The Best Next Thing

She sucked in a shocked breath, and her hands dropped to his chest for balance. Her hair tumbled around them, a dark curtain cutting them off from the world.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice reverent.

“So are you.” She heard the reverence echoed in her shaky voice.

His hands went to play with her breasts and he lifted his head to kiss her again. He bent his knees and thrust up against her, the tip of his penis stimulating her overly sensitive clit and she whimpered helplessly at the sensation.

To her eternal regret, one of his hands slid away from her breasts, but that regret was fleeting when he felt his way down to her hip. His deft fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties before circling around to grab a generous handful of her butt. He squeezed her flesh for a moment and guided her movements until she found the rhythm she needed. His intrepid hand glided farther down until it found the tight, slick entrance to her clenching channel. Charity shuddered when he slid one, long thick finger inside and she lost her rhythm for a second.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice strained.

A second finger found its way into her spasming pussy, and Charity sobbed. She couldn’t remember anything feeling so all-consumingly good before.

She felt wonderful. Alive…vibrant, young, whole, and so powerful.

“Oh. Oh. Oh my God!” She was dimly aware of her nails digging into his chest as she thrust against him. Grinding on his cock, impaling herself on his fingers and finally…finally coming. Hard. Almost painfully.

And so damned spectacularly.

She was dimly aware of his voice.

Miles.

He was speaking quietly, articulating gentle assurances. Stroking her and guiding her back to the present with him.

He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his long, hard arms around her. She immediately felt warm and secure.

And cherished.

He planted sweet kisses on her damp forehead, and his hands burrowed beneath her blouse to caress her back—sweeping up and down the sweat dampened expanse in soothing strokes.

“You’re still hard,” she observed after a few minutes, and his penis jerked, apparently happy to be acknowledged.

“You asked for an orgasm, I believe that’s exactly what I delivered.”

“But I thought that we would both…” Her voice trailed off in confusion.

“I’m fine. This was about what you needed.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled. A little staggered by his incredible unselfishness. She hadn’t expected him to deny his own gratification.

“Oh, Christ. It was my definite pleasure, Charity. Anytime you need an encore, I’ll be right here.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she snuggled even closer, loving the way he smelled. Warm and woodsy after his shower, with the musk of sex adding that extra layer of delicious sensuality.

She must have dozed because when she startled awake what felt like seconds later, the room was oppressively dark. And she couldn’t move. Her arms were confined, her legs were entangled in something. Not the bedsheets; this was heavier, warmer…

Alive.

A man’s legs.

She stifled a scream and kicked at the legs as she frenetically fought her way out of his hold.

She irrationally wondered how he had found her when he was dead.

Was she dead too? Had he killed her in those final, frantic moments? Was she doomed to forever be hunted by him in the afterlife?

“Charity, it’s okay. It’s Miles. You’re fine. You’re safe…”

The words registered and the voice—curt, controlled…concerned—registered. But she could not defeat the asphyxiating anxiety until she was out of his hold and off the bed. She wriggled away from him until she ran out of mattress and tumbled; landing on the hardwood floor with a thump.

The room flooded with light seconds later.

“Fuck. Are you okay?” Miles’s head appeared over the edge of the mattress, and Charity blinked up at him in shocked confusion and dawning mortification.

“I-I’m sorry. I had a…”

“It’s okay.” The ice was gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded almost eerily calm.

The laugh that burst from her lips had a hysterical edge to it.

“You’re always saying that,” she pointed out. “Telling me it’s okay.”

She shoved her stupidly long hair out of her face, irritated when she tried to push herself to her feet only to trap her hair beneath her hands.

“It’s not okay. It’s not. I’m not.” She fought her way through the dark, all-encompassing veil of her hair and surged to her feet, belatedly recognizing that her blouse was undone and her bra was sagging and she was in all kinds of disarray.

She tugged everything back in place with a humiliated moan, and Miles slowly moved to the center of the king-sized bed, propping himself up against the headboard, and dragging a sheet over his nudity.

“You’re not what?” he asked. And she sobbed, folding her arms protectively over her chest to keep her ripped blouse in place.

“I’m not okay,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could bite them back. It was the first time she had acknowledged as much…even to herself, and she took a moment to mull over the confession in wonder.