Page 30 of Hearts to Mend

It’s when her moans turn to a chaotic, arrhythmic frenzy of erotic sounds and her body writhes beneath me that I know she’s on the edge. I pull my arm off her waist, letting her move however she wants as I palm her tit again with one hand, and with the other, I slip a third finger inside her pussy. She huffs and groans, and I push her further, flicking my tongue over her clit, then sucking it between my lips.

The orgasm explodes through her. Dee screams up at the ceiling as she grinds against my fingers, riding the waves. I savor her ecstasy almost as much as she does, delighting in the sight of her wild eyes watching me bring on another wave.

My cock is painfully hard, again, a fucking beast begging to join the party. I need her, all of her, right now, again and again and always. I crawl up her body, shoving her shirt up to her neck so I can suck and nibble on her pert nipples as I keep finger fucking her. Finally when my mouth is at her jaw, near her ear, I tell her, “I need you to come on my cock now, baby.”

She answers in a whisper. “Yes.”

Fuck yes.

I pull my fingers out of her pussy, slipping them into my mouth for another taste before I grab the condom from my pocket and sheath up. Then, with a sharp thrust, I fill her. She arches her back, her tits pressing up against my chest as her tight little pussy squeezes around me. Groaning, I freeze, barely hanging on, like I’m a teenager, and this is our first time…again. But in a way, it is like the first time all over again, a new beginning. And it feels so good, too good.

When I wrest some control back from my teenaged libido, I start to move inside her, and it’s amazing. The feel of her, so soft and warm and tight, so perfect. She was always so perfect for me, the perfect fit in every way. How was I so stupid to forget that, to forget us? Dee looks up at me with a curious expression, almost like she’s surprised to find it’s me here, too, surprised that it’s us tangled together on her couch.

Then, she kisses me. Unlike the other kisses we’ve shared lately, there’s no anger in this one, no biting rage. Dee kisses me like she used to, with all the heart and soul I used to love, I still love. I slow my pace, kissing her with long smooth slips of my tongue as I slide my cock deeper in a steady rhythm.

It’s like we’ve forgotten ourselves, our history, our pain. Like this perfect moment is tabula rasa, a blank slate where we can start again, write a new history together. Or at least I hope that’s what it is I’m feeling because right now, in her arms, in her body, it’s all I want.

That thought alone nearly brings me to orgasm, but not yet, not before Dee. I focus every ounce of energy on her, listening for her cues, her tells, remembering, relearning what works. And soon, she’s gasping, little beads of sweat dotting her forehead and dampening the hair around her face as she moves with me. We build and build together, until she tenses beneath me, all around me, her arms hugging my neck, her thighs around my waist, and she cries out with pleasure. She’s so beautiful like this. She’s always beautiful, but right now she’s vulnerable too. I can see her completely for the first time since I came back. And, God, I’ve missed her.

I come, tensing all over and groaning as I press deep inside her and feel everything, overwhelmingly, in that moment. Then every muscle in my body quits, turns to jelly. I roll to my side to keep from crushing her, pulling her with me until she’s wrapped in my arms.

My breath tickles the stray strands of hair that fan out from her forehead, and her breath tickles my chest. It feels like heaven.

I open my mouth to tell her, to declare the truth, that I love her more now, in this moment, than in any moment before. But she speaks first. “You may leave now.”

I freeze, not sure what she means. “You’re granting me permission to go?”

“No,” she sits up, awkwardly detangling our arms and legs, and tugs her shirt back down over her breasts, “I’m telling you to go.”

Still sprawled across her couch, condom still on my cock, I watch her hobble to the crumple of fabric on the floor. She moves to sit in a chair opposite me so she can slip her underwear back on.

“What was this?” I ask as I sit up then stand and tug my jeans back into place, zipping them up one-handed as I look for a trash can for the used condom.

She points toward the kitchen, where I find the trash and toss the rubber, groaning when she replies, “We already talked about this. You agreed. It’s just fucking.”

Back in the living room, I try not to look too mad as I tug my T-shirt back on. “And nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” She nods, but she won’t look me in the eyes when she says it.

I give that some thought, finally declaring, “Bullshit.”

“Just go,” she huffs and hobbles away from me, collecting her crutches and then swinging her way to the kitchen to grab a beer from her fridge. She doesn’t offer me one, but why would she if she’s trying to get me to leave?

I glance around her apartment, really seeing it now for the first time. It’s simple, uncluttered, practical. Not a lot of photos dot the walls, just a couple shots of her with her fire station crew, one of her receiving an award from the mayor. No family pictures, no images of friends outside of work; the space is too quiet, too calm, not like a home, more like a hotel, a bed and a shower for her to use when she’s away from her real home at the fire station.

It makes me sad, and it makes me angry…at myself. All our lives, Dee was a loner. With no siblings and addict parents, she was used to being alone. Then, for some strange reason, she decided to trust me enough to let me into her life. When her mom overdosed a few years later, she turned even further inward, building steep walls around herself. And I was the only person she let inside.

Then I walked away. I went to war and left her behind. I won’t do that again. Not ever. She wants me to leave right now, and okay, of course I’ll do as she asks, but not before saying, “I know you still care about me. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it in your—”

“So what if I do? It doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

“How?” She frowns at me, crossing her arms awkwardly over her crutches.

“We can…I don’t know…fix this.”

“Fix what?”

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