NINE
Pagan
About, say, oh, point-two seconds after I came, I realized I was glad I agreed to a fuck buddy situation. Because I was going to need a whole hell of a lot more of her.
I had barely caught my breath, but thoughts of bending her over, getting her on her knees, or eating her sweet pussy until she fucking screamed, had my cock stirring again already as I moved off to the bathroom.
I knew going in that she wasn't a hookup girl, but I had no idea she was fucking shy about sex. I also had no idea that I would find that shit ridiculously hot. How could I? Pretty much all I had known in my life were women who viewed sex as casually as I did.
For me, it was a physical act. Nothing more, nothing less. It was needs satisfying needs. Any woman was just as good as the next for that. Sure, some fucks were better than other fucks, and that meant I had them multiple times during a one-time encounter, but I had never felt the need for a repeat past the one night.
A large part of that, admittedly, was the fact that I didn't want anyone trying to sink her hooks into my dick and reel me in. And the best way to avoid that was to avoid any type of confusion about the situation at all.
It was easy to have a fuck and know that was all it was, for both men and women alike.
The fuck buddy situation, yeah, not as cut and dry. Some could pull it off, some couldn't. It was smarter to avoid it entirely.
I dealt with the condom and washed my hands, careful not to scrub the scabs on my knuckles, not wanting to break them open again. I healed fast thanks to all the years of toughening up. By morning, I could loosen them up. In another day, the scabs would be gone and I would be ready to go again. You know, not that the scabs would have stopped me if the need for a fight arose in the meantime. But knowing Kennedy was squeamish meant I was going to try to keep my blood inside my body around her.
For sex like that, it wasn't too much to ask.
I rolled the tension in my shoulders from the fight, flicked off the light, and headed back into my room to find her sitting off the bed with my sheet mostly covering her, like she was torn between whether to go find her dress and acknowledge that the fucking portion of the night was over, or if maybe she was staying.
"Fuck you doing? Get on the bed," I said, walking back toward it, watching as her eyes got big, worried almost. Worried about what? Fuck if I knew.
"I thought you would be taking me..."
"Won't be taking you home 'till I'm done with you," I said, stopping in front of where she was still sitting off the side of the bed, raising a brow at her until she finally shifted and moved up onto the center of the bed, leaving space for me to climb in. I did, snatching the sheet she was holding to her body like a fucking thermal blanket in a blizzard, and climbing under as well.
The after fucking thing, yeah, that was new. Usually, it involved hastily redressing or, if I needed a round two, me disappearing outside for a smoke then finding a drink somewhere, then going right back in, fucking until my heart's content, then getting the hell out of Dodge.
This? This sitting against the headboard shoulder-to-shoulder in awkward silence shit? Yeah, it was weird as fuck. Maybe made doubly so because it wasn't normal for either one of us in our own ways.
So, at a loss, I reached for a remote that had the TV cabinet across from the bed opening. "Alright, Jason Bourne or John McClane?"
"Ah... what?" she asked, body jolting when I spoke like she had been lost in thought. Likely not good ones either.
"Your buddy said you liked action flicks. Which fictional character sets your panties on fire?"
A slow, light blush worked its way across her cheeks, something I shouldn't have, but fucking did find almost annoyingly attractive. Then she went ahead and bit her lip too, because, y'know, I needed my attention to be drawn there right then. "Definitely McClane."
My lips tipped up at that. "Like the old geezers, huh? Fucking perv."
A strange, choked sound escaped her at that, her mouth opening and closing for a second while those bright eyes of hers danced a little. "I don't think there is a red-blooded, straight woman alive who doesn't want to get it on with John McClane." Her lips twitched even harder, but she shut up at that.
"What?" I demanded, wanting to know what put that look on her face.
Then, the laugh broke free, lighting up her whole fucking face. "I just..." she started shaking her head. "You know that catchphrase of his?"
"Yeah." Who didn't?
"I was thinking maybe he says it when..."
Then I chuckled too. "He shoots his load?" I asked, knowing I could have said 'comes' and that she likely wouldn't be bothered by that, but enjoying it way too much how her cheeks reddened when I said something more off-color. If she spent more than an hour with me, she'd probably have a permanent fucking blush. "Alright, pick one," I said, bringing up the Die Hard menu.
"Four," she said without even a hesitation.
"Fucking serious?" I asked, brows lowering. Who chose four over one?
She shrugged one of her shoulders, making the sheet fall down and show the tops of her breasts for a second before she snatched it back up. That modesty thing, it needed some work. Because I wanted to be able to look at that fucking amazing body of hers whenever I wanted. "I like Justin Long. I know, I know," she rushed on, holding up a hand like I was about to interrupt her, "that is not a popular opinion. But I think he has pretty good comedic timing and the best voice for sarcasm."
It was a weird opinion, but I shrugged. "Vengeance it is," I agreed, flicking it on.
Watching the set-up begin, I was oddly aware of my hands and the fact that I had nothing to do with them. Really, it was something I was sure I had never fucking felt before. And if I had, I probably just grabbed a cigarette or a drink. But I didn't smoke inside the house, and the drinks were downstairs, and I had this weird as fuck urge to not get up out of the bed and away from her.
Glancing over, Kennedy seemed similarly afflicted with discomfort, her arms crossed over her tits, hands clutching the sheets right up under the sharp edges of her clavicles.
But the fuck was I supposed to do? Spoon her?
Not to sound like a dick, but, yeah, spooning was some other world weird fucking shit. Like here, I want your ass in my crotch but not to fuck it, just to settle there all inviting, but my dick better not get any ideas because then I'm a jackass for not being able to touch you without wanting to fuck you. And your hair is all in my face. And your tits are right there but I'm not supposed to touch them. And, it's fucking hot. Bodies are hot. Nothing sexy about sweat.
Yeah, spooning was off the table.
At a loss, I crossed my hands over my chest, leaned back, and watched the movie.
Well, my eyes were on the movie. My brain kept doing weird shit like wondering if she was feeling as off as I was and if she was watching it or just looking like she was like me.
Sometime around the middle of the movie, she slumped down so her head was on the pillows. Looking over, her eyes were small slits, likely not used to the late night kinda lifestyle that I was being that she had a business to run and that meant she had to sleep at normal hours.
Before the story really started to unfold, when I chanced a look again, her eyelids were closed, her light lashes resting on her cheeks, making me realize maybe for the first time how bad her under-eye bruises were. Like she didn't get enough sleep. And, with absolutely no evidence to support such an idea, I felt like it wasn't just the normal stresses of owning a business that put them there.
In sleep, her face seemed even more delicate than it usually did. Her lips were parted somewhat. And, given that I could do it without her catching me and thinking I was a creep, I really looked at her. Her lips were still slightly swollen from mine; a slight beard burn covered one of her cheeks, her throat, and disappeared down beneath the sheet where I imagined there were marks on her tits as well.
When she woke up, I wanted those marks on her inner thighs. I wanted it on the triangle over her bare pussy.
I wanted her marked.
And that shit, well, it was fucking insane.
So I finally dragged myself up, taking the soaked boxer briefs and tossing them into the wash. I had about five cigarettes and three drinks, trying to get those ridiculous thoughts out of my head.
Then, the sun sneaking across the sky, I finally went up to bed where she was still sleeping where I had left her.
And I did something I had never done before; I fell asleep with a woman in my bed.
Then, fucking hand to fucking God... I woke up spooning the goddamn woman.