I’ve been with men before. Sex has never felt like this, even all those years ago with Jesse. I think the fear of giving myself up to him for the first time kept me from fully giving myself over to the moment. Now it has only been a few short seconds of his mouth against my clit and I know with crushing certainty that he just ruined sex with other men. Nothing will ever touch this. Nothing will come close.
I lose track of time, giving myself over to the waves of blinding ecstasy that are spreading from his tongue as he works not just my clit, but everywhere. He circles my opening, and even plunging it inside me and swirling it in a way that has me gasping his name. Men who have gone down on me before were tentative, like they were reluctant to do anything too dirty, or like they were just going through the motions as a means to an end. Jesse attacks my pussy like it’s the most delicious, precious thing in the world, paying agonizing detail to me and how I respond. I can sense him making adjustments based on my body’s response, expertly becoming more and more zeroed in on how to ramp up my pleasure to obscene levels.
He’s a fucking sex god.
I never want it to stop, but I can only hold back the tidal waves for so long. He presses his mouth hard into my clit, working me in a frenzy of delicate and hard, circling presses of his tongue as his fingers glide to my entrance. I spasm with release, cumming so hard that I cry out.
“Fuck!” I gasp. I’ve never been loud in bed, but he has me moaning and screaming his name and I don’t even care. I dig my hands into his silky hair, squeezing and pressing his mouth into me as I quiver, absolutely floored by the torrent of sensations ripping through me.
When my orgasm finally subsides, I realize with a mixture of fear and excitement that it’s not over. I’m completely wiped out, but with every passing second I look at his gorgeous face and hard body and the scrumptiously large cock throbbing between his legs… well, I make a quick recovery.
I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock, biting my lip and looking into his eyes. “Do you have a condom?” I ask.
He reaches to his discarded pants and fishes out a metallic wrapper and expertly opens it with one hand and slides it on his cock in seconds. I try not to dwell on why he’s so good at that. It’s not hard to shift my focus when he presses himself against me, straining the walls of my core with his thick cock.
My eyebrows draw together and my mouth opens in a silent “O”. There’s a brief moment of tension and then he’s inside, filling me so completely that I wonder how I ever lived without it. I wrap my legs around his back, squeezing the hard, corded muscles of his arms as he holds himself up over me and glides himself in and out of me, slowly at first, almost reverently. I get lost watching his face, the way it would almost look like he was frowning if his lips weren’t slightly parted, and if his downcast eyes weren’t taking in their fill of my naked body.
His pace increases with a relentless certainty, never wavering, always getting just a little faster with each thrust. I become transfixed by it, the precision of it, and the way it creates a suspense, a question of how long he can keep up the increasing pace, like listening to a master singer hit higher and higher notes, knowing it can’t go on forever but reveling in the anticipation.
He pounds into me, face drawn in a mask of passion. I squeeze his arms, nails digging into his smooth skin. I look up at him, the perfect outline of his body silhouetted against a blanket of stars above us. Being with him feels so primal and so right, like if I could only hold on to this moment, it would breathe the life back into my world, giving everything the tinge of meaning it has been missing since he left.
His pace reaches a fever pitch and he finally groans, tensing and letting his head fall beside mine as his cock pulses inside me. I feel the warmth of his cum through the condom and I’m shaken by another climax.
I don’t know what this means for us, whether it was just release or something deeper. I don’t know if Jesse felt the same bond and connection I did, but if I can trust my heart, I know he did. The sensation of something real and tangible linking us together was unmistakable.
35
Jesse
I’m in a dark room. Water drips from the ceiling somewhere. A man’s boots scuff on the ground as he picks up metal implements from a table behind me and sets them back down, humming casually. My body is on fire. My wrists are rubbed raw from where the ropes hold me. The bullet wound in my side feels like it’s festering, and my back is pulsing with agonizing pain from where they whipped me. I spit blood on the floor, forcing myself to straighten and stay strong. If they’re going to kill me, so be it, but I’m going to die like a fucking soldier, head held high and without a trace of fear in my eyes.
The man steps back in front of me. He’s middle-eastern with dark skin and a thick beard. He has oddly kind eyes for someone in his line of work. They are light brown, soft, like his features. I can picture him sitting on the edge of his children’s bed, reading them a story. But now the only story he wants to hear is where I came from and who I work for.
“Go fuck yourself,” I say, spitting another mouthful of blood at his feet.
He regards the blood with disinterest, raising the surgeon’s knife to my face. His accent is thick, but I can understand him well enough. “This knife is sharpened by a special machine. You will not even feel the cut at first. It can slice skin and bone just as easily. I could carve at you for hours before you even lost consciousness.”
My eyes are drawn to the razor-thin blade and I grit my teeth. “Fuck you,” I say.
He tsks, “And I thought we were getting along so well.”
Without preamble or hesitation, he swipes the blade across my thigh. I feel a slight tug, nothing more, nothing less. His lips slowly curve up into a malicious grin as he raises the knife to my face again. It’s smeared in blood now. I try not to, but my eyes fall to my thigh, where I can clearly see a thin black line across my the bare skin. The pain follows seconds later, but he’s right, it’s not much. I watch the blood rise up and spill from the wound. Judging from the bleeding, the cut is fucking deep. I know how little blood it actually takes to bleed out, and I’ve already lost so much. If he thinks he can keep this up for hours, he’s going to be disappointed.
He taps the knife against my cheek. It’s warm and wet, not cold like it should be.
I stir, no longer sitting upright, but lying on my back. The pain in my leg fades to memory and my eyes jolt open. My chest is heaving and my body is covered in a sheen of sweat.
Makayla’s hand rests on my bare chest and she props herself up over me, looking down into my face with so much compassion it hurts.
“Hey,” she says, voice as soft as an angels. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
I sit upright, not wanting to give in to the warmth of her touch, not feeling like I deserve to be comforted. Those dark moments are just part of my penance, the price I pay for what I did and what I didn’t do in the war.
“It’s fine. Just a bad dream.”