Page 170 of Unravelling The Beast

As I speak quietly, I secure my arm under her knees and hoist them high before placing my hands on the bed.

"I'm going to make you feel just as good as you make me feel, baby."

She moans as I penetrate her hard and furiously. The louder she gets, the more I pound into her, and I glance down at what I'm doing to her. I grip her shoulders from behind and ram her onto my cock until we're both coming at the same time, her knees trapped beneath my arms.

When I feel her warm, juicy pussy tighten around me, I release my hot come with a groan against her lips before speaking breathlessly.

"Fuck, you do it for me; you make all my fucked-up problems disappear and when it's just me and you, that's all there is; just me and you."

When I open my heavy eyelids in the dark room, I notice daylight peeking through the small break between the curtains.

When I regain my bearings, I find my head resting on Arlo's bicep, while the other big arm is wrapped around my abdomen, with his hand resting between my breasts. His warm, naked chest rests on my back, and he is fast asleep, breathing deeply in my hair.

My thoughts return to what happened last, and my eyes draw close as I recall how depressed he was. I've never seen him that distraught or fragile. It was heartbreaking to witness, but I'm thankful I was there and woke up at the right moment, or things may have turned out very differently this morning. I would have no doubt gone into that arm room and seen his lifeless body. The thought sends shivers up my spine.

He seemed to calm down when I told him I loved him before we made love, and then he went to sleep, obviously drained, but I found it difficult to sleep myself. My thoughts were driving me insane, and I couldn't get what he said out of my head.

What exactly did he mean when he said he killed her? Is this someone playing sick games with him, or did he really kill Bridget? And how come he cannot remember it? Did he finish, Charles? All of these are questions I'd like to ask him, but I didn't want to pester him this morning and make things worse. I just wanted to help ease the suffering he was going through in any way I could.

He jolts awake, and my eyes snap open before I side-eye him from behind. As he yawns, he drags me closer to him, and after he's done, he deeply inhales the aroma of my hair before speaking in a drowsy voice next to my ear.

"Did you get any sleep?"

I take a deep breath before responding quietly.

"A little."

He groans and stretches his legs before speaking again.

"How are you feeling?"

"My shoulder is a little tender, but I think it'll be okay."

He exhales a deep breath.

"I've got a ton of shit to sort out today."

I roll onto my back and turn my head to face him.

"Don't you think you could use some rest after this morning?"

He glances around my face, pondering before drawing in closer, gazing at my lips until they are close to mine and when he speaks quietly against them, his eyes flicker to mine.

"Fuck no."

I'm not sure if this is his coping method, but it's certainly not healthy, and I don't want him to slip back into a bottomless hole of depression.

He notices my hesitation and rolls onto his back, his arm still under my head, and speaks while looking up at the black ceiling.

"Stop fucking worrying about me. This is how I deal with shit."

I sigh before responding.

"And how has that worked out for you thus far?"

He looks across at me quickly, with an eyebrow raised .

"What are you?My fucking therapist?"

---