Page 43 of The Breaking Pointe
He watches me, kissing my hand and face as I let myself feel it all.
“That’s right, beautiful,” he hums, kissing my forehead again, “there you go.”
He doesn’t stop, even when I get louder and have another orgasm. It fuels him. Maybe listening to me whine and wail with my orgasm is torture he wants.
His lips press against my shoulder once more as he mum- bles, “Fuck. I’m coming.” He struggles to get his words out, gripping the couch with his other hand and holding ontomine tighter.
His pace finally slows down, bringing him to a pause as he lays his forehead on my shoulder.
Out of breath, weak in all parts of my body, I lie there, hoping to God I catch my breath soon. I’m already shivering from our lack of movement. He isn’t speeding to get off me but instead steadily runs his hand down my side, remaining inside me. I keep my arm draped around him, running my thumb along his hand. We can’t lie here forever, but neither of us are urging the other to say anything.Finally, he takes a deep breath, sitting up, then looking outside.
“I’m gonna get a blanket,” he says quietly before pulling himself out of me and standing up.
He is still somewhat hard as he walks away.
I wrap my arms around myself, shivering at the breeze he leaves behind. I can’t blame the wine anymore, but now I’m completely drowsy and ready for sleep. I want him to hold me, but I’m afraid that now that he’s had his high, he won’t want to touch me anymore. I guess that’s what hooking up is about, but that’s why I felt hesitant in the first place.I knew I would regret it and feel guilty and used.It isn’t his fault. He was great. But now I feel lost.
He takes less than a few seconds to return, holding a towel and a few clothing pieces in his hand.
“Hey, lemme clean you up?” he suggests, kneeling beside my legs as he places a gentle hand on my thigh.
“Um… okay,” I mutter, sitting up as he starts to wipe my legs off in between and anywhere he feels I need it.
When hefinishes,heputsitonthefloornexttous.
“Put these on, okay? It’s cold, I know, but I got us a fleece blanket, and um—well we can lie here together,” he says, looking at me with hopeful eyes. “If you’re into that.”
“Can I go to the bathroom first?”I ask, running a hand through my hair.
He nods, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers and sitting down as I sit up, taking his clothing donation and walking down the hall as I put each piece on.As I walk to the bathroom, I see he has already lit a candle to allow me to see. My reflection shines as a darker, shadowy version of me.I can tell that the sweatshirt is from some sort of sorority, and the boxers hang by my hip bones, almost not fitting me.My hair is a mess and shagged out from the rain and sweat from our little rendezvous, too.
I started the day so pretty.Now I’m hard to look at.
I shake the negativity from my head, finding my footing as I go pee before I return to Colton.Walking up to the couch, he’s lying down, eyes closed with an arm covering his eyes. All the candles are out now, aside from one and a flashlight pointing at the ceiling. His eyes open once I stand in front of him, and he holds the cover up.
“C’mon.” He opens his arms, displaying his chest as my pillow.
I look around quickly before lying between his legs, letting his arms harbor around my body, pulling me close.The blanket perfectly covers both of us as my cheek rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“I’m sorry if I doze off.It’s been a long week for me.Not a lot of sleep,” he says tiredly, his hand falling to my hair to rub my head.
“It’sokay,”Imumble,closingmyeyes.
It didn’t matter if he went to sleep right after he said that. I’m safe and warm. I’ve done this before, but not like this.
What am I even doing?
So conveniently, the power just had to go out.Right as I thought I could make somewhat of a move, too, now that I have a bit of liquid courage.Colton found one candle to light, then left to go on a manhunt for an apparent stash of them that he has hidden somewhere around the loft. As time passes, I’m becoming increasingly curious again about what the rest of the place looks like. Only way to find out is to see for myself. So, I stand up from the couch to start my exploration.
I can see the rain getting noticeably more aggressive on thepatioflooringthroughoneofthewindows.Passingit, I turn down a dark hallway that is hardly a hallway at all. Five steps into it and there is a door, barely cracked open. Holding my candle up, I hold one hand out, using a singular finger to push open the door, mentally begging for it not to creak and give away my whereabouts.
It would be just my luck that he’s either in here already or will be here to scare me momentarily.
Pushing the door all the way open, I see dust and what looks to be old clay in random places on the wooden floor. There is paint in other places—little drops of different colors as if they were accidents. I follow them, slowly entering the room, taking a few steps before I’m met with a giant, coiled vase. The clay is a burnt orange color, unpainted, but dried. It has to be made up of over seventy coils, if not more.
I could stare at the vase for hours, except the corner of my vision is more colorful and attention grabbing.Following the colors with my gaze, I find myself smack dab in front of a canvas that stands on an easel. I squint, trying to see the vision better, only to realize it’s a woman. She has dark hair that’s long and kind of gray. His attention to detail is quite
creepy. I can see every single strand coming out of her head. I still want to believe that he’s not a real person and I’m being disgustingly punked right now. His qualities are just too genuine. It all seems like a set-up. Every time I think he might take off the mask and give me a big reveal, he only gets sweeter and funnier. He gets better at making me feel like I can be myself. He has no idea that’s an inhumane feeling for me.I haven’t felt like myself in years since I left Chicago. Daniel pretty much stole the last of that quality from me,
