Page 58 of Afterglow
I lean over to the nightstand and pull a tube from the top drawer. She uncaps it to squeeze a fat line of it onto her finger, then tosses it aside to slather the glaze generously between her breasts.
“Put your cock here,” she directs, bringing the rounds together.
My eyes close by instinct as I push my cock into the small space. She holds them tight as I grind my hips through while mumbling a string of curses. With each thrust, she lashes the tip of my cock with her tongue, turning me into a grunting, groaning mess of a man in a matter of seconds. I inch closer and closer to the edge, the muscles of my arms shaking. The last few drives get sloppy, and when Bea’s eyes roll, I let go with a scream. My cum stripes her chest in white.
“Oh, my God,” she exclaims, peering down at my release and sweeping a finger through its stickiness. “That was so quick.”
I recline on my haunches, still straddling her, my lifeless cock lying against her belly. “See what you fucking do to me?” My hands spread the slick all over her tits, wanting to mark her as mine. “You own me.”
She simpers when I gloss over her dark pink nipples and pinch their metal piercings before mouthing one. I leave it with an intense suck, soothing away the pain by stroking my tongue over the taut nub, before moving onto the other side.
“I’m gonna” —her body bows toward my mouth— “I’m gonna come, Fletcher.” Both of her strong hands tear at the sweaty, tousled hair topping my head, filling my cock with blood once more. She stiffens beneath me, toes curling, then lets out an extended scream.
I lick her skin clean, savoring the taste of my own cum as my cock reaches the bare, drenched split between her legs. “Can I kiss you now?”
She’s still recovering from the high. “You want to…kiss? After…?”
I cradle her sweet face, an afterglow in and of itself. “Don’t you want to taste us, Bea?”
“I do.”
We share a heated kiss before she loses consciousness. There’s an insane smile slapped on my face. I, Fletcher Donovan,a twenty-something virgin, have made Behraz Irani, sex goddess extraordinaire, pass out from pleasure.
When I slink off the bed and into the washroom, I force out a silent, excited scream while knocking my knees together in a dance of victory. After wiping us both down with a warm washcloth, I dress her in my jersey from her room and tuck her into my bed. I gulp down three glasses of water, grab a bottle of alkaline water, and leave it at her bedside with a protein-packed granola bar. If she wakes before sunrise, she’s gonna need it.
I pick upLore of the Tidesand recline next to her sleeping form, and we’re both exactly where we belong.
Chapter 22
Spiral Into the Chaos
Behraz
Whatever partof my brain is responsible for emotional regulation is on the fritz.
Stress from the fast-approaching bar exam has me so unstable; all it took was a call from my brother asking how studying was going for me to have a full-on mental breakdown on the couch.
I’m talking uncontrollable sobbing, endless snot, dozens of used tissues, and a foul odor emanating from my mouth because I’ve been too occupied with crying my eyes out to get out of bed and brush my teeth.
“Bea?” Fletcher calls from behind my closed door. Sweet, patient man. I squeeze out hot tears thinking about how lucky I am to have someone who gives a shit, even though I don’t deserve to. “Can I come in?”
“No, it’s a mess.” I don’t want him to see me like this again.
“I don’t mind.”
I do need him. “Okay,” I wail.
With one look at the sad state of me and my room, his expression softens from worry to compassion. “Oh, sweetheart.”
He toes over old pizza boxes and piles of books while my arms lift for a hug, like a child, and Fletcher scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, sweeping away my dirty laundry to return us to bed in the cocoon of his wide chest. I curl into it, burrowing my face in the cozy crook of his neck.
“What happened?” One large hand coasts down my back with a shush, slowing the rapid pace of my breathy sniveling. “You’re scaring me.”
“What—if—I—fail—again?” I push out a ragged exhale.
Fletcher dots kisses across my forehead, the warmth of his lips drying its clammy surface.
“All those years I was told I was quirky. ‘Silly, clumsy, forgetful, chaotic, screw-up Behraz,’ but it was my brain all along. What if I spiral into the chaos again? Then what? I try again, fail again? And keep the circle of disaster going?”
