She climbs out of bed slowly and my pulse quickens. She’s not in her usual oversized pajamas. She’s wearing a tiny pair of light blue shorts and a tight tank top that makes it very obvious there’s no bra beneath.
“Uri…” she murmurs again, taking a few tentative steps towards me.
Even as I chide myself for coming here in the first place, a part of me is aware of the fact that there was no stopping it. This shit was inevitable. As unstoppable as a runaway train.
She waits for me to say something, but when I offer her nothing, she keeps inching closer until she’s standing right in front of me. She doesn’t look angry or annoyed. She should, but she doesn’t. The pinch of her eyebrows and the downward tilt of her mouth tells me she’s concerned.
With her eyes fixed on my face, she reaches out and takes my hand. I flinch but she ignores me. Her fingers tighten around mine.
My God, does that feel good. Better than it ought to.
“Something’s wrong.” It’s not a question.
Another step brings her close enough to feel every breath ghosting against my skin. Her chest rises and falls and her breasts brush against my torso. When she touches my forearm with her free hand, I flinch and grimace.
“I don’t know how to fix you, Uri,” she whispers tentatively. “I don’t know how to fix what’s broken in your life. But… maybe I can make you feel a little better. Just for now.”
She pushes herself up on her tiptoes and grazes her lips against mine. It’s the softest kiss I’ve ever had and it leaves me wanting more.
“That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?” she asks without a trace of accusation in her voice. “You wanted to feel better.”
When I don’t answer, she pulls me towards the bed and makes me sit down on the edge of it. She steps in between my legs, her hands falling against either side of my face. I look up at her, mesmerized by how fucking beautiful she is, how fucking ethereal she appears to be. She’s not of this world. Not of my world.
But she’s here.
Her heat is prickling at my skin, pushing its way through my body, forcing out the anger and the cold. My hands go to her hips like they have a mind of their own.
Those eyes of hers bore down onto my face. But she doesn’t ask me anything else. She just lowers herself down to her knees in front of me and starts unzipping my pants. If I were more rational right now, I’d be asking myself how she knows exactly what I need. I’d be asking myself if this thing between us has gone so far now that it’s crossed a line into something else entirely.
But then her hand cups my cock and I stop thinking entirely. Her mouth finds my hardness and my mind is wiped blank. The last vestiges of anger disappear altogether.
It’s just me and Alyssa, floating around in a void of our own making.
She sucks on the head of my cock, letting rivulets of her spit run down my shaft before they coat my balls. She goes slow, massaging gently while she draws me deeper into her mouth. By the time my cock hits the back of her throat, my sense of restraint has disappeared with my anger.
I grab the sides of her head and start jerking my hips upwards, into her mouth. Her hands clamp down on my thighs, but she keeps her head steady.
With my jaw clenched tight, I fuck her mouth so hard that sweat starts beading up along my skin. Her strangled gasps only spur me on as I lose myself in her warmth and wetness.
It’s never felt like this before. Not with anyone.
Finally, I can’t hold back any longer. I erupt in her mouth, spurting cum down the back of her throat. Even after I’ve released her head, she doesn’t pull out. She just keeps sucking while my body spirals out of control.
“Fuck,” I growl as she continues to suck me long past the point of the orgasm. “Fuck!”
I collapse back against the bed, but it feels like she’s attached to my cock. She keeps sucking on me. Hard. So hard that, within seconds, she’s got me back to ready, on the precipice of coming all over again.
“Fuck… Alyssa…”
Her name escapes my lips and still, she doesn’t stop sucking me off. The moment her fingers caress my balls, I explode inside her once more. She laps it up all over again like she didn’t have enough the first time.
As my heartbeat slows, all I want to do now is close my eyes and sleep. A dreamless sleep, preferably. But the reason I force myself into an upright position again is because I want to sleep here with her.
She’s still on her knees in front of me. God, what I would give to kiss her right now.
That’s my second reason to leave. Actually, who am I kidding? I have thousands of those.
But I allow myself just one moment of weakness. I stroke her perfect, blush pink cheek with the back of my fingers.
Then I get the fuck up and I get the fuck out.
Because, despite what I know I want, I also know that I can’t have it. We come from two infinitely different universes. We’re two completely different people. We can’t exist together in either sphere.
All we have are these stolen moments in the silence between our worlds.
I meet her eyes for a fleeting second. Then I rip myself away from her and practically run to the door. I don’t turn back before I leave.
If I do…
I may not leave at all.
43
ALYSSA
The hot shower does a good job of wiping my body clean.
But as for my head? Yeah—not so much.
By the time I force myself out from under the rainfall showerhead, my fingers are badly pruned and I’m no closer to figuring out what to do than I was before.
One thing I can be sure of: Uri sought me out. He was going through something and he came to me. I may be struggling to control my feelings for him—but now, I’m sure that, in his own way, he’s going through the exact same struggle.
We’re like magnets with opposite poles. No matter how hard we try to fight it, we keep being pulled back together by forces beyond our control.
My core has been throbbing since he left. My jaw is a little sore and my tongue is still salty with his taste—but I don’t regret any of it.
And that, in and of itself, freaks me out.
Shouldn’t I regret it? Wouldn’t a normal, self-respecting woman be appalled at the way Uri is treating me? Like I’m expendable to him? A sex toy that he can use and discard whenever he pleases?
He may very well be using me. Hell, he’s practically said those exact words. But there are moments in between the wild sex and the passionate fighting when he does something that makes me think I’m more to him than just a convenient fuck.
Something as simple as a slice of cake or as intense as brushing my face with the softest of touches just a few minutes ago, right before he left. As insignificant as those gestures seem on the face of it… they feel important to me.
They mean something.