Oh my God.
I’m in his arms. He’s carrying me in his arms.
Like I weigh nothing.
“Simon…” I squeak, a little too loudly for my comfort. “What are you doing?”
His large palms are under my ass, and my thighs and arms are wound around his big body as he carries me to the wall, by the bed, the wall that I share with Renn. He props me against it, his arms secured around my waist.
I’m panting as if I’ve been running or doing yoga. “What the…”
Simon adjusts himself, his body shifting between my legs. Like a big mountain.
My night pajamas are short, covering only the tops of my thighs, and I didn’t even realize that my legs have been bare all this time, until they scraped against his clothes. The sensation makes me squeeze them, and all I feel is miles and miles of sculpted muscle. A terrain of muscles.
“Do you live at the gym?” I blurt out the first asinine thing in my head.
God, why am I so lame?
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t even acknowledge my question. He simply moves closer when he’s happy with the way he’s situated me.
His forehead grazes mine and his torso presses into the juncture of my thighs, making me squirm. “I want you to promise me something.”
I fist his shirt on his shoulders. “What?”
Simon grabs my face then, forcing me to focus only on him. Like I wasn’t already. Doesn’t he know? I can’t focus on anything but him when he’s close.
“You won’t miss an appointment again,” he rasps. “Ever. With me or with your therapist. Your group session, your meds. You won’t miss any of it. You won’t jeopardize your health in any way or fashion. Promise me.”
“Simon—”
“Promise me, Willow. Your health is the most important thing to me. It’s not a joke. Do you understand? You won’t let anything affect it. Anything. Least of all a man like me. Tell me you understand.”
His voice is so dark and heavy, laden with things I have no clue about. All I know is that it’s imperative for him that I say yes. The way he’s looking at me like I hold all the answers to his problems, like his life depends on me, I can’t deny him anything.
So, I nod. “I-I do.”
His chest expands with his long breath. “Good.”
“What do you mean, a man like you?” I ask, my hands traveling up to his hair. I sink my fingers into the strands, feeling the rich softness.
Simon doesn’t answer me for a few heartbreaking seconds and I want to hug him so badly. Because I know something is bothering him but he won’t tell me what.
“A man prone to mistakes,” he says, at last, in a ragged whisper, his eyes on me. In fact, his eyes are roving all over my face. Back and forth. Up and down. Fast and slow. All at the same time.
It’s like he’ll never see me again, and it scares me.
“What kind of mistakes?” I ask, massaging his scalp, scraping my fingers through his hair.
He groans, his eyes almost dropping shut with pleasure.
Despite everything, I smile. I smile because I’m giving him pleasure. Me. Somehow, Weird Willow is making this man groan.
It makes me happy. It makes me horny, and I rock, rubbing my core against his torso.
His eyes open, shining and black, his hands going to my hair, his thumb grazing my jaw. He’s touching me on the face, but strangely, it resonates in my stomach, pooling and swirling like liquid lust.
“Do you know I watch you?”
“What?”
His nostrils flare. “Yeah. I watch you. In fact, I can’t stop watching you.”
“Y-you watch me?”
“Yes.” His reply is so guttural, so full of loathing that I don’t know what to think or do except tighten my thighs around him.
And blurt some words that I don’t think make much sense. “I didn’t… You…”
“You didn’t know, did you?”
I shake my head.
It makes him chuckle, my ignorance. But there’s hardly any humor in it.
“You love strawberries, but you hate blueberries,” he murmurs. “You always leave them out of your fruit salad. You always like to sit on the bench closest to the gate while feeding your pigeons, like you’re planning to make a run for it. You blow on your bangs when you’re nervous or agitated. You’ve started to laugh more ever since you talked in the group. And you know what else?”
I don’t think I can talk right now. I don’t know any words. I don’t know any sensations and emotions, except him. He’s all I know in this moment.
My ice king.
Good thing he doesn’t seem to need an answer because he goes on, his fingers flexing in my hair, as if his body is flooded with all the electric energy. “I fucking hated it when you laughed at him.”
“At who?”
“At the new guy. Tristan. You were playing cards and he was teaching you and I fucking hated it. If a nurse hadn’t called me away, I would’ve done something… regretful.”
I vaguely remember it, playing poker with Tristan and a few other people. Mostly I wanted to piss Renn off, because she starts blushing whenever he’s around and it’s fun to watch. But I didn’t… I didn’t know…
He was watching me.
Oh God, he’s been watching me all along.
My lips part as I stare at him with wide eyes. My skin flutters, raises itself in goose bumps. There’s a buzzing in my stomach, my pussy. My soul. It’s like every single molecule, every atom I’m made of is excited.
“Simon, I –”
“Stop looking at me like that,” he spits out, cutting me off.
“Like what?” I wiggle in his lap, his authoritative voice making me hotter and hornier.
His one hand goes to my waist to stop me from moving, plastering my spine to the wall. “Like I’m some kind of a hero. Like this is a fucking fairy tale.” Grabbing the back of my neck with his other hand, he pulls me closer, bringing me flush to his chest, almost flattening my breasts.
“I told you, Willow. I’m not supposed to think of you in any other terms but as my patient. Do you know how unethical this is? Me coming into your room in the middle of the night? Do you know what kind of men do things like this? Weak men. Men who fail. Men who can’t control themselves. You don’t want anything to do with men like that, Willow. You need to be smart. You need to stay away from men like me.”
I want to tell him that smartness, playing by the rules, being good… all of this is over-rated. And then I want to grab the back of his neck too and plaster my mouth over his because Jesus Christ.
He’s been watching me, and he wants me. But he hates that. His strange protective instincts are turning me on so much. And if it’s wrong, him watching me like a stalker or like I’m prey, then fuck it. I don’t care.
I love it.
I cup his hard jaw, feeling his rough stubble and hardly controlling myself from moaning out loud. “Simon, you don’t –”
“My only solace is that I don’t give in. When the thought of you becomes too much and I want to touch you or see you or jack myself off, I don’t. I run. I work out. I fix that house. But I don’t give in.” His breaths are choppy, coming in short bursts, waves. “I can’t give in. I can’t fail.”
Lightning streaks across the sky again, illuminating his severe features and mussed up hair. Illuminating Simon. My Simon.
He’s telling this to himself, reminding himself that he can’t fail. Why? Why is it so important for him not to fail?
Why is it a failure to begin with? Wanting me? Wanting this?
“But I do,” I whisper, my eyes on the verge of leaking water, trying to tell him that he isn’t alone.
He focuses on me then, like he’s seeing me after quite a while. “You do what?”
“Touch myself.” I lick my lips and he homes in on the tiny movement, as I continue, “At night, when I can’t sleep, I touch myself. My breasts, they become so heavy and they hurt me so much. And my nipples poke through my t-shirt and I have to pinch them. A-and I imagine that you’re doing it to me. But your hands are so big and large, and I always end up being disappointed with my own fingers. So, then I…”
“You what?”
I flinch at his words and without meaning to, I rub up against him, going up and down. My breasts scraping against his chest and my pelvis hitting his stomach. His dick.
It’s hard and lodged between us. In fact, it’s lodged right where it should be. Between the lips of my pussy.
“You what, Willow?” he asks again, and I bite my lip, watching him through my lashes as I writhe against his hard pole.
He shudders – shakes – at my movements and his eyes turn even darker, if possible.
“So then, I-I put my hand under my shirt and cup them. I try to… I try to push them together, and then I close my eyes and I think about you sliding your dick in between them, like you’re – you’re fucking me. But then, I get so self-conscious, you know. I d-don’t know if my breasts are big enough for you. If you’ll be able to fuck them. I…”
He pushes back, his cock almost bursting out of his pants, poking into my tiny hole. “You what? What do you do?”
My neck can’t support the weight of my head anymore. So it drops down against the wall. The dark ceiling is flashing in and out of my vision; I’m so turned on. “I play with myself, then. I touch my clit and put my finger inside me. But j-just one finger.”
I feel him grazing the column of my throat with his nose as he grinds his erection into my core.
“Yeah? Why just one?” he growls.
His question coats me in embarrassment and I shut my eyes, biting my lip and shaking my head. Simon doesn’t let me escape though. His hand in my hair moves to my chin and he forces me to look at him.
“Why?” he asks, again.
Swallowing, I tell him, a flush covering every inch of my body. “B-because I don’t want to stretch it out. I want to keep it tight and small for you.”
In this moment, I’m so aware of him and how old he is. How experienced and mature and commanding. Whereas me? I’m so young. Hardly been kissed once or twice.
I wonder if he thinks I’m too childish.
It’s the truth though. I’ve never put more than one finger inside me. I’ve been terrified to. Maybe this is why. For him.
Maybe it wasn’t random. Nothing about me and nothing about him is random.
“Have you been…” I clutch the collar of his shirt. “With a lot of women?”
His jaw ticks. “Why?”
“I know you said you don’t have anyone special but…” I shake my head, wanting to look away from him, but I can’t. Wanting to sound more mature than this, but I’m so wracked by jealousy, all of a sudden. So wracked with the unfairness of the fact that I met him so late in his life.
“But what?”
“Did you go on a date with her? With Josie?”
He studies me, his lips parted like mine. Maybe he’s remembering that day like I am. When I told him to not go. When I asked him out. It seems so long ago right now.
“No,” he replies.
It makes me smile but it makes him angry, my smile, and his grip on my chin tightens. An expression flashes like lightning across his face and he asks, “Is it? All nice and tight?”
I blush at his words. “Y-yes.”
“Fuck.” His hips jerk, his shaft hitting my clit. “Fuck…”
His curses make me moan, make me move against him, against that hard part of him.
“Listen to me, Willow,” he says in an abrading voice. “It’s going to stay that way, your pussy. Do you understand? It’s going to stay all tight and small. No one is going to touch it, including me. This is wrong. The things I feel about you and the things you feel about me. It’s wrong. It’s unethical. We should know better. I should know better. This isn’t happening, okay?”
Despite his words, he grinds his hips into my pelvis, making me push back.
“I want it,” I moan, writhing and squirming.
“No.”
I jerk, almost jump over him, over his hot dick. “Please.”
“Willow, whatever this is, it isn’t real. All of this. It’s co-dependency. You think I’m saving you and I think I’m the only one who can save you. It’s all fucked up, all right? We can’t do this.”
“But you’re forgetting something,” I whisper, knowing it in the depths of my soul.
As much as I enjoy the fantasy of him curing me, of him being my medicine man, I know he can’t. I know in this life, the only person who can save you is yourself. I’ve been fighting to save my life ever since I was born.
I don’t need him to save me. I need him to kiss me right now. And touch me, possibly fuck me.
Oh God, yes, I want him to fuck me.
“What?”
“I’m the Warrior Willow. I can save myself.”
“Willow –”
I cut him off by smacking a hard kiss on his mouth, surprising him. “Shut up and kiss me.”
Smirking, I undulate against him and he growls, claiming my lips in a kiss. But I want more. So much more than a kiss, so I sneak my hand down and cup his erection through his pants, making him rip his mouth off mine and hiss.
I squeeze his length, feeling it throb in his pants. Maybe it’s oozing pre-cum, too. Like I’m oozing out my cream.
Maybe he’s hard but wet like I’m soft and drenched.
“What, are you going to jack me off?” he asks, all still and rigid, while his eyes are glittering dangerously.
“Maybe.”
He cocks an arrogant eyebrow. “I doubt your little girl hands will fit around my dick.”
I offer him a sweet smile as I get to his belt buckle. “Why don’t we find out?”
A muscle jumps on his cheek and I’m waiting for him to stop me. I’m waiting for him to grab my wrist and halt my movements. When he doesn’t do anything, only stands there, watching me, I get to work.
I’ve never opened a belt buckle before but how hard can it be? It looks pretty easy on TV. But paired with darkness and my over-eagerness, I fumble. A lot. And he doesn’t come to my rescue.
“You could help me,” I mutter, keeping my eyes glued to that stupid accessory.
“I think you can handle it.”
I look up at his dry but rough tone. “You don’t think I can do it.”
His gaze is hooded as he whispers, “I think it’s magnificent to watch you fight for it.”
His face is slashed with lust, painted, almost. I lose my breath at the sight of his sheer need. I lose my breath at the passion in his voice.
Simon Blackwood is such a contradiction.
He wants to save me, but he also wants me to save myself. He wants me to fight, and at the same time, he wants to protect me.
A unicorn.
He’s a unicorn.
Biting my lip and gathering all my strength against a rapidly falling heart, I focus on the task. Surprisingly, his scrutiny doesn’t make me nervous and within seconds, his buckle is open and his zip is undone.
My lips part as I reach in, under his boxers – why is it so sexy that he wears boxers? – and make contact with that hard flesh. It’s not difficult to find it; it’s there, sprung up and straight and so fucking hot.
I whimper as I palm the hottest, softest and hardest thing in the world: his bare cock. My whimpers are answered by his groan.
Both of our sounds are low and rough, and they reverberate through our bodies, somehow settling between us where my hand is touching his cock. There are flutters and tingles and heated pinpricks, and I grip him tight, making him shudder.
Simon leans forward, almost falling on me, and his head bumps against the wall, his mouth parted just under my ear. He grinds his forehead into the wood, and I rub my cheek against his stubble, trying to soothe him.
My eyes go to the rain-drenched window, the thunder, the chaos outside. The storm. But it has nothing on the storm on the inside.
He was right. My little girl hand can’t fit around his entire length. So I use both of them. I grip the base of his cock, thread my fingers around it, start pumping. Slow, erratic pumps. Unpracticed but I don’t think he minds.
“Fuck…” Simon curses, again.
His puffs of breaths under my ear, on my throat, are making me achy, achier than ever. It’s making me sweaty as well. A drop of perspiration slides down the side of my cheeks. But I don’t know if it belongs to him or to me. Our sweat, our skin seems the same, in the near darkness.
Even though I can’t see his erection clearly to gather its nuances, I still know that the top of his dick is rounded and hot. And so smooth. It’s wet too. There’s a line bifurcating it and the more I thumb that delicate spot, the wetter it gets.
“You’re leaking too. Like me,” I whisper and to show him what I mean, I bring his erection to my core and rub it along my pajama-covered slit. I moan at the sensation of his naked shaft rubbing against my clothed pussy. It’s hitting my clit in just the right way. I think I can come like this, moving over him, jacking him off.
His shuddering chest hollows out and I’m afraid he’s stopped breathing. But then, he pushes out a large breath, fluttering the stray hair stuck to the line of my neck. “Use it to lube me up.”
I stop, my fingers flexing around his cock. “What?”
He raises his head, his eye so close to me that if it were day, I would see myself reflected in the depths of his gaze.
“You want to jerk me off. Then I want you to lube me up with your cream.”
Before I can comprehend what he means, he uses one hand to heave me up against the wall, securing me, and with the other, he shoves the crotch of my pajamas to one side, taking my drenched panties along, and baring my pussy.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Taking what you made for me.” He nips at my lower lip as his fingers swipe along the seam of my core.
“Oh God.” I shiver, my eyes clenching shut, my hips twisting.
He’s touching my pussy with his finger, slanting up and down my wetness. Almost slipping, actually, with how soaked I am.
I’m embarrassed.
God, I’m so fucking embarrassed at the fact that I haven’t shaved down there in ages. They don’t let us. Either you have to do it under supervision or you don’t do it at all. I chose the latter and it’s only hitting me now, as his fingers flick through my damp curls.
“Christ,” he curses, thumbing my clit, sending shooting sparks through my blood. “It’s making me insane how soft you are. You’re the softest thing I’ve ever touched. All innocent and pure.”
My embarrassment melts away at his words. I might even be smiling in the darkness; I can’t be sure.
My own fingers slip around his dick as it throbs and a drop of pre-cum slides down. Then I stumble upon loose skin around the head of his cock. I gasp as I touch it. It has to be the most delicate thing in the world. Like a bundle of silken threads.
“You are so soft, too.”
He chuckles. “There’s nothing soft about me, Willow.” Then, “Wrap your hands around my cock. Tight.” He waits for me to obey him. “And smack it against your pussy.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do it,” he commands.
I do, albeit awkwardly. I tap it against my bare cunt once. Twice. Moaning.
“Harder,” he grunts.
I do it harder, writhing my hips every time it hits my clit. “Oh God…”
“Good,” he praises. “Now, put it in the middle of your tiny slit.”
I look up to find him watching my hands between us. I place him so that the lips of my core are hugging his girth. It makes him twitch and press his thumb on my clit.
“L-like this?”
His hips pump, slicing his dick through my slit like it belongs there. “Yeah. Just like that.”
“God. Simon… this is…” I moan as I begin to move as well, my wet, sticky hands coming off his dick and gripping the side of his shirt.
We both rock against each other, my cunt stretched around his cock so tightly. I whimper, my eyes clenching shut. I wish I could keep them open and see it. I wish I could watch as he thrusts his hips in a rhythm, pumping, the head of his dick hitting my clit.
My pussy is clenching, fluttering with every slide. It’s juicing up, probably preparing itself for that massive shaft that keeps working it. My pussy is hungry. I’m hungry.
He’s so close. That part of him is so fucking close and yet, it’s so far. I wish he would put me out of my misery.
I wish he would put it in.
He’s right there. Right there. The head of his erection could so easily slip inside my hole. I know he won’t though. I know it.
I somehow know him, even without knowing anything about him.
But one day. One day I’m going to make it happen. One day I’m going to make him fuck me.
For now, this has to be enough.
I’m buzzing with the way his dick is moving up and down, pumping. It’s both shocking and electrifying, his bare, most intimate skin rubbing into mine. My nails dig into his sides as I hold on to him and twist in a perfect rhythm.
Grind, grind, grind.
It’s so sticky and messy, the way we are thrusting against each other. My night shirt has ridden up and is bunched around my waist. His clothes hang haphazardly from his body.
If it were not for our raging breaths and the rain outside, we would hear the sounds of our own slippery arousal. As it is, I can feel his pre-cum dripping over my pussy, my bare lower stomach, and I feel myself making a mess of the tails of his shirt and pants.
The musky smell rises around us. A mix of him and me. Just the fact that we’re so entwined right now and hot and brimming with life and lust and all these feelings that I don’t know what to do with, makes me come.
My moan gets swallowed up by Simon.
Although he curbs my sounds, he can’t curb my shivers. My shakes. The earthquake inside me. My sweaty, buzzing limbs are trembling with a power I haven’t felt before. It feels like this is my first orgasm.
And it is. With a man. With Simon.
It goes on and on and it would scare me if not for him, holding me, placing tiny kisses on my lips. As I come to, I kiss him back. Our tongues mate and our teeth clack. I suck on his mouth like he was sucking on mine that day, trying to cure me. I do the same to him. I try to suck off all his demons and set him free.
Maybe I’m doing it, releasing him, because a second later, he comes too.
Simon lurches, and I can feel the beginnings of a pained moan in his chest. Actually, it starts up in his tight, spasming stomach and I think he’s going to roar. The sound of his orgasm is going to be super loud, louder than the rain outside.
So I keep kissing him. I keep sucking on his mouth and absorbing his explosion on my tongue. It’s like being struck by lightning, and I spasm right alongside him.
He’s tight but shaking. His cum is flying everywhere, getting on my stomach, spraying on his shirt.
When it’s over, we pant against each other’s mouths. Simon doesn’t let me go, however. He puts back my pajamas, covers my shuddering pussy with such tenderness that I want to cry. Though you wouldn’t find the evidence of that softness on his face.
It looks grim.
“Simon –”
“Don’t,” he clips.
He balances me with one arm and with the other, jerks his pants up and closes his zipper, leaving his belt hanging around his waist limply. Then he gathers me in his arms and carries me back to bed.
He bends and lays me down as I stare at him but he doesn’t return my regard.
Simon is ready to turn away and leave, and I grab hold of his wrist. “Kiss me goodnight?”
He works his jaw back and forth. “Go to sleep, Willow.”
“Please?”
Sighing sharply, he leans over me and kisses me on my forehead. My entire body smiles at his tender lips. Before he can move away, I grab his collar and stop him. “You can’t be perfect all the time, Simon. Perfect is super boring and a lot of pressure. It’s okay to give in.”
When he goes to say something, I kiss him hard. “Good night. Hope you sleep well.”
I let him go, then.
But as he’s about to open the door, I can’t resist adding, “You can jack yourself off, if you want. But promise me you’ll say my name when you come.”
His back goes all rigid and he bows his head. A second later, he mutters, “Just fucking go to sleep.”
I go to sleep, smiling.