I wanted this. I wanted this more than I would have imagined I could, and when he circled my clit with his thumb once more, I cried out loudly. My back was arched again, and I was writhing in agonized pleasure as he pumped hard and fast into my sex. I pushed against the floor with the balls of my feet, lifting my bottom from the seat as I neared my release.
Every muscle was strained tight when I finally came, and as I did, he pushed hard into me with his fingers, holding them there as my body tried to turn inside out. I twitched as my bottom sank back down to the seat, my shoulders rolled forward, trying to wrap around my core, and I whimpered as I gripped the arms of the chair.
He still held his fingers deep, pushing on my clit with his thumb but not stroking, and it wasn’t until I was sprawled across the chair, my muscles too spent to work, that he slowly withdrew them.
He chuckled as he watched me, and it turned into a warm humming sound when he leaned over me, lowering his body to collapse on mine. He rested his cheek to my chest, and his hands held my waist as he nestled against me. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he sighed as I stroked.
“Well that answers that question.” His voice was quiet.
“What question is that?” I tucked my chin down, so I could see him.
He lifted his head, planting his chin on my breastbone. He smiled. “If you’re as fucking stunning as I always assumed you’d be in the throes of orgasm.” He winked as he shoved his tongue into his cheek playfully. “I used to wonder all the time if you got wet for me.” He leaned down, kissing my skin before he lifted his head again. “How old were you … when you had sex again for the first time?” His face was no longer playful.
I glanced away for a moment. “Twenty-two. His name was Mikkel, and he was an English major. We dated for … four months.”
“What went wrong?”
I actually laughed at that, but there was nothing at all funny about it. “Me,” I said with a shrug.
“How many other men have you been with?” His fingers tickled the sides of my ribcage for a moment.
But I shook my head in embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” he coaxed gently.
“Two.”
He nodded.
“I ended it with the second man, because I knew he was cheating on me.”
“Fucker,” he muttered as his fingers tightened on me.
“No,” I said quietly. “He was just lonely.” My eyes warmed and filled with tears, but I didn’t cry. I brushed a tear away, and I smiled at him. “I didn’t even tell him I knew. I just … set him free.”
“And then there was Brian?” he asked.
I nodded. “I tried to be what I was supposed to be with him.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t enough.”
“They just didn’t know how to touch you the right way.” His fingers pinched gently.
My body twitched. “Is that all it is?”
He nodded. “Mm-hmm. And a little bit of patience.” He sat up straighter, planting his elbows on the seat beside my thighs. “Did you love any of them?”
“I thought I could love Brian, but… I don’t know. Did you? The women you’ve…”
He shook his head without hesitation. “Nope.” His eyes were distant as he stared over my shoulder. “I didn’t even want to. Too complicated. Too … exposing. You have a hard time warming up to people physically. I get it. I have a hard time warming up to people emotionally.”
“You don’t seem emotionally cold to me.”
He smiled. “You don’t seem physically cold to me.” He smirked, but it was interrupted by a yawn. “Can I stay with you tonight, or would you rather be alone?”
I reached for his chin, pinching his whiskers softly. “I like it when you’re here.” I studied him for a moment. “And I like sleeping next to you.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” He pushed up from his knees, reaching his hand down to me and then pulling me up to my feet. I let my dress slip off my arms and fall to the chair, and I reached back, unclasping my bra and shrugging out of it as well. He pulled me toward the bed, and I crawled in, curling up on my side to watch him. He undid his pants, pushing them down and stepping out of them. He tossed them to the chair on top of my forgotten dress, and when he turned back around to face me, I tried not to stare.
He was wearing boxer briefs again, and they were a crisp clean white, so damn white there was little at all hiding what was underneath. He was hard, thick, and long, and his erection was pressed to his lower abdomen, running off to the side toward his hipbone and held snug in place by the fitted fabric. It was an intimidating thing to see him like this.
I remembered his body from eleven years ago, but it was more the pain I felt than the visual image of him. The visual images must exist somewhere in my mind, but I struggled to even recall what the stranger looked like now. I remember thinking he smelled and he was ugly, but yet … it was all nondescript in my head. Maybe I’d just closed my eyes too tight, refused to see what was happening. Or maybe I just didn’t want to remember.