fifty-two
Vivian
He started kissing me when we were barely in the door, dropping his bags on the hardwood with a clap. He was more intense after a series away, less controlled. His hands went up my skirt and grabbed my ass hard. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it turned me on.
I kissed him back, reaching under his shirt for the hard muscle that waited for me. I felt suddenly empty, wanting, awake and ready.
He pushed me onto a barstool and yanked my legs open, exposing the new stockings and garter belt I’d bought for him.
“Yes,” was all he said as he spread my arms over the counter. “Stay still. I’m going to taste that delicious pussy.”
“Okay, I—”
I forgot the next word, and all that came out was a groan. His tongue flicked the inside of my thigh, a point of pleasure surrounded by the scratch of his stubble. He moved the crotch of my panties aside and ran his tongue along my cleft like a hungry man, sucking on me while holding my legs wide open.
I was wet, hot, pulsing in response to every flick of his tongue. He ate me as if he’d never done it before, as if he had to do it now or die trying. My arms stretched on the counter where he’d put them, and my back arched.
“I’m close, Dash.”
He lightened the pressure of his tongue but didn’t stop. My raspy breaths only uttered please please please, though I didn’t know what I was begging for. When I thought I couldn’t be on the edge any longer, he laid his lips on my clit and gently sucked the orgasm out of me.
When I could breathe again, he stood. His cock was monumental, pushing against the fabric of his pants. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Welcome home,” I said.
“Home?”
“To Los Angeles.”
He glanced around. “You didn’t move your stuff in.”
I slid off the barstool. “I think I found an apartment.”
He looked surprised but unshaken. “Where?”
“Bottom of the hill. Your hill. It’ll be ready next month.”
“Do you need help packing?”
Yes? No? There was a quarter century of crap in that house. Dad hadn’t decided where or when he was moving, but I felt as if I needed to give him room and reason to go. So I’d found a cute one-bedroom behind a Craftsman.
“Can I let you know about the packing?”
“Stand up,” Dash said.
I didn’t have time to comply. He took me by the shoulders and got me to my feet, pulling my shirt up to reveal my lacy bra. He slid that over my tits, exposing the hard nipples to the air.
Pressing his erection against me, thumbs and forefingers circling the bases of my breasts, he spoke into my ear, “You’re here all the time.”
“But you aren’t.”
He closed his fingers around the apex of my tits and squeezed the nipples, twisting until my knees melted under me.
“You’re so hot. I can’t even think. Take your skirt up and the underwear down.”
I hitched my skirt around my waist while he played with my nipples, and I got my underpants just below my ass.
“Take my dick out.”
I reached for him, wiggling to get at his enormous cock. He was wearing sweatpants, so it wasn’t long before I felt the skin of it against my palm and the drop of pre-cum waiting. I was ready for him again. With a final tug, he took his hands off my breasts and hooked a finger on my underpants, yanking them wide.
“Leg. Come on, sweetapple. Before I fuck these off you.”
I pulled my leg through the opening, and my panties dropped over my left foot.
He pressed four fingers onto the wet ache between my legs. His eyes were on fire, and his lips were tight with intention as he rubbed my clit and slid three fingers inside me.
“Deeper, God, Dash, deeper.”
He got his fingers in me and found the bundle of nerves inside, circling it, pressing it awake. I hitched a leg over his waist, and he took his hand away. I groaned.
“I want you here,” he said, stroking my wet cleft with the head of his cock. “In this house.”
“I’m here. But I want to—”
He shoved himself in me, and I gasped.
“Want to what?”
“Fuck. Dash. God. Just take it. We can talk later.”
He got all the way inside, down to the root, grinding up against me. He pushed me against the counter, pinning me with his cock, pushing his body against my clit. I held onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucked me hard and slow, angling himself against me. I felt full, every surface stimulated, the pressure of his hips bringing my other foot off the floor.
His eyes locked on mine. His jaw set. He looked as if he wanted to tear me open and crawl inside me. And I wanted him to. Fuck me. Fuck my identity. Fuck my own skin and soul.
I wanted to tell him I was coming, but it was too late. I was shredded. Ripped open, and he came in the fissure, marking me with his name as it left my lips in a scream.
Our bodies moved together even after we were done. He wrapped his arms around me and carried me to the bedroom.
“Did you really get an apartment?”
His voice sounded deeper because my head leaned on his bare chest. He’d taken me from behind minutes after we got to the bedroom, and I was sore already. I didn’t have another fuck in me. Not for at least an hour.
I picked my head up so I could make eye contact with him as he sat against the headboard.
“I want to explain.”
“Okay.”
“I love you. But I’ve only ever lived with my father and Carl. I’d like some time in a space of my own.”
He took forever to answer, drawing circles on my cheeks and lines along my jaw. At least three seconds of staring at me as if memorizing me for his next trip.
I swallowed. I didn’t think he’d be angry, but I was afraid of hurting him or shutting him down.
“I understand,” he said. “I don’t have to like it, but I understand.”
I believed he wanted to understand, but I didn’t think he actually understood at all.