I deserve it. Deserve the good things in life. Deserve to be happy.
My eyes burn. Christ. I’ve shed more tears in these past week than I have since my family died. I couldn’t cry then. Couldn’t process anything. I shoved down the pain, numbed it with drugs and pills. Disguised it with physical pain.
Now the disguise has been torn away. I feel raw, exposed. Bruised all over. Slashed open and displayed. Forced to see the truth.
Feel like I might be happy again, someday soon.
I stroke my hand down the back of my girl. She’s my truth. She’s everything to me, and her warm curves mold to my body, turning me on again. And here I thought, after the brain-melting orgasm she gave me, I’d never be able to get it up again.
I give my dick a few pulls, hissing when it stiffens completely, ready for round two. It’s as if the more I touch her and have her touch me, the more I want her. Soon enough she’ll only have to glance at me and I’ll be coming in my pants.
Not that I’m complaining.
I give my dick one last squeeze and shove my hand between the cushions of the sofa. I pull out a condom, then carefully, slowly twist onto my side to face her. Thankfully the sofa’s wide enough, if only barely.
Her dark lashes lift. Her hand trails over my bruised, busted ribs, a light touch that still hurts. Her eyes shift to my hand and the small foil, and she laughs, that sweet, delicious sound I love. “How the heck did you conjure up a condom?”
“I hid one under the cushions,” I confess.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Because I want to fuck you everywhere, on every surface.” I grab her leg, pull it over mine, opening her up. “Make love to you until you pass out in my arms.” The tip of my erection brushes against her hot, wet opening and we both gasp. “It’s part of the baby-making training.”
She laughs, then takes the condom from my hand, rips it open and takes my cock in her hand to put it on.
My hips rock with a will of their own, pushing into her grasp, and her breath catches. She rolls the condom on, smoothing it down, and although I only came a few minutes ago, I’m just about ready to spill here and now.
Not yet, dammit.
I guide my cock back to her folds and push inside, inch by inch, until I’m in all the way. We’re chest to chest, her full breasts pressing on my stomach, her nipples diamond-hard. I grab her leg and pull it higher, over my hip, thrusting even deeper.
My mouth finds hers as I rock into her, ram into her heat again and again. Her tits bounce, nipples dragging on my chest, and she moans against my lips. I thrust my tongue inside, licking her up, silencing her while I worm a hand between us and find her clit. I flick my thumb over the small, sensitive button, then slip my fingers between her folds, where we’re connected, fucking her faster, harder.
I break the kiss to draw some oxygen, and she cries out, tightening like a vise around me. I stare into her wide, dark eyes as she comes, her pussy rippling down the length of my cock, milking it with every spasm, until I can’t hold back any longer.
“Meg,” I groan as I come apart, this orgasm somehow more intense and yet sweeter, every pull in my balls and every jerk of my cock so strong I’m shuddering and moaning and not giving a damn. “I must have done something good in a past life,” I pant, “to deserve you.”
“You’ve done lots of good in this life, too,” she says, keeping me inside her, entwined with her until the pleasure ebbs away, leaving me sated and sleepy. “And I deserve you, too.”
“You do,” I whisper, not sure how this makes sense, but who am I to question the fact she’s happy to be with me? “You damn well do.”
***
Yesterday I went back to college. I talked to my professors, and decided to take the rest of the semester off. I’m too far behind and too much is going on in my life right now.
So much is going well, fucking awesome, but I need to sort through a lot, too. Answering the cops’ questions about Nino Gaspari and the events of that night, testifying against Carson, doing the paperwork for Damage, wondering what happened to Colt, whether he left the fight club and went to find the girl he’s been looking for…
Having Meg move in with me.
Yeah, this last is amazing. Although I think her cat doesn’t like me. Probably because Meg spends more time petting me than him, and that… That I can understand. I’d be damn jealous, too. My girl is made of awesome.
Though right now she’s nervous. I can tell from the way her gaze jumps from me to her feet, to the building we’re standing in front of, and then to the street. The window of Asher and Audrey’s apartment is right on top of us.
“Come on.” I reach for her hand. “You’ll be fine.”
“You don’t understand.” She takes my hand nevertheless and lets me pull her close. “I have nothing against babies. I love babies. I’m more nervous because now everyone knows my story and they probably think I’m pretty stupid.”
“Pretty, yes.” I squeeze her hand. “But not stupid. Nothing stupid about trauma. They know this. They’ve all been there. They really like you, girl.” She still looks unsure, so I reel her in for a quick kiss. “Not as much as I like you, of course.”