I’m there, I’m there, I’m … not.
He takes his hand away and smacks my bottom, very lightly, but it’s like a vicious swipe in my maddeningly oversensitised state.
‘You want me.’ It’s a statement, not a question. He wants my confession.
‘Yes. Just do it. Get it over with.’
‘Romantic as ever, Sophie.’
‘Just sort yourself out and do it.’
‘Ah.’ I think he’d been hoping I wouldn’t mention the need for condoms, but I certainly don’t want this night to be unforgettable for the wrong reasons.
The noises he makes in unwrapping and snapping on the rubber are violent and impatient.
‘You
need protection, Sophie?’ he says grumpily from behind me. ‘You aren’t so self-sufficient as you like to think.’
‘We’re all at the mercy of biology,’ I point out, equally bad-tempered.
This is going to be one tetchy fuck.
‘Some more than others,’ says Chase from between gritted teeth, and then he is in me, quick as a blade, if a lot blunter.
Oh. He feels good.
I didn’t want him to feel this good.
He reaches around for the fronts of my thighs, giving himself optimum leverage, and begins to thrust. There is no ceremony or finesse, and that makes it easier.
Every time his cock lodges its full length, I imagine a little portion of my infatuation with him getting knocked out of me.
One for the lonely nights.
One for the dreamy days.
One for the fruitless flirtation.
One for the imagined tenderness.
One for the betrayal, the anger, the confusion.
‘I’m going to make you come,’ he rasps, pounding away.
‘No, you aren’t.’
Good as he feels, thrillingly rough as he fucks, he isn’t going to make me come. I just don’t want him to.
He doesn’t like my answer, but he thinks it’s just playful goading and puts his fingers on my clit. I suppose he thinks that’s how I come.
It can be.
Sometimes the stimulation of fingers on my nerve endings, sometimes the pressure of a warm, wet tongue. Sometimes the friction of a cock, or a dildo, rubbing against my G-spot does the trick. But none of it ever happens unless I’ve given myself to the transaction, and that’s what Chase doesn’t understand. He can finger and lick and fuck and suck as much as he likes, but I won’t ever be properly there. Not for him.
I figure he’s a man with a pretty overwhelming sense of pride, though, and he isn’t going to finish this unless he thinks he’s driven me to the starry-eyed orgasm of my life. So I fake it.
There’s a first time for everything, after all. Well, maybe a second.