I didn’t want to leave, and as I put my toothpaste into my toiletry bag, his voice seemed to echo my thoughts.
“Stay,” Kevin said from behind me.
I looked up into the mirror to find him leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded across his chest.
“What?” I breathed out on a laugh.
“Stay with me. Stop looking for apartments.” He uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. He turned me to face him, leaving his strong hands on my shoulders and staring down at me with his pleading eyes. “You don’t have to be alone. I like having you here. I’ve missed you and having you around has made me happier than I’ve been in four years.”
“Kevin, I can’t stay.” I broke eye contact and shook my head, trying to come up with all the reasons his idea was ludicrous. “I have a life I need to get back to.”
He brushed my hair off my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Don’t leave, Ana. Stay with me. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”
We’d danced around our attraction all month. He crowded me now, pushing harder.
And I was ready to cave.
His thumb drifted up and down my neck. My head lolled to the side, inviting him to bring his mouth to my skin. His lips against my fragile skin were tender, even though I knew how rough they could be.
Maybe I could give us a try. I’d been alone so long, and there he was trailing soft, sucking kisses up my neck, wanting to take care of me in a way no one but he knew how to do.
“Be with me, Ana,” he whispered in my ear, before nipping at my lobe, the pain shooting through me, straight to my core. “I know you’re scared, and I haven’t pushed you. I wanted you to be ready, and I think we both are. Stop running from us. Be with me. Give us a chance.”
There were reasons I’d run. There were things I needed to remember. I knew I was blocking them out, but I’d wanted him so much for so long. With his lips trailing down the V of my shirt, with each nip at my tender skin, I forgot what those reasons were. I lost my will to his. When his fingers pressed into the soft hollows of my hips, the pain almost folding me in half, I submitted my will to his freely.
My body sank into his embrace, a moan tripping past my lips, and he knew I’d caved. He knew he had me where he wanted me. Where we both wanted to be.
With one last nip at my bottom lip, he pulled back and stood to his full height. “Strip,” he commanded.
I didn’t waste time. I held his stare, and with trembling hands I pulled my shirt over my head, and shoved my pants down my legs, kicking them aside. I never had to wonder if my body satisfied him, because even after all these years and the changes I’d grown into, he still looked at me like he could barely hold himself back from devouring me whole. A surge of power washed over me, giving me the confidence I needed to unclasp my bra and slip off my panties.
He gripped my pinkies in his and led me into the bedroom. “Climb on the bed and let me look at you.”
I climbed on and leaned back on my hands, but he flipped me over to my stomach and held my head down as he pulled my hips up, situating my knees beneath me. I was completely exposed to whatever he wanted to do. I waited in excitement and fear of what would come next. I tried to watch him, but he went behind me and I heard the squeak of the chair when he sat in it.
In the silence that followed, I fought to not squirm, to squeeze my legs tight to ease the ache, and possibly hide some of myself. When I heard the rasp of his zipper, I turned my head the smallest amount to see what he was doing. His hand firmly grasped his erect cock. It slowly stroked up and down the skin, his thumb brushing the head at the top.
I couldn’t fight the clench of my pussy, and I knew he saw it by how intently he stared at me.
“Like what you see, Ana?”
“Yes,” I barely whispered the word.
“Good, now face forward and let me enjoy the view.”
I turned and pressed my forehead to the cool comforter. My face heated with embarrassment at being used so carelessly. Embarrassed for liking it.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked, reading my mind.
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“Good,” he growled. His breathing became more labored and the slaps of his fist making contact with his skin grew faster, then they would slow. Eventually he spoke to me, telling me dirty things, rarely needing a response.