Chapter thirty-one:

 

 

I lean over her back, stars still bright behind my closed eyelids. I’m panting against her neck as I try to catch my breath and calm myself down. I kiss her earlobe and say thank you to her. And I mean it too. That was amazing, and it was all down to her.

“Do you want me to touch you now? I can help you orgasm too, if you want,” I whisper against her throat, my tongue stroking against her skin.

She is so beautiful.

She mumbles something, but the gag is in her mouth so I can’t make out what she says. I kiss her neck again; I’m a starving man, desperate to kiss those full lips of hers. To let my tongue probe her mouth, to feel it move against mine like it used to.

I am hungry and desperate for Carrie.

She is my salvation.

She is my life.

I reach around and pull the gag out, and it takes her a minute of working her jaw open and closed before she looks like she isn’t going to cry. And I say sorry for gagging her, but I didn’t want her screaming, and I ask her if she understands.

And she nods.

She’s such a good girl.

I knew she’d understand.

I press my hand against her crotch, and it’s warm just like I knew it would be, and I ask her again. “Do you want me to touch you, Carrie? I’m not selfish. I can make you come too.”

And she isn’t just warm down there, she’s hot and damp and I bet she smells delicious. She does want me after all, and I lick my lips, already feeling myself growing hard again. And even though she’s dirty because she pissed herself, and she’s sweaty because she hasn’t washed in days, it doesn’t seem to matter. It doesn’t bother me like I know it should.

Just like when we were kids, Carrie is the ointment to my craziness.

She stops the tick of irritation.

The OCD that rules my everyday life.

Carrie is my cure.

She flinches and moves her body a little so that my hand isn’t touching her so intimately. Of course I let her. I’m a gentleman and I want this to be her choice, not mine.

See, Carrie? See how good I am to you?

“Do you want me to fuck you instead? I can make you come like that.” I place small kisses across the side of her neck and I brush her hair away from her face so I can see her better. “I can make us both come like that. Won’t that be perfect?”

“No,” she says, her voice sounding painful. “Please no.”

“When then?” I ask, because I’ve waited a long time. Over twenty long fucking years. A couple more hours won’t hurt, I know, but still I ask the question. I want it to be perfect for both of us, but I still need to know when because I crave her like I crave air.

Like I crave water.

Like I crave and desire life.

Like I craved my freedom.

I want to live as much as I want to be with Carrie.

She is my everything.

She is my soul.

My world.

“Later,” she says, and the way she says it makes me know she is serious. “Later, please.”

Later she will let me touch her and we will both fuck and make love. Because there is a difference, you know. And that makes me really happy.

“Okay,” I say, and I kiss her neck again. “Later it is.”

And then I sit up and I untie her ankles, but I keep my hand against the back of her knees in case she’s being silly and tries to kick me. She doesn’t move, but I still tie her ankles up again once I’ve pulled her jeans off.

I help her to sit up, and then I put my arms under her lithe body and I lift her up and then lower her into the warm bubbly water. I watch in fascination as her nipples harden and peak at the change in temperature, and I reach over and touch one of them. She freezes, and I glance up at her.

“Is it okay?” I ask.

She swallows before answering. “I’d like to be clean first,” she says, her voice still shaky and uncertain in that way that shows me she is nervous.

And shit, I’m such a bad boyfriend because of course she wants to be clean before I touch her. I bet she can still feel Adam in her. Don’t worry, Carrie, I think. You’ll only remember my touch soon enough.

That thought makes me happy.

And of course she’s nervous. It’s been a long time for both of us. She was always more experienced than me, but for all she knows I’ve had lots of practice now too.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It will be like the first time for both of us. We can forget everyone else.” Meaning Adam and whoever else she may have fucked over the years.

She nods, and my heart soars.

Yesssssss, I think.

I wash her, smoothing the bubbly water down her body, across her curves and over a small scar on her outer thigh. There’s another across her stomach. It’s so low down it’s nestled in her pubic hair. It’s long and thin, and old, not new. I wonder where she got it, but decide to ask her later instead of ruining the moment now. My hand moves over her breasts, her hips, her stomach, between her thighs (but I don’t probe deeper than necessary because I’m a gentleman) her arms, her pits, her neck.

I sit her up and I clean my cum off her back, and I laugh and blush and say, “Sorry about that.”

And she smiles and says, “It’s okay.” And she blushes too.

And even with her face all messed up like it is she looks beautiful. Especially when she blushes.

“I was just so excited to be near you. You’ve always had that effect on me, haven’t you, Carrie?” I laugh.

And she chuckles lightly, sweetly, sincerely, and she says, “Yes, I have.”

And I can hardly breathe I’m so happy, and I know everything is going to be okay now.

I can see it in her eyes that she’s ready.

And I’m ready.

And everything is perfect.

Just,

Fucking,

Perfect.