CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Reaching
I only have on a T-shirt, no underwear, but Chris is fully dressed. We’re in my bed, and I’m sitting between his legs with my back resting against his chest and my legs draped over his. The room is dark, but the television is on because some movie that Chris is obsessed with just started. We’ve been sitting this way for the last half hour since we got into bed not long after dinner. There’s just enough light from the flickering screen for me to watch his hand. He’s lightly moving his palm over my thigh, up and down, his hand just next to but never touching between my legs. He’s already been doing this to me for a while. Too long. And with the way we’re sitting, I can’t get my hand on his cock. Which I want more than anything.
For the past month we’ve been screwing our brains out. And making love. And then screwing our brains out again. I’m concerned that I’ve become some kind of deranged sex addict. The good news is that we seem to be able to leave the bedroom long enough to scrounge for survival items, like food. And lube and condoms. There was the one time that Chris made Sabin go to the store and throw the box up to us through the window, but mostly we’ve done our own errands. We’ve given up trying to be quiet, although we sometimes replace our noise with loud music. Our other housemates seem to have developed a high tolerance for our noise level. The downside is that I’m not in much of a position to complain about the noise that Estelle and James make at night. And admittedly, they are sort of cute together. It’s funny to see my brother fussing over a girl the way he tends to Estelle, and it’s even funnier to see her let him, but they genuinely seem to care about each other. As for me, I am so completely in love that it feels like nothing else matters.
I turn my head a little to the side and feel Chris softly kiss the top of my head while his hand keeps teasing me with his soft strokes. Then he finally puts his hand between my legs, and I shudder. All he has to do is touch me once like this and my mind starts swimming. I picture us hot and fucking hard… . I think about how his cock feels as he drives into me over and over… . I want that heated moment just before he comes, when I’m grabbing onto him and we’re both gasping and moaning. It’s like I have a reel of porn of the two of us that plays over in my head. Flashes of what we’ve done. What else we might do.
Because he’s so good—so perfect—he makes me greedy and impatient. Maybe if he fucked me a few hundred more times it might be easier for me to stay in the slower moments. Even then …
But right now my endgame involves sweat, and cum, and plenty of noise, and I want to get there. I curl my hips up to push against his hand, but he pulls away a bit. Chris leans his head down and whispers to me slowly, “Don’t move yet.”
I drop my hips back down and try to relax into him. But then he puts his hand back where I want it, cupping my pussy and staying there. He says something that I don’t understand … and I realize that he’s talking about the movie. I don’t even remember the name of this film that he loves so much, but clearly he wants to watch it until it’s over. Which will take another hour, at least. Great. I decide that I better slow myself down, because he is going to make me wait for this interminable hour to pass before he gives me what I want.
But I can wait; I can calm down. I think.
I put my hand in his free one and squeeze tightly. He squeezes back. Finally, he touches one finger to my clit, just for a second, and then takes it away. He does this again. And then again. I try to distract myself, so I don’t scream by counting every time he touches me. He can’t do this forever, right? I get to twenty and give up, letting him do what he’s going to do. Then finally he starts to stroke where I want ever so slowly and gently, and I love this. It’s simultaneously hot and soothing, and he lulls me into a place where I’m not so rushed. Where I just want to stay like this.
He uses his whole hand, brushing against me again and again. His fingers touch everywhere lightly, never staying in one spot for more than a moment. And because he’s obviously trying to drive me insane, he every once in a while laughs at the movie we’re watching. He asks me something about the plot, and I realize I have no response because I can’t pay attention to anything except how he makes me feel.
Finally, unable to stop myself, I lean to the side and turn my mouth up to his and kiss him. God, he’s just a delicious kisser. I can’t get over it. I feel his tongue against mine while we kiss, teasing, and soft, and endless. Then he moves his mouth away and leans back as he takes my nipples between his fingers.
Now he’s done it. Just when he had me in a slow rhythm, my heart rate is back up, and I desperately need him. This drives me crazy, having him play with me like this, rolling my nipples between his fingers, pinching me, pulling… .
“You have to fuck me, Chris.”
“Not until you’re dripping wet,” he whispers back.
“I am; I promise you.”
“I’ll check.”
He takes a hand out from under my shirt and moves it between my legs. My breathing gets ragged as his finger moves inside me and then pulls back to glide across my clit.
“I told you I was wet,” I say.
So far his hands have moved slowly tonight, as though every goddamn touch has been calculated to keep me below that line where my orgasm starts building, that frustration level just before I’ll scream. So when he takes his finger from me and pushes it deep inside me, I can’t help but groan and push back against him. He pulls out and then slides two fingers in. I dig my hands into his legs as I arch my back.
“Don’t move yet, Blythe. I’m not done checking.”
Now he’s just fucking with me.
He presses his hand tightly against me and flexes his fingers back and forth a few times, getting me hotter and even more impatient. But then he takes away his hand and moves back up to my breast. “You’re definitely wet,” he tells me. “But you’re not as wet as I want you.”
I groan again. He’s got to be kidding me. I can feel how wet his fingers are as he rubs them across my nipple.
“Besides, the movie’s not over yet.” I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
God, I hate him sometimes. He’s a control freak who gets off on exactly when and how I come, but giving to me is what arouses him. I’m still teaching him that his pleasure is just as important to me. It’s harder for him to surrender to me the way that I do to him. He’s learning, but for now, I’m going to let him play this game.
I’m whimpering, and I check the clock. Fuck. I can do this for another twenty minutes, right? I can take it. Except that his grip on my breasts and my nipples is tighter, a little more urgent. He knows how to give me the mix of pleasure and slight pain that I love, and I can feel him breathing harder in my ear because he loves what he’s doing to me. Chris shifts his hips, and I feel his cock against my body. I close my eyes. I swear to God that I could probably come like this.
One hand goes back where I want it. He starts working my clit between two fingers, and every few seconds he pinches me lightly, tugs a little. I look down. I want to see him do this. I want to watch how he can make me so deliriously turned on.
“You have the best fucking pussy,” Chris says. “You know that? You do. And I promise I’m going to make you come so hard.”
This he doesn’t need to tell me, because I know he will. He always does.
“You’re starting to get there, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” God, the sound of his voice is making me squirm, but at least he’s letting me move now.
“You can’t think about anything else now, can you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You can’t think about anything else but how it will feel when I make you come.”
“Chris, please …”
“How you’ll tense up, how your whole body will shake, how you’ll say my name. How you’ll beg me to do it again. You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?”
“No.”
“You just need a little more, baby, don’t you?”
I nod.
“A little faster, a little harder?” He knows damn well this is what I need, but he likes keeping me on this edge.
“Chris, you have to fuck me.” I’m panting now. “You have to fuck me.”
“You think you’re wet enough for me now?”
I laugh a little. “Check”.
He takes away his hands so that he can move out from under me. I lean back, holding myself up on my arms so that I can watch him again. I want his clothes off. I want his body against mine. I want to feel him, and hear him, and taste him.
But he kneels next to me and spreads my legs open. Now his fingers disappear inside me again. “You’re almost where I want you.”
I drop onto my back and put my hands in my hair. God, he’s driving me fucking crazy. His fingers are still inside me and he leans in over his hand, holding his mouth just above me, letting his breath blow over me and making me shudder.
“Chris … Yeah … God, Chris … Please.”
He licks my clit. Once. “You do have the best pussy,” he tells me again. I can’t hear that enough. And then he waits a moment. I squeeze around his fingers, reminding him what I can do to his cock. He leans in closer and puts his lips around me, sucking me gently. I put a hand on the back of his head. I feel his tongue start to press against me, and I pull him in tighter. He starts to move his fingers just a little faster … In and out, back and forth. When he rubs his teeth against my clit, I groan loudly.
That’s it. I’m getting him naked now, even if it means he has to stop touching me for a minute. I reach over and grab at his shirt and get him to lift up. I stay on the bed, my legs spread, and watch hungrily as he yanks his shirt over his head and undoes his pants.
He may love my pussy, but I love his cock just as much. “I promise you, I’m dripping wet now,” I tell him.
He crawls between my legs and shoves his hands under my ass. “Not that I don’t trust you, but …” He pushes his tongue inside, tasting me, smelling me, breathing me in.
I push my feet hard into the bed. “Jesus Christ …”
Then he raises his body, moving his chest against mine, and kisses me. I can taste myself on his tongue, and I feel his cock brush over me. “Wet enough for you?” I ask.
He pushes up onto his arms and smiles. “You’re drenched.”
“So you have to fuck me now.” I sound pathetic. I know that. But I can’t help the whimpering tone in my voice.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
He lifts off me and kneels, sitting back on his knees, watching me as he presses his cock up against my pussy. The seconds it takes him to put on a condom feel like hours. But then he rubs his cock over me and slowly starts to ease in. He pulls back just a bit and then moves in a little more.
“Chris … Chris …” Looking up at him while he kneels between my legs is unbelievable.
Chris looks at me and winks as he as he licks his fingers and presses them to my clit. It’s a hot fucking move, and he knows it. I smile at him. He fucks me a little bit faster. Not hard, not deep, but faster. I need that friction, that speed. He’s got me figured out, and he knows how to make me come.
I’m starting to tense up… . I’m getting close… . God, I’m so close… .
I can’t stop saying his name.
I love how he looks when I’m like this. How it makes him so fucking hot to get me off. It’s exactly how I feel before he comes.
He is so hard, and his breathing is picking up. “I want you to come, Blythe. I want you to come. Baby, tell me when you’re ready.” His voice is husky, and raw, and full of need.
He keeps fucking me like this and rubbing his hand against me until my breathing gets labored and I push his hands away. Because as much as I enjoy this touch, right now I don’t need it. I just need that perfect cock of his. “I’m almost there… .” Talking is nearly impossible.
He drops down, holding himself just above me, and drives into me, deeply. He fucks me faster now, just barely pulling out but grinding into me hard. He’s rubbing against me every time he moves, but that’s not what’s getting me to the brink. It’s how his cock is moving, how he’s lifting inside me.
I can barely breathe or think, but I say two words to him. “Don’t. Come.”
“I won’t,” he promises. I tighten around him, and he knows by the way I sound that I’m just about there. “Yeah, Blythe, come for me,” he’s saying, talking me through it.
“Come for me… . Your pussy is so fucking hot… . I feel how wet you are, how tight you are… . Let me hear you.”
I take his shoulders and dig my nails in. He listens to me groan as my orgasm starts.
I’m grabbing him so hard that I can’t believe I’m not drawing blood. My whole body spasms, I feel myself detonate around his cock over and over as pleasure flows through me. Fuck, he is so good. I groan again and again with each wave. When I start to slow down, I murmur through my panting, “Don’t stop. Go slow, but don’t stop… . Please.”
I’m still coming and I pull him in closer. Chris puts his hands underneath my body, holding me, cradling me. Every few seconds, I shake again. He rubs into me hard, making sure I come until I can’t anymore. Until I’m totally spent.
I wrap my legs around his waist and lift into him. And now he’s the one saying my name over and over. Hearing me come like that has gotten him close. Closer than I want.
“No,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare come yet. I need you to keep fucking me.”
I’ve learned that sometimes this is what I want after I come—I want to get fucked long and hard. While I am crazy about the times we have gentle, tender lovemaking, I’m equally aroused by the grittier, dirtier side of sex. Fortunately, so is Chris, and likely even more so than I am.
Maybe it’s not fair to ask him to wait, especially after what did just did for me. But it is his fault for being so indescribably good and for making me want as much as I do from him.
“Blythe, I don’t think I can wait.” He’s still grinding into me.
“Yes, you can.”
I love this part: the power exchange.
Sometimes he’s in charge, sometimes I’m in charge. We’ve started to share this power more equally, trading it back and forth, often over and over in one night. And then there are times when there is no power game, when we do everything together, we feel everything together, we come together. I’m going to need that again. Later tonight.
But for now, I need him to do what I want.
I push him up hard, and he stops moving.
“Think about whatever you want. Painting the house. Doing the dishes after Zach made that gnarly batch of chili.” I smile. “I don’t care what you have to do. Think about whatever you have to, but don’t stop fucking me. I need you, Chris.”
Chris shuts his eyes for a minute. I love watching him focus like this. I can feel the shift in his body, the ability to control himself reappearing. He pulls out farther now and fucks me like I want. Slow and steady and deep. I look down and watch his cock thrust smoothly in and out, slamming into me over and over. I’m even wetter now after coming, and this can’t be making things any easier for him. But somehow he is able to last for me.
I can still feel the end of my orgasm, how sensitive I am, how I throb each time Chris enters me. I pull him in faster. Rougher. I love when he holds himself up on his hands, angles his body against me. I tuck in my knees. “Harder,” I tell him. “Harder.” He gives me what I want. He’s completely immersed in me now, I can tell. He can keep going.
I put my hands on his chest. He’s starting to sweat, which turns me on even more. “Yes, Chris.” He fucks me for what feels like forever, but I can’t get enough. I push his chest up higher, and he sits back so that he’s kneeling again, his hands holding my legs.
We watch how deep his cock goes inside me like this, how hot it looks, how good we look fucking.
“Blythe.” He can barely talk, but he looks at me. “Fuck, I love your pussy.”
I smile again. I can toy with him, too. “I know.”
Over the past month, Chris has empowered me in ways he probably wasn’t planning on. I can be bold and insistent, and, like right now, even a little self-satisfied. He’s learning to let me play with my power, just as I let him. On the flip side, I can be vulnerable and honest with him to a degree I never imagined. In bed and out. I can be everything with him and for him.
Right now, Chris is on that pleasure edge, and I can’t make him wait any longer. “I’m going to make you come now,” I say. “As hard as you made me come.”
I slide my legs out from between us, and he drops his weight onto me. I tighten around him and rock my hips hard. I put my hands on his ass and pull him in, over and over, getting him louder and closer. “I want you to come on me. Let me feel it.”
His body starts to stiffen as he pulls out and gets the condom off fast. He rubs himself over my body until he shakes hard against my stomach, and then I feel him come on my chest as he groans my name. He sounds and feels unbelievable.
Chris puts his hand over mine and moves it across my stomach to my breasts. I love this. While he catches his breath, he looks between us and watches as I rub the wetness over my nipples. He kisses me now and lowers his body to rest on mine. I want to stay like this—with Chris pressed against me, kissing me, tasting me—until we can fuck again.
I kiss the sweat from his shoulders and neck. “You were born to fuck me, Christopher Shepherd.”
He tucks my hair behind my ears and kisses me softly. “I was also born to love you.”
Later, Chris falls asleep and I watch him breathing peacefully. We have been drowning in each other. In beautiful ways, yes. But I know there are other reasons for this intensity. Chris is escaping, running from his own hell, and I am enabling that because I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.
But I also know that we can’t stay like this forever. I need to pitch more articles for the magazine where I used to work in Boston. They’re not paying me much for my freelance writing, but I want to stay in their good graces. Chris and I haven’t talked yet about what we might do when summer ends. Estelle, Eric, Zach, and James have to go back to school, and surely Sabin will want to get out of the Bar Harbor area soon, since there’s not a particularly hot theater scene here.
At some point, I’ll have to get back to Massachusetts. James and I have made the decision to sell our parents’ house near Boston. The truth is that we’ve overspent fixing up the house here on Frenchman Bay, but we both agreed that the investment is worth it. This place now feels more like home to us. I’m not sure if I could live here year-round, but the idea certainly has its appeal. It would be incredibly quiet during the long off-season when the tourist crowds disappear, but I might very well like that.
But tonight we aren’t going anywhere. So I watch Chris sleep, and I wait for the fear to hit him. I’m scared to get up for a glass of water because I don’t want him to be alone when the dreams crash over him. He sleeps on his stomach, his hands up by his head, his breathing deep and even. For now.
Every night, there is a point when Chris reaches for me in his sleep. But he doesn’t reach for me just out of affection. He reaches for me for protection and for comfort. Over the past few weeks he’s had nightmares, although he never confirms them for me in the morning. He sleeps through the dreams, even when his body flinches, sometimes thrashes, and he panics and sweats. But he always reaches for me. I whisper to him that he’s safe, that my sweet boy is safe, and I wrap my whole body over him and will him to feel the intensity of my love and my belief in him.
Why is he having these nightmares so vividly now? I don’t know for sure, but I believe it’s being back in Maine, the place that he never wanted to come back to. Then there’s our proximity to the water. The way Chris looks out at the Atlantic haunts me. I see his deep love for the ocean, but I also see his conflicted feelings and the fragility that he hides so well. The justification he gives for never swimming is that the water is too cold. But I know that’s not the whole story, since physically, Chris could tolerate the cold. It relates to what he told me about having a love/hate relationship with water. It’s the hate part that terrifies me. I have the same thing because of my association between the house fire and the ocean, but I have been using the ocean to help me heal.
Here’s the other thing about his nightmares: I think they are unleashed by being with me. I know it. Our connection elicits the past and the truth from each of us. He thinks that’s crazy, but I don’t. It defies my lack of belief in God and fate, but I know this to be an absolute and unexplainable truth.
I admire Chris for how his strength never falters, but I also look for the times when he is vulnerable because I like taking care of him. So far these moments have come when he is asleep or during certain moments when we are making love. Otherwise, he tries to shield me from what he sees as weaknesses, the things he thinks I don’t want to see. What he doesn’t understand is that seeing him with his guard down is what I am ultimately after, however afraid of it I am. It will show me that he has let me into his heart in a consequential, profound way, and it means that we have a chance at longevity. Of course, as much as I want his walls to come down, I don’t know what it will look like when they crash.
But I can feel it coming. Chris hasn’t said anything to me yet, but I know without a doubt that we won’t be able to hide from what is tormenting him. I haven’t wanted to think too much about what exactly his childhood was made of—what it was like for Sabin, Estelle, and Eric, too—and his insistence on looking solely at the present and the future has distracted me from looking at his past. But as much respect as I have for his privacy, it’s getting harder for me to ignore that he will not be able to run from his own memories forever. I can recognize trauma in another person because I have experienced my own, and to see it in Chris is slowly torturing me.
I feel it brewing furiously beneath the surface of our love: the looming promise of an inevitable, destructive storm.
I hope he will reach for me then.
I am going to fight with everything that I am to save him and to save us, but I won’t be able to do it alone.
The room is dark, and I hear a light rain start outside. I lie on my side and press my body against him with some faint hope that I can shield him from the haunting internal terror. My arm gravitates to his back, and I rest my scar between his two, forming the solid line. I want more than anything for the power of us together to be stronger than the power of the damage.
If I still believed in God, in anything, I would be praying.