I appeal to him with my eyes. “I have to.”
“Jane, whatever is damaged inside of you, we’re going to fix it together.” He shudders, moans and starts to ride me faster, his hardness swelling inside of me. Lengthening. “Or we won’t. We’ll be damaged together. I need you however I can have you. Just open your legs for me, you gorgeous girl. Tell me this sweet young cunt is mine.”
He lets go of my wrists in favor of scooping his hand beneath my butt, holding me steady for his increasing roughness. And my palms scrape down his back to grip his flexing buttocks, savoring the rebound of his fleshy cheeks every time he drives into me. “Of course it’s yours, baby,” I whisper, my desire taking over. My worries being left in the dust—almost. I can’t let him make love to me. Not yet. It’s too much. I’m already deceiving him and this pouring down of affection is too greedy. I did nothing to earn it. I did the opposite of earning it. “You can do whatever you want with my body, Byron,” I whisper, licking over the entirety of his ear, burying my fingernails in his backside. “Just tell me what I want to hear.”
Punish me.
Shame me.
“No.” His voice is hard. Not to be reasoned with. “We’re making love right now, Jane. Not fucking. Not the kind of fucking you think you need.”
More panic descends. “N-no, I do need it.”
“Bullshit.” He yanks my legs up high around his hips and bears down, lightly grinding the thick base of his shaft on my clit. The friction is so glorious and skillful that my back arches violently and I wrap my legs around his lower back securely, scratching nail marks onto his butt. Panting, panting his name. “Beautiful, beautiful Jane,” he mutters hungrily into my neck. “Sweet, complicated girl. You can trust me. I’ve got you.”
I sob. Tears are starting to roll down my temples.
Oh God, what is happening? I can’t stop this.
Do I want to?
“There we go,” he breathes into my ear. “You’re getting wetter. You want it just like this. With me telling you I’d die for you. That you’re smart and driven and funny and sexy and I fucking need you, need you in my life. Now. Constantly.”
“Byron,” I gasp, my feminine flesh beginning to tighten up ominously, toes straightening involuntarily, light starting to wane at the edges of my vision. “No. No, please don’t make me come like this. Please. I can’t.”
“You will. You’re going to cream up my dick, Jane. You’re going to drench it.”
“Like a slut,” I whisper.
“No,” he growls, kissing me. “Like a perfect angel. My perfect angel.”
The climax that hits me is turbulent and welcoming at the same time. There’s no sick feeling accompanying it. Just freedom. Just flying. A shuddering of my muscles and rawness of my throat, our bodies straining and twisting in the lightness as Byron follows me, sinking in as deep as possible and emptying himself with a hoarse shout of my name, tremors racing down his back and buttocks, caressed away by my fingertips.
And then all I can do is hold him and stare up at the ceiling.
Is this real?
Is it?
When he pulls me into his arms, kisses me and proceeds to explain how each and every one of my body parts—ears, fingernails, knees—belongs to him now, I stop struggling against my conscience…and let myself try happiness on for size. Someday soon I might regret it.
Not this morning…
But soon.
Eight
Byron
Being Jane’s boyfriend has come with a lot of problems—and I don’t want any of them solved. In the week since I’ve moved her into my house, I’ve developed a serious issue concentrating. This morning, I was in a meeting about a new software design launch and I couldn’t hear a word my chief financial officer was saying. Her moans rang in my head until I had to mop the sweat off my forehead. I can look one of my employees in the eye and not even see them. It’s just her beautiful face. Her writhing body. She’s everywhere.
And that’s exactly where I want her.
Jane living in my house has turned it into a paradise of intensity. Our conversations are heavy, breathless races through likes and dislikes, favorites, stories from our past, and we kiss our way through them, unable to stop touching. Aching.
We fuck like animals. There are nail tracks all over my body, whisker burn all over hers. Sometimes she gets overwhelmed having me up close after watching me from a distance for so long. She reverts to her old habits of stalking. While I’m showering or swimming laps in the pool, I feel her eyes on me and I’ve started to crave that sensation of being observed. So much that I hate not having it. I hate the moments in between us being together when Jane’s attention is elsewhere.