Page 74 of The Trust We Broke
If I was theironlyslut.
If I was precious and loved and adored for being desperate for their cock.
If they were the ones calling me names to claim me.
And the sound of those words rolling off Zach’s tongue again makes me feel more than I should.
Everything in me is silent, yet exploding. Contradictory. Like fireworks with the sound turned off. Something I can feel but can’t hear.
“Clean up your mess,” Zach says, shoving his thick fingers into my mouth. They taste of me, and I stroke my tongue between his fingers, savoring every lick.
His eyes are focused on my tongue while I focus on him. His breath is coming a little faster, his mouth open. Arousal is etched into every feature.
And this is what I missed with Henry, and every other man I’ve been with since.
I had sex with them.
They had sex with me.
But we weren’t so desperately into each other, it would take a crowbar to separate us. We didn’t need each other so badly, it was as if we’d die if we parted.
And they weren’t prepared to demean me to give me what I needed, which I know is probably written somewhere on a meme about green flags. Or they’d try and get it all wrong. They’d infantilize, tell me off like a child. One man even told me that what I was asking for was side-piece, not wife, behavior.
Like a woman doesn’t know her own mind well enough to choose how she wants to role-play.
But I’ve missed someone willing to touch me and talk to me the way Zach does.
Like he can read my mind and body. Like he needs to say it as much as I need to hear it.
Like he needs to do it as much as I need him to.
He pulls his fingers out and crawls up my body, placing his knees on either side of my ribs, then grabs my head with both hands, taking the weight of my skull. “Suck it, Bug. Welcome him home.”
I struggle to get the tip of his cock into my mouth. My arms are trapped, and he’s holding my skull with both his hands. But, finally, I manage to latch on to his head and suck hard.
“Fuck, yeah,” he says, then grunts in pleasure.
The position is awkward. Painful. Perfect.
He rocks his hips back and forth, and I have no say how close to the back of my throat he goes. There is no risk of deep throat due to the angle of my head, but where he does reach almost causes me to gag.
“Bite me and I suck on those nipples of yours again so hard, they’ll bruise for days,” he warns.
Wetness pools between my thighs at the threat.
But I focus on the task at hand. I run my tongue along the thick vein on the underside as he withdraws, then relax when he pushes his way back in. He smells of a musk distinctly his own, and I feel the sharp bite of tears, for a moment, as I think about just how much I’ve missed him.
I close my eyes to hide them from him, but a single tear escapes and rolls down the side of my temple.
Immediately, Zach pulls out of me, wiggles down the bed, and presses his lips to my ear. “Cry for us both,” he says, before running his tongue along the tear track. “You need me to stop?”
The question is uncharacteristic. Zach always put his faith in our safe word and gestures. They were the only things that would stop him.
The kindness almost breaks my mood.
But it’s a reminder that maybe we don’t know each other as well as we used to anymore.
I shake my head.
