Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“What’s this shaking?” He looks up at me, sounding as tense as I feel. “Are you nervous?”

“No.” Seven years I’ve had this. Seven years we’ve been making love. Yet, I have butterflies, as if I’ve been waiting to do this my whole life.

He wiggles a finger under the crotch of my panties. “Too bad.” He knows I’m lying. “I like the idea that you might be nervous.”

He bends his finger to tug the fabric away, knuckling my folds. I grip the flannel in my hands tightly, melting under his controlled touch.

He stands from his seat and takes a step back. I’m bared to him, my pants and underwear around my ankles, my top pulled up. The TV glare flashes behind him.

I wait, afraid to make the wrong move. He might leave me panting like last time, even though his cock is already straining the fabric of his suit pants. It’s that mouthwatering outline that makes me bold. “Why’d you call me a slut?” I ask.

He looks from my tits to my face. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “It was the only way I could be with you that night.”

It’s the answer I expected, but hearing he wanted anyone but me still hurts.

“I thought I could turn you into someone else,” he continues, “but I can’t. You’ll never be that in my bed.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “It’s one of the reasons I haven’t been able to be with you since.”

I breathe from my stomach. I want to find the meaning in his words, but the tender ache between my legs hurts so much, it’s not even pleasant. “Nathan,” I plead.

“Sadie.” The rough playfulness of his voice makes my skin pebble. His eyes glimmer. He begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you sure you want this? After everything we’ve put each other through?”

Even if I could form a coherent thought against sex, I know what my answer would ultimately be. “Yes.”

“Go get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

I shouldn’t hesitate. It’s not like he hasn’t had me in every position possible. I trust him, but it’s been weeks, and if I’m this turned on, he must be going crazy.

He pulls his belt through his pant loops and drops it. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No.” I go to pull the top over my head.

He stops me. “I’ll do that. Just get into position.”

Nathan gets demanding in bed when he’s hot. This feels different, though. There’s a calm edge to his commands that isn’t new, but it’s sharper than I’m used to.

I turn and go to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on me. I climb onto the bed, facing the headboard, and do what he says. I display my most intimate places for him. At the same time, my flannel hangs from my torso, covering my upper half like a blanket.

Seconds later, his footsteps cross the living room, and he enters the room. The mattress trembles when he gets on it behind me. I barely register the sound of his zipper before he’s teasing me. He slaps the head of his cock against my crack, then drags it up the back of one thigh. His soft skin on mine is maddening, and I drop my head toward the mattress, breathing hard. A trail of pre-cum dries on my skin.

“I’m going to fuck it all out,” he says. “I could take my time with you, but I don’t want to.”

“I’m ready,” I say.

“Unless you beg me to,” he says, ignoring me. “I can eat your pussy now instead of later. I can tease you to the brink first if you want.”

“No,” I say, the word hard and imploring. I realize I’m squirming, and I stop moving except for the heave of my chest. “I don’t need it. I just need to feel you inside me.”

He lines himself up with my throbbing slit, wraps my hair in his hand, and pulls my head back. Kissing me sideways, sloppy but determined, he begins pushing into me. “Like this?” he asks into my mouth. I hear the torment in his voice. I feel it in his touch.

I simultaneously nod and moan. My pussy salivates for him. It’s my core, and he’s the only one who’s truly been there.

He slows down. Takes his time filling me. I’m given each inch with agonizing deliberation, like being fed dessert in tiny bites. I try to push back, but he stops me—scolds me—with a firm hand on my ass. We’re still kissing. He’s never, in seven years, stopped kissing me. Sometimes we fuck quick and hard, other times long and slow. But he doesn’t skip the kissing, not ever.

When he’s all the way in, he stays there. “I’ve been dying without this, babe. Fucking you is an addiction I can’t kick.”

“Really?” I goad him. I just want to be torn apart. “Because you’re going easy on me.”

“No, I’m not, and you know it.”

“This is how you’d fuck a slut?”

He growls in my ear, rears back, slams into me. That’s more like it. “Go on,” he says. “Ask for what you want.”

This much edge is new for us, but it’s just what I want. “Use me. You need this,” I say. “You aren’t going to break me.”

He straightens up and stretches my pussy lips with his fingers until they burn. He thrusts in and out, faster than before, but still with restraint. He holds me in place like that, as if I’m a doll or some kind of toy.

“Quite a view,” he says. “Sorry you can’t see it.”

He’s smug. He doesn’t realize, though, that the closet door is open. With my head bent and angled, I can see flashes of us in the mirror. Nathan’s shirt is off, but his pants are around his knees. His muscled ass cheeks clench and release with each thrust like a well-oiled machine. If he bent over me, his big body would consume mine in one bite. We’re in our bed where we belong. It’s right. Wonderfully familiar. I’ll end my affair tomorrow and put my secrets on the table. All of them. I promise I will. I’ll hurt him, but then I’ll heal him. When he tries to leave, I’ll throw myself in his path. Anything so I don’t lose this.

He closes over me again, trailing his lips along my neck, and then bites my shoulder blade. I cry out, and he kisses it. No longer holding back, he shoves my face into the mattress so my lower half is propped up to take more of him. My shirt falls forward around me, but he doesn’t fix it. I said I wouldn’t break, and I won’t. My cheek chafes against the comforter. He leans his weight on my shoulders, angles deep, owns me top to bottom.

I grasp for the bedspread and hang on. He slips one finger and then two over my clit. My control spirals free with his little circles. With a touch honed and perfected from years of practice, he tips me over the edge and into a rippling orgasm. My hips give, and I flatten out onto my stomach. The force of his fucking moves me up the mattress. I slither over the side, catching myself on the floor with my palms. He keeps my bottom half on the bed. My shirttail sticks under my stomach, but I’m still in the dark, facing the belly of the mattress. The way he takes from me is like the first night we dropped the pretense of lovemaking and fucked like animals on a futon in his studio.

“Want me to come in you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I beg.

“Wrong answer.”

Blood is rushing to my head. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I can have whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want, Nathan,” I repeat. “You know you can have anything.”

He holds my hips down, and my attention is reduced to one simple thing—the unrelenting pounding inside me and then the heat of his release.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I’m still half off the bed, waiting for Nathan’s cue. We finally fucked again, and two weeks apart made us wild. But the following silence scares me. My locked arms wobble from my weight. Nathan shudders over me, his breathing loud and raspy. After some more languid thrusts of his hips, he stills completely. Seconds tick by. When I think my elbows are going to snap, I move.

“Shh.” He runs his hand down my back. “Don’t.”

I stay where I am, waiting. Darkness creeps on me like an ocean tide. My upside-down face pulses as blood rushes to my head. It’s turning painful, but I think he knows. After what feels like forever, he swivels his hips.

My stomach drops, my walls clenching around him.

“You’re hard again?” I ask.