Page 11 of Valentine's Day Proposal

WILLOW

Imissed this. A lot.

Since the kiss on Valentine’s Day, I hadn’t been able to put ChapStick on without thinking of how much I enjoyed the sensation of his lips against mine. Charles’s hand cupped my cheek, pulling my lips hard against his. He kissed the same as always, hard and rough, searching with his tongue. The torrent of emotion I was feeling got swallowed by the urgent need to be comforted.

And I didn’t care how that comfort came.

I pushed at his chest, pulling my lips away from his for a moment. He sat stock-still, a deer in the headlights waiting to be run over. I had been crying so hard I could hardly breathe, but if I stopped to think now, I’d never take this chance again, a chance I’d wanted for seven years. So, I didn’t think.

I straddled Charles, tearing at his shirt until several buttons popped off. I kissed him hard, not even caring that I was furious with him or that he had broken my heart. I missed him. I had missed him for too long and right now I wanted to feel close to him again, the way I used to feel.

“Shit, Willow, what are you doing?” His hand slid up and down my back as I wrestled with his button-down. When I realized his tie was still tight around his neck I clawed at it, pulling it off as I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. His skin was hot beneath my fingers, and I wanted my lips to touch every square inch of it.

“Shut up and kiss me, idiot.” I covered my mouth with his and pushed my tongue between his lips. Charles responded, biting my lower lip as he hugged me against his body, pulling me downward. I felt the bulge between us; it excited me more, but not as much as when his hands slid up my back and gripped the zipper, pulling it down.

When his fingers parted the black rayon of my dress, touching my skin, I shivered. Not so much because his fingers were cold—they were, but that wasn’t why—but because I remembered very vividly how hard he would fuck me. Driving me into the sheets until I could barely walk when we were finished had been hismodus operandi, and he had been very good at it.

“God, I want you.” I jerked at his shirt, trying to get it off his arms but he had other plans.

Charles stood, lifting me with him, and turned. As he dropped me on the bed, he grabbed my dress and pulled it forward. It peeled off my shoulders and I pulled my arms out of the sleeves. He stood over me, working it down over my hips until it was just a mess of material thrown on the ground. It didn’t take long for him to shed his pants and shirt and climb on top of me.

I welcomed him between my legs, feeling the familiar ache of lust growing in my groin. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had sex with anyone since him; I just hadn’t had him. And my body wanted him. So, I spread my legs wider, letting him settle there as he squeezed an arm beneath my body and grabbed a handful of hair. He pulled my head back, exposing my neck so he could bite me and scrape his stubbled beard across my skin.

I let out a guttural moan when he unsnapped my front-hook bra and squeezed a tit. His hips were already grinding against me despite his boxers and my panties being in the way. I met him in a rhythm, pushing my hips upward as he drove his forward.

“Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful…” His heavy kisses on my neck drove me wild. Each one of them made more goosebumps pop up on my arms. I felt the mess I was making, my panties soaked and likely making his boxers wet too. My hands searched his sides, finding the elastic waistband and pushing his boxers down. I wanted his cock inside me.

“Fuck me… please.” I could only push them down so far, the way he was laying on me. I wanted them off. I wanted his cock in me.

He got on all fours, taking a nipple into his mouth, so I pushed the boxers lower with my feet and he crawled out of them. I reached for my panties, hoping to shimmy out of them, but his hands got there first. He yanked so hard one side of them tore, and I let out a gasp.

“Oops,” he whispered, but the look in his eyes as he hovered over me was anything but apologetic. In one swift movement, he tore the other side too, pulling the material away from me and throwing it. Everything he did made me want him more. My groin was on fire, aching for him to fill me.

“Fuck, Charles.” I pulled him down and kissed him again as I wrapped a leg up over his hips. He lay back down between my legs again, this time his cock slid through my cum and stimulated my clit. “Please fuck me…” I clawed his back, urging him to penetrate me and he didn’t disappoint.

The way he dipped his hips, pushing his dick lower, was like muscle memory. He remembered exactly how to make my body open to him, and when he drove forward into me, I gasped, forgetting how long his cock was. It hit the deepest place inside me, and I begged for more. My moans of pleasure echoed off the walls as he began thrusting.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He kissed me hard again, biting my lip, raking his teeth across my chin. I angled my hips, so his pelvic bone rubbed across my clit and found the spot that I needed touched. It wasn’t long and he had me begging him, panting and probably drawing blood on his ass cheeks.

“Faster, please…. I’m almost there.” He pounded me into that mattress so hard the headboard banged against the wall. My pussy clenched around him; I was right on the edge and then he whispered my name, and I was undone.

“You feel so good, Willow.”

The waves of orgasm racked my body like aftershocks of an earthquake. I screamed. My body rose off that bed several inches, bucking him as he pushed in harder. Each thrust of his cock against my back wall was glorious. I never wanted the sensations to end, but his release came too, filling me and dribbling out of me.

I was ready then, for the kissing, the way he’d hold me, the way he’d press his lips to my forehead and push my sweaty hair from my eyes. But when I turned my face up to meet his, his eyes were closed. He grunted in satisfaction, and lingered there, propped on his elbows for a moment. I waited, but the kiss never came.

Charles pulled out, leaving a trail of cum across the comforter. He slid off the bed, hardly looking at me. I lay there feeling cold for a second before I decided to move. As I crawled up to the damning headboard that had told the neighbors on the other side of the wall our shame, he picked up his clothes. My bra still dangled from my shoulders, so after I pulled the comforter down and slid beneath it, I clasped the bra shut.

“Well…” I sat against the headboard, my chest still heaving from exertion. Afterglow wasn’t even the same without being held or talked to gently. He didn’t look up when I spoke, so I shrank back into myself further, wondering what the fuck just happened. My eyes still felt swollen from crying though my nose wasn’t stuffy anymore.

He put his pants on and sat on the edge of the bed as he donned his shirt. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“I’m supposed to go to this fancy dinner thing for campaign donors. Peter thinks it would be the best time to show you off.” He sat with his back to me, his cold tone making my heart heavy. I realized that we weren’t exactly living a happily-ever-after honey-moon phase of marriage, but did he really expect me to have sex like that and then pretend nothing had happened?

He turned and tossed a credit card at me. It landed on the comforter by my knee. I looked at it, feeling like a whore at a hotel he just paid for. I wanted to rationalize that he was uncomfortable because we both made it clear from the beginning of this that we were not going to get emotionally involved. The problem was, though, that the way he’d just fucked me didn’t scream “this is just sex.” It screamed something else entirely.

“What’s that?” I tried not to let my emotions get the better of me. I stayed calm, but inside I was hurt again. I wasn’t his toy. Why couldn't he see how much I wanted him?

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