Fighting against the mounting desire stirring within, I shake my head, no. I don’t want to prolong the topic or the awkward place their mention puts me in.
“Did they make you come like I do?” His face still set into a scowl.
His demeaning questions aren’t in accordance to the pleasure my body is reveling in now. I’m vulnerable, open…tender in this act. This is now turning humiliating. Why is he doing this to me? Or is he doing it to himself? I’ve seen Stenton unsure, apologetic, and even tortured, but I’ve never seen him so insecure. Yet and still, I don’t want to talk about those experiences. They weren’t good. They were awkward, selfish and ill-motivated. They weren’t Stenton.
Stenton begins to roll his hips in a different direction and rhythm. My eyes squeeze to control the new level of sensations inundating my entire frame. I don’t want to talk about them. Not only is the time inappropriate, but reminiscing about them can take me back to a dark place. It will bring back unpleasant thoughts of me resigning to mediocrity.
“Did they?” he grunts impatiently. “Tell me, Ni?a!” His tone isn’t threatening. Behind the heavy masculine baritone is a desperate plea.
“No!” I nearly scream, trying to focus on my brewing orgasm. Trying to decide to go with it or allow it to abate because this conversation isn’t conducive to ascension. I want an orgasm!
“You sure? S-sounded like you enjoyed them earlier,” he groans.
I’m sick of this already. “No! They were horrible...selfish and skill-less. They didn’t prep me. They didn’t take care of me. They didn’t make me feel the way only you did…do!”
I hate myself the moment those words leave my lips. Those were cards I prefer to hold, and not to hold over Stenton, but because no one has ever mattered but him. Jacques was an experimental failure, and Bernard was a familiar family friend that I could count on. Neither were lovers. Neither touched my heart. They couldn’t. It wasn’t available. Stenton has held it all this time. I belong to him. Always have.
Stenton’s hard expression drops. His eyes turn horror-stricken. I yank my face away in shame.
“Ni?a!” he breathes out with urgency and takes me at the sides of my face.
The softness in his lips and tenderness in his kiss contrast with his demeanor from just moments ago. But it’s too late. I’ve already exposed myself. I’m raw and a tad wounded by his bravado. His wielding virility has seared me.
Stenton effortlessly walks us out to his bed and lays me on my back, never leaving either part of my body. He kisses me breathlessly, attempting to sooth my tears. I’m hurt and angry. I’m now struggling physiologically. I don’t think I want to be in his arms, exposed in every way. I want to be alone to lick my wounds and rebuild my face. I need to think out what he’s just tapped into. When Stenton angles his hips, going in for what he knows will be my undoing, I involuntarily give in to him.
I feel my sex lubricating even more with each thrust he delivers. My back arches off the bed as I quickly decide to relent to what’s brewing within. I flex my hips meeting Stenton’s plunges. His face is still hard, but his determination is new. He’s working to send me off. He wants me to ascend. And as I do, I close my eyes and open my mouth.
“No! Look at me,” he whispers into my face while studying me. “Look at me!” And I do, vision blurred and body trembling. I peer into his marbled eyes. “I love you. I will always take care of you. You know that, right?”
“Yessssss…” I lose focus as I ride out the last of my orgasm.
Stenton isn’t too far behind when he judders over me several times before collapsing on my body. As we wait for our breathing to calm, there’s silence. My body may remain still, be afloat from endorphins, but my mind is churning with what happened in the bathroom.
Stenton relieves me of some of his weight and exhales long and hard. He kisses me adoringly, soft, neat, and gently.