Page 14 of Revive
“Missed me,” she mocked, not entirely sure that was true for him, and barely quantified how she’d felt. “I’ve been going quietly demented. I thought everything was finally worked out. That you and I were going to be…” She raised her hands, using them to express the words that wouldn’t come. “And know this, Spook Mortensen, if I can’t kiss you soon, I’m going to completely fucking lose it. Do you realise how close I came to leaving this afternoon? All this time waiting and waiting and not knowing, and then coming here, thinking finally, just for it all to result in more waiting. All I seem to have done since the day we met is wait.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
His face fell, and she realised how it must have sounded.
“No, I don’t mean like that. I’m not ending it. I’ve invested too much into this to do that. I mean, I’m sorry, because I know this is probably too soon for you, but—” She smacked a kiss on his lips. “Actually, I’m not sorry.” She kissed him again. And again. “Not one bit. I fucking need you, Spook. And I’m so damned grateful to finally have you here in one piece—”
“Mostly.” That wry smile tugged on his lips again.
“—and unless you make me, I’m not going to stop.”
“I’m not going to make you.” He accepted the thrust of her tongue. Returned it. “God, Alle!” His arms wrapped around her. “Do you have any concept of how demented you make me? How fucking insane you’ve always made me. If I could stop this, do you not think I’d have done it by now? You’ve obliterated every promise I’ve ever made to myself, slashed through every resolve.”
She was crying and kissing him now. Hardly capable of breathing between her mewled sobs and the collision of their tongues. “Show me. Show me if you can’t tell me. There’s a great big bed right behind us…”
-5-
Spook
It was the kissing that undid him. It narrowed everything down to the wet thrusting exchange of tongues and panting need.
Yes, there was the bed, but more importantly there was a roll of bondage tape that Xane and Luthor had been playing around with the other night. Not in his bed. At their place, but he’d wound up wearing the roll like a bracelet, and it’d hence come home with him. It wouldn’t take much of it to fasten her to one of the wooden posts, and then he could slow this to a pace of his choosing, rather than being hurried along.
He’d decided—back in December, was it?–that celibacy was no longer the answer. That it wasn’t what he wanted for himself anymore. His body was all onboard with the notion of fucking her. It was only his head that held tight to his reservations. Offered up cautionary tales in the form of scenes from his past.
Betrayal sucked.
It made letting go way harder than people liked to make out.
Sure, theoretically, it ought to have been a simple matter of shutting down a few errant thought processes. Whereas in reality, it wasn’t as easy as unclenching his fist or his jaw. For every knot he loosened, there were a myriad of others still intact. A hundred thousand worries that might manifest if he did the wrong thing or spoke the wrong words.
Spook imagined others looked at his and Alle’s relationship and pictured a stagnant pool. To him, it had always been a tsunami. Alle arrived, and the next thing he knew, he was being assailed from all angles or knocked flat. It was certainly true of the moment. For, not content with driving him mad with her kisses, her hands had found their way inside his clothing, and were even now roving across the muscles of his back, squeezing, clenching, tugging him closer.
The moment their hips collided, she’d know all she needed to ensure this didn’t end until the pair of them had been wrung dry. His cock was already struggling for space. A discomfort that would easily be relieved by the slip of a button and the drawing down of a zip, neither of which he was about to execute.
This woman.
He didn’t know what it was about her, only that it was undeniable. Alle got under his skin. She breathed air into his lungs, and it spread throughout him like wildfire, annihilating every barrier in its path.
There were a million sensible reasons why he ought to stop this, and an equivalent number for why he shouldn’t. It didn’t have to be kinky.
The tape could stay on the nightstand.
He didn’t have to pull her hair, or redden her skin, or drive her to the edge of coming and hold her there teetering until her mind started to fray.
It could just be them. Two people doing what people had done since time immemorial.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to fuck her. The notion of getting inside of her had him jacked up like he’d been zapped with a couple of thousand volts. God, how he wanted her.
But he also wanted to put marks on her skin. Imprint himself on her. Do things that rode the boundary between pleasure and pain. The proof of that existed in the endless dreams he had, and the frantic episodes in the shower that inevitably followed them.
Solo episodes were the pits. They relieved nothing, and afterwards, he’d roam around feeling unhinged.
Xane had nearly pissed himself laughing when he’d said that a while back. Rock Giant too, when it’d been relayed. But, neither of them had entirely disagreed. Xane had rocked off somewhere with Luthor for a while, and Paul had sat around looking tetchy and glum. Spook guessed he’d been doing a lot of fist humping. The island wasn’t exactly swarming with ladies looking for an easy hook up.
Conversely though, sex with someone else had its own pitfalls, and he didn’t just mean in terms of ensuring they had a good time along with you. It meant opening yourself up. Handing a piece of yourself over.
