My release is a flood that roars through me, creating a rush of white noise in my ears. My muscles tighten to the point of snapping before they unlock and I shudder violently, my lower body a war zone of pleasure and pain. Need and fulfillment. There’s a harbor in the storm, though, and her body is already wrapping around mine, needing me back, making the violent pleasure we’ve inflicted on our bodies a glorious thing we share, instead of something to combat. God, it’s so good. My cock is still jerking with aftershocks, moisture spurting from the tip while I groan into her hair, my hips still moving in fucking motions all on their own. Her lips move over my cheek and I turn into them, inhaling through a long kiss, sensing her need for an anchor and giving it to her. Giving everything to her.
How am I ever going to let this woman go?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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Username: LittleMissMorbid
I’m not trying to be a downer, guys, but they should probably drag the bottom of the closest lake, right? Guys?
Guys?
Naomi
I’m going through the motions of making dinner, but I feel like I’m watching the movements of my hands on a movie screen. I’m only half conscious of the knife sinking into the asparagus, cutting on the purplish-white ends. Rinsing them. Putting them in the sauté pan. I have a roasted chicken in the oven and a lemon risotto on the back burner, too, a feat I never would have been capable of accomplishing a month ago. If only I could relax enough to enjoy it.
When I reach up to retrieve olive oil from the cabinet, the sore muscles of my stomach pull and I stumble forward against the counter with a closed-mouth moan. Oh my God. My hot shower did nothing to soothe my aches, apparently. I really did have sex with Jason on the boat. I am actually now in his kitchen, waiting for him to clean up while I get dinner started. Sex is likely to happen again. I am in this reality where it’s understood that I’m going to bed with a big, bad Special Forces diver with a secret tender heart.
Sex. Going to bed. Ha.
Ha.
What happened on the boat was not sex. It was…
What the heck was it?
It was a claiming. It was unapologetic fucking. Yes, fucking. Grunting, vigorous, worshipful, ruthless fucking. He was hot for me. My body. The way I tweaked my hips made his jaw drop, made his eyes go molten. My words alone almost brought him to climax. My breasts made him growl. He was so incredibly hard between my legs. Hard for me. Naomi Clemons. I’ve never been so confident in my abilities to please a man, because the results were right there on display where I could devour them with my eyes, catalogue them in my memory bank.
Spank bank.
I snort into my wrist, laughing at the wayward thought. Not so long ago, I wouldn’t have allowed an acknowledgment of something so inappropriate. I definitely wouldn’t have applied it to a situation involving me. But here we are. I have a spank bank now. It’s a done deal and I wouldn’t mind making another deposit. I snort again and propel myself into drizzling olive oil. It’s one thing to acknowledge my spank bank, another to dwell on it when there’s dinner to be made. The silly smile lingers on my mouth until I realize my pulse is still bobbing and weaving.
It fades and I swallow. There was more than sex today. There was connection. A meeting of something far deeper inside both of us, and I think that’s why I’m walking shell-shocked through Jason’s kitchen with my ears ringing. I’m too afraid to explore what made tears leak from my eyes today when it was over and Jason was holding me close in his huge embrace. So close. I’m too afraid to examine what made my heart feel like a helium balloon in my chest when he held my hand as we drove home in silence, our eyes meeting every so often across the truck’s interior.
My life can’t change course because of Jason and this thing between us. I’m already so far off the original track that it’s going to be a struggle to get back on. Daughterhood. Possibly wifehood. Socialite status awaits me in Charleston, in case I forgot. I have a little bit of time left in the hourglass, though. I’m not down to the final grain yet. So can’t I put off thinking about reality a little bit longer? Is that so bad?
Jason is leaving. My life is elsewhere and vastly different from this one. We are both aware of these truths. They are not changeable. So what is the point of stressing over them now when the next week and a half can be a fulfilling close to my adventure? Maybe…maybe I was meant to be an adventure for Jason, too. That possibility makes me feel a little breathless. If I go back to Charleston with the confidence in myself that I can be someone’s adventure, my purpose for running from the church will be achieved.