Page 68 of Life To My Flight

The slick sounds of my sex opening up to his invasion filled the room.

His skin started to glisten from his exertion, and I was sure that I was doing the very same, and not caring one tiny bit.

Sex was messy.

There was no other way around it.

I could tell when he was close when his thrusts went from steady to erratic.

I clenched around him as a tidal wave started to take me over; in only a few more short, sharp strokes, I was falling over, and he followed right along with me.

He grunted as I started contracting around him.

His eyes narrowed to slits, and his lips tightened.

“Fuck,” he gritted out.

I was in complete agreement; however, I couldn’t voice my agreement because I was too busy screaming out my climax.

Once his thrusts slowed to little, tiny movements, I opened my eyes that I wasn’t aware that I’d closed, and stared into the depths of his.

“I like it when you scream,” he said breathlessly.

My head fell back to rest on the cabinet door behind me as I tried to catch my breath.

“I like it when you make me scream.”

He snorted and pulled out, leaving a very wet feeling in his wake.

I looked down to see his release dripping out of me, and I grimaced.

“I’m going to need to disinfect this kitchen after that,” I said as I shimmied off the counter.

He grunted in agreement. “Yeah.”

His tone was odd. As if I’d done something to piss him off somehow.

“Does that mean you’re not going to help?” I teased, hoping to draw him out of his mood.

Snapping the towel off the oven handle like it’d done something to wrong him, he walked over to the counter and wiped up the mess. “Go get dressed. Wear jeans and a t-shirt. Oh, and those boots I got you last year.”

I blinked at him.

“Okay,” I said warily at his abruptness.

I’d nearly thrown those boots away last year.

They sat in my closet in the very package he’d brought them in. They had never been worn.

The evening we’d finally slept together, he’d brought them over because we were supposed to go on a ride the next day.

Needless to say, he hadn’t shown, and I never got to wear the boots.

They sat in my closet on the third shelf, gathering dust.

I walked away slowly, reluctantly.

If I opened that box that would mean that I was admitting that I was giving him a second chance.

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