Oh I've sinned
I've sinned against my youth
I won't apologize for what feels right
Bit the apple just for you
My desire won that fight
-Natalie Walker
Start Again
"I need the misery fucked out of me by someone."
Well, that was bold at least.
They are sitting in his apartment now, on opposite sides of the room. Neither of them knows how to start this thing between them because they know it will change
things irrevocably. The silence between them has exceeded minutes now.
"I don't know why I agreed to this."
He is sitting in his leather armchair, passing his cane back and forth between his hands, with his elbows resting on his knees. He won't look at her. His voice sounds
doubtful and almost embarrassed.
She realizes that he is nervous.
It occurs to her that he probably hasn't done this in a long time; years even.
He is out of his element. She knows that this is her chance. She will never have him like this again. With this man there is a fine line.
He must be pushed to toe the border of anything outside the secluded comforts he has created for himself, but push too far and he will retreat into himself completely.
"No one is making you do anything."
She finds it funny that even when she is at his home, and has made it adamantly clear that she would be willing to fuck him in any way possible, he is still suspicious
of her motives for wanting him.
Willing to fuck him? More like my privilege
She gets up and takes matters into her own hands.
She knows that his hesitance is his way of taking control from her.
If he can control the situation, it won't seem so frighteningly unfamiliar. The point of no return is growing closer with each step. She is in front of him now.
The cane stops. He puts it off to the side of the chair and stands to his full height.
"If we do this…there's no going back. I won't coddle you. I'm not going to quell the regrets you'll have."
Tell me something I don't know
"How do you know I'll regret this?"
She is trying to match him tit for tat. She should know better than to engage in a game of wits with the most brilliant man she has ever known.
He returns the volley with a devious grin that makes her stomach drop about two floors.
"Because I know you."
She gives him a look that reads as both skeptical and annoyed. He amends his statement.
"And because we both know nothing good will come of this." He motions to the air between the two of them.
His smugness bothers her. Not two minutes ago he was insecure, and she had the upper hand. How can he turn this around so quickly? This was not part of her plan.
She literally will not wait another moment. She tries to push him back down into his chair. She is prepared to screw him in the middle of his living room, but he stops her,
"Bedroom."
She nods; she realizes how impractical it would be for him with his leg.
She turns from him and saunters out of the room with all the confidence she can muster. There is no fumbling with clothing, or stumbling down the hallway.
There is no pushing up against walls or even touching. They almost march down the hallway to the bedroom; him following her. It will be a battle after all.
When they reach his bedroom, she feels like there is a tremendous heaviness weighing down on them, on what's about to take place. Apparently he feels it too
because they just stand at the foot of the bed, staring at each other, waiting.
He feels so good.
He is being soft, gentle and attentive.
She supposes that he thinks he will break her if he touches her too roughly, or perhaps he knows that it is slowly driving her to madness.
This is a softness she has rarely seen. In the beginning, she thought this was what she wanted, what she always suspected he was capable of.
I can't believe I was ever that naïve
I have changed, he never will
But now that this moment is here, his gentleness frustrates her. When is he ever gentle? When has he ever treated her with any sort of softness?
Never.
They are on his bed now, she is beneath him.
As always
She pushes harder against his mouth, but he doesn't respond the way she wants him to.
She wants him pissed off.
She wants it to hurt.
If she wanted sweet caresses, she would go elsewhere. She makes a somewhat rash decision. She pushes her hand down rather roughly against his maimed thigh.
He releases a painful grunt into her mouth. He tries to pull away but she grabs the back of his head and holds his mouth to hers. She bites his lip. She wants him to
feel some of the pain he has caused her. She wants their performance to mirror the volatile status of their relationship. She wants to push him to the breaking point.
In his moment of weakness she pushes him off her and onto his back. She forces her tongue into his mouth, kissing him in the dirty way she wanted to be
manhandled.
When he starts pushing back and letting out sounds of frustration she smiles against his mouth.
She knew he wouldn't take to being controlled very well. As the pain in his leg subsides he becomes a more active participant. He is pushing his hips against hers.
She has never been this turned on. She gets immense satisfaction for being the reason for his arousal.
She pulls away from his mouth and sits up. He looks up at her pleadingly. She can tell that he is silently praying for her to not talk about feelings.
You've stripped most of those from me
She takes hold of his belt and slides the leather through the clunky metal latch. He can only watch; chest heaving, mouth slightly agape.
She opens his boxers and takes hold of him with as much pressure as she can manage. He, for once, is rendered speechless.
Now that she can finally see his erection, she starts to worry about the logistics of this situation. Suddenly she goes from commanding woman to anemic over anxious
girl.
"Um, how do you… I don't want to hurt-"
He sits up now, and divests her of her shirt. She is wearing a skirt and she is not wearing panties. His hands move along her exposed thighs.
He has exceptionally beautiful hands. She has always thought so, and now as they move over her skin, she can't help but take hold of one.
She inspects the length of his fingers, the lines of his palm. She takes his middle finger and puts it entirely into her mouth. After a few moments, she slides it out
slowly, inch by inch. He is watching her every move, and as soon as his finger has fully left her mouth he kisses her.
This is getting too deep
She puts a hand on his chest to stop him.
"Show me."
He nods and then taps her thigh so she dismounts his lap. He pulls both his shirts over his head and throws them in the general direction of his armoire.
He turns her around so she isn't facing him. He props himself up against the headboard and settles in behind her.
He pulls her down onto his erection, and she hates herself for it but she cries out. She has wanted this for so long.
He wraps an arm around her, pulling her back against his chest and grabbing her breast. He presses his forehead against the nape of her neck.
She suspects he is having trouble controlling his body. His right leg is bent at the knee so it won't be jarred, and his left leg is extended straight in front of them.
When he moves just the slightest bit, she comes. She feels the scrape of his stubble against her back when he smirks against her skin.
He moves slowly at first and when she has recovered somewhat she moves with him meeting his thrusts. He slides down a little bit and oh! a new angle.
She has never been fucked like this; never been this immersed in another person. She feels him everywhere, inside her, over her skin, he invades her thoughts.
She can tell he is close, every time she makes a sound he throbs inside her. She has decided that she loves this feeling.
He wants to come; she wants him to come all over his sheets.
Because of her.
She takes the hand that has latched onto her breast and guides it down her stomach until their joined hands are stroking her clit.
Then, in one last stilted upward thrust, and a log groan he comes. So does she.
Pure bliss
They stay locked together for a few moments, both recovering, but she doesn't want this to become awkward. She sits up and he slips out of her.
He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs his vicodin. Then he arranges himself back into his pants. She watches all this, trying to get a read on him.
She pulls the sheets around her body, attempting to cover up her nakedness.
"It's a little late for modesty." She should have known he would be this way.
"I'm cold," she lies. She can't help the fact the under his gaze she wilts. She yawns, he notices.
"And apparently tired."
"Yeah, I should probably get home." She runs a hand over her hair, and looks around trying to find the whereabouts of her discarded sweater.
"I drove you." There is no underlying proposition. He is merely stating a fact.
"I can call a cab if you want." She won't pressure him. He has been more "cordial" than she ever thought he would be. She wonders how much patience he has left.
"Do what you want." He answers with a shrug and picks at imaginary lint on the comforter.
What kind of answer is that?
Said sweater has been located, crumpled at the foot of the bed. She drops the sheet and puts on her sweater. She sneaks a glance at him.
It was only for a split second, but she saw a look of disappointment mixed with confusion etched on his face. But just like that the mask slips back into place.
She stands from the bed makes it to the doorframe before she turns to him again.
"See you tomorrow? Work?"
He nods at her and his look of innocence is genuine. She gives him a small smile and disappears down the hall.
It is only after the click of his front door sounds that she allows a satisfied little laugh to escape her lips.
I wrote this at about 3 in the morning so it might not make total sense. haha.