out a breath.
That look he gave me right before he entered me, that’s the only romantic part about it. For me, it’s uncomfortable, burns, and hurts so fucking bad. But hey, he enjoys it. Until…. I attempt to steady myself against the wall because my left foot keeps falling asleep.
Noah loves the new angle. “Fuck... it’s tight,” he growls in my ear when I lean forward more.
“That’s because it’s an exit only ramp,” I say, gritting my teeth against the pain.
I’ll spare you most of the details because, to me, this isn’t romantic, but hey, if he wants this, it can’t be all bad, right? Oh, but it is. Every move I make hurts and causes pain I never knew my asshole could go through. My vagina, she’s used to pain. My ass… poor girl hadn’t prepped at all. At one point, I honestly think about pulling out my phone and looking on WebMD to see if this really can hurt you and do irreversible damage to your asshole.
Now, with pain, I get cranky. You don’t even want to be on the same floor as me when I’m giving birth, let alone the same room. I’m sadly at that point now.
“Are you okay?” Noah finally asks when I’m trying to switch positions without removing his cock first. It’s like I’m trying to drill out my ass or something. It’s awful, and Noah’s breath hot and heavy on my neck is only pissing me off further.
“Just don’t touch me.” I’m seriously in so much pain I think I’m shitting barbed wire.
“Do you want to stop?” he pants against my ear.
“No.”
You’d think I’d want to stop, right? I should stop. But the thing is, I don’t want to stop. I’m afraid that if I do, this moment when we’re finally close and not arguing, the moment will be lost.
“Honey, if it hurts, we can stop.” Noah grunts against my collarbone when my back arches, allowing him to slide in deeper. He struggles to keep a hold of my slippery body. “Causing you pain isn’t exactly a turn-on for me.” I can tell he’s struggling. He wants to stop because it hurts me, but he doesn’t want to, if that makes sense.
I squirm, but then give up when I realize I can’t move because he’s holding onto me so tightly. I sneak a peek at him, and for a moment, I’m lost in a blissful vision of lust that I’m giving my husband such pleasure. His hair is matted to the side, water beading off him, but it’s the way his brow is furrowed, the gentle part of his lips and the way his chest is shaking with each movement. He’s enjoying this, and if it wasn’t for the burning and downright pain, I’d probably continue.
But all ass play must come to an end at some point, and the burning reaches an all-time high, and I think if I move it will get better. Honestly, I blame us trying to do this standing up. That’s where this all fell apart, but the biggest issue I see is that when you combine lube with water, it gets a whole hell of a lot slippery. It’s like a scene out ofChristmas Vacationwhen Clarke goes flying down the mountain on that metal lid and ends up in the next county.
While I attempt to adjust my footing, somehow the lube had gotten on the floor, squirted all over the place, and it’s basically a Slip-N-Slide because I slip, Noah falls backward and into the shower wall. Crashes right through it and onto the floor.
So that just happened….
You couldn’t have repeated that shit even if you wanted to. It was so awkward. And then I realize Noah is bleeding from his hand. It takes us a moment to comprehend what just happened, and Noah grabbing his junk to make sure it’s still attached. It is, by the way. Raising his hand, he looks at it and with the movement, the skin peels open, and blood gushes out.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I fight back tears as Noah’s gaze slides down the length of my body, but he says nothing to me. He looks… pissed.
My voice shakes when I whisper, “I think you need stitches.”
Noah draws in a deep breath, looking at me, then his hand. Getting his feet underneath of him, he stands. With a look of perplexity, he stares at the blood and the broken glass around him. While I want to make a snarky remark, scream about the blood and the fact that he’s cutting the shit out of his feet by walking on the shards, Noah walks over to the sink, a trail of blood in his wake. If anyone was to walk in here, they’d be looking for the body for sure. It looks like a crime scene.
Noah’s hunched over the bathroom sink, his hands gripping the edge of it. His jaw flexes as he bites his bottom lip. He’s staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me. I know why. He’s angry that it ended like this. That no matter what we do, something is always putting us apart.
Then, out of nowhere, he raises his hand and punches the mirror, like he can’t stand to look at the reflection looking back at him. With the same hand he’d cut with the shower door.
I yelp at the sound, unprepared for his tantrum. “Noah!” I gasp when I notice his hand is now splayed open from his wrist to his knuckles. Great. Just what we needed. He’s a mechanic and just fucked up his hand.
His eyes cut. “Get dressed,” he barks at me and wraps a towel around his hand. “I need stitches.”
