Debt

But judging by the low rumbling growl in his chest again, I knew he heard. And I knew he liked it.

Two strokes later, I felt his thumb press inside me, the sensation foreign and unusual enough to make me arch up slightly, but not painful or gross like I had been expecting. Just new. Just different.

And as soon as his thumb was fully inside me, that was it. His cock kept rocking into me, but his finger didn't thrust, just filled me, just created a different kind of pressure, an unknown kind of pleasure. As my finger started working my clit again, all feelings of embarrassment of him having a finger in my ass disappeared in the almost overwhelming need for an end to the torment, to give into the orgasm that felt like it was going to rip me apart. My finger rubbed, his cock rocked, and then it did. It tore through my body, making me cry out louder than I thought I was capable of as the first hard pulsations started to rip through me. Then and only then did his thumb start thrusting as his cock continued to as well, creating an unknown, unexpected, completely mind-numbing kind of pleasure that had me crying out his name over and over as the waves kept crashing.

I came down on a strangled whimper, blinking away the tears that had gathered in my eyes as I lost Byron's finger and his hands grabbed my ass as he buried deep, cursing and saying my name as he came.

My body started shuddering with aftershocks as I lay there, taking deep breaths and closing my eyes tight until the absolutely absurd urge to cry went away.

Byron slowly slid out of me and the bed shifted slightly as he climbed off of it. I slitted my eyes slightly to watch him walk over toward the teensy kitchenette. He opened a cabinet and tossed the condom, presumably, into a hidden garbage, then washed his hands before turning and coming back toward the bed. And me.

To be perfectly honest, I had been mostly expecting him to grab his clothes, shrug into his dry pants, and leave me there.

But in reality, he lay down next to me on his side, reaching out and pushing my shoulder until he rolled me onto my side facing him as well. His hand settled on the side of my cheek and I pressed my eyes closed tighter.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice quiet. I swallowed hard and shook my head. I wasn't ready yet. I needed a minute. I needed to get myself fully together. "Prue, look at me," he said again, a bit of pleading leaking into his voice and that was perhaps the only thing that could have gotten my eyes to open. They did, slowly, and only because I was pretty sure the tears were all blinked away. But apparently I was wrong because one slipped down only to be caught by the edge of one of his fingers. His face was soft as he watched me. "Look," he started, tone a bit more serious. It was almost his business-phone-call voice. "Once wasn't enough. So if it wasn't enough for you, either, we are going to have a repeat. Likely multiple ones. I like to push limits. It gets intense. When things get intense sexually with women, they can get emotional. It's not a big deal. It doesn't mean shit. You don't need to analyze it to fucking death. It just is. There's no reason to try to keep it all in like you think you need to. You need to cry, cry. I won't think anything less of you. You need to curl up next to me until the aftershocks subside, fine. Fucking is only fun if you get whatever aftercare you need. Otherwise, it's me using you. Some women are into that. You're not one of those women. I don't expect or need you to be. I take what I need; you need to take what you need too. And that doesn't just mean an orgasm or two. We clear?"

I'd never heard anything out of any man that was, in a weird way, one of the nicest things I had ever heard. Not only that, but it was very succinct, to the point, and unapologetically honest. I found I liked that about Byron. I, as a rule, generally believed in social graces. I believed in biting your tongue and thinking your thoughts through. I believed in curving the truth if need be. Byron didn't. I never thought I would like that about a person. Especially when it made some things he said come off rude, cocky, condescending, or downright nasty. But it was real. You didn't need to beg for clarity with him. You didn't need to think yourself half-crazy trying to figure out his motives, his wants, his needs, his opinions. Because he simply told you with no muss, no fuss, no frill, no chaser to take away the sting.