"Yeah..." Her eyes fall closed. She zones out; I can almost see her fade. "A—Aeron."
"Baby." Another inch. Then another. She's seized up, all bunched and contorted from her interrupted orgasm, but so slippery that her body can't fight me. "You have any idea how often I've imagined this?"
She nods. Moans again.
Further inside her, almost...all the way. That's it. The moment she's full, we're both competing for breath, pushing against each other, desperate for friction. Every gasp she takes results in a shudder of warm muscle over my cock.
"There. Jesus. You still want to fight this?"
"No. No. I—"
I edge out before thrusting back in, hard.
She arches, her breasts mashing right into my chest. "Oh God!"
The rest of the room starts to fall away in blurred pixels. There's only Leo, this fluid girl underneath me, taking everything I give her, letting me in. I thought she'd become a canvas but it's different. Wicked and silver and crimson, dubious and—ah, fuck, I'm so sensitive I can barely stand the feel of her. I reach for her ass cheeks, splay my fingers across them, hold her up so I can go faster. Harder. Crush her clit against her pubic bone. Sloppy smacking sounds and vague mattress creaks punctuate our curses and moans. I've already lost parts of myself I'll never scrape back out of her, but fuck it.
All I care about is the taste of her still in my mouth, the feel of her in my hands, the sucking glide of her *.
Leo starts telling me she's close again.
I'm with her. All the way. All the way baby, good girl, so hard now—no control, what's control anyway, who gives a fuck about control?
Leontine comes on me with a cry and a mess of contractions, the kind that spill fresh blood on my buttocks and utterly fuck her sheets. I'm hammering into her, practically vibrating, and just when I feel like I've bruised half my pelvis, everything fades and ebbs and—
Oh, holy fuck.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Home
Aged 17
The thing is, I told her what I wanted. Maybe not in so many words, but I made it clear enough. Girls: I don't understand them. Not even Rachel. What, did she think it would tickle?
"It doesn't make it okay," she chokes out through her sobs, limping about my bedroom as she searches for her clothes. "You never said where!"
She's dripping blood on my hardwood floor, and I don't know whether to be annoyed by it or turned on. Adrenaline saws through the thrill of my recent orgasm and starts to irritate my nerves.
"Fine." I take a sip from my glass of liquor and Coke, watching the shadows in my dark room play on her naked skin. "Next time, we'll choreograph everything before we fuck. Happy?"
This only makes her tears spurt faster. For every heave of a sob, she clutches herself between the legs. "Fucking? We're fucking now?"
I give up.
"I can't find my tank top," she weeps. For some reason, she's searching behind my TV. Like there's anything behind there besides dust bunnies.
"It's in here somewhere."
"Why won't you help me?"
For a girl who doesn't like the word fucking, she's awfully eager to hump and dump me tonight. Not cool.
The time flashes on my clock radio: eleven forty-two. Shit. Mom will be home soon, probably with her man of the month, and there will be a whole other kind of noise to block out. One far worse than simpering Rachel.
"Aeron." She crumples against the wall, still clutching herself with one hand and holding her pink panties in the other. Her bare legs are a devil's mural, dark wet red swirled across pale skin. It's worse than usual—even I can see that. "I think...can you take me to the ER? Only it hurts more, and I keep bleeding, it's not going...away..."
I thrust my glass in her direction. "Last thing I need is a DUI."
"But how am I going to get home?"
I shrug. "Stay here."
She shakes her head slowly. "My curfew—"
"Bullshit. You told your mom you were staying at Lindsay's. I heard you on the phone."
"I don't want to stay," she whimpers. "I think I need a doctor."
"And how would you explain this to a doctor, huh? You'll just get into trouble. I thought you were smart?"
Nothing. She just starts to cry again.
Maybe I should've stuck to her thighs. She was getting used to that—even enjoyed it, goaded me on at times.
With feigned patience, I slip out of bed and pad over to kneel with her. She bends sideways into my embrace, her forehead jutting to seek my kiss.
"I'm sorry, okay?" I murmur. "I got carried away."
"I know." She keens, low in the back of her throat. "But it really fucking hurts, Aeron."
"Can I see?" Can I take a photo?
She seems to shrink away from me and back into the wall. "It hurts to spread out like that."
"You know what? I'll call you a cab." I start up to find my cell.
"But I don't have any money."
"I'll pay. You just worry about finding your clothes."