Blue. The deepest ocean blue I’ve ever seen outside of the beach. It’s such a magical, almost unnatural color that it’s hard to believe it’s real. I feel like if I could just let go of this world, with all its pain and stress and fear, I could give in, just fall forever into that lovely blue until nothing matters anymore. Until everything is gone, melted away. No work. No struggle to stay relevant. No picking apart my appearance in the mirror, highlighting the flaws a casting director might hone in on and mark me as unusable, un-castable. No Eddie, pulling the strings and turning me into a terrified, trapped marionette doll at his mercy. I wish I could just float away from all of that. Wes is gazing at me with those luminous eyes, asking so many questions without breathing a word. Offering me a chance, a life preserver drifting in the open sea.

Take me. Set me adrift. Let me float away with you, far from all this mess.

I open my lips, just barely. A plea catches itself in my mouth, hanging there, afraid to stumble out and ruin everything with a few words. Words are so limited. Even when you think so hard about what to say and how to say it, when you dig through a thesaurus and a dictionary and wrack your brain for the best sequence of syllables to make yourself understood-- words fall short. No matter what you say, the meaning gets stuck in traffic.

I don’t want him to ask me if it’s okay. I want him to just know. I see that recognition in his stare. He does know. He understands. It’s clear, this magnetism between us. The electricity is so powerful that I’m surprised we haven’t short-circuited every appliance in the apartment. He has to know that I already belong to him, that he could bend me and break me into pieces if he wanted to and I would let him. Maybe it’s just that I’m vulnerable right now, with my whole career and maybe even my life itself dangling by a thread. Maybe it’s just because it’s been so, so long since someone touched me with an ounce of the kind of passion and intensity that Wes does. Maybe it’s just because there’s nothing else I can think of to do right now besides this.

Or maybe it’s because there is something greater than just sexual energy between us, and we’re both terrified and exhilarated at the mere thought of it.

The reason doesn’t matter. I’m his for the taking, and I know he knows it.

So why is he hesitating?

“Molly,” he breathes. His voice is a low growl, like gravel in his throat. Like he’s struggling to hold himself together as he hovers over me, those blue eyes piercing me straight through to the sheets. The sound of my name on his lips makes me shiver. Tiny goosebumps spread along my bare skin. His eyes flit over my arms and chest, taking in the sight, watching what his voice alone can accomplish. Marveling in the effect he has on me.

I give him a soft smile, swallowing hard in anticipation of what might happen next.

He bends slowly to kiss me, his teeth barely grazing my bottom lip. I can tell he’s calling upon every last shred of self-control to restrain himself. To take it slow. But he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t need to treat me like a delicate piece of china. I’m durable. Strong. And even if he does break me, I’m ready for it. I’m desperate for it.

I moan into his mouth, rolling my hips upward against him. Every muscle in his body is tightening up, tensing to stay in control. It’s all he can do to keep from grabbing me and ravishing my body, using me. How can I tell him to go ahead? That there are things I am so afraid of in this world, but he is not one of them? There might have been a time when I would shy away from this. Recoil and withdraw, run away back to my lonely condo and lick my wounds in private. Tell myself in the mirror that I don’t want it. I don’t need it.

Tell myself I can do without love. Without passion. After all, it’s just another pretty distraction from work, isn’t it? Just another weight to slow me down.

But even if it may be true, it doesn’t matter to me now. My career is being held captive in Eddie Arnold’s greasy hands. I can’t work. I can’t plow away into the future. I can’t put on those blinders that keep me moving forward without ever glancing back or taking time to watch the world slide by around me.

All I have, all I want right now is here. In this room. Underneath the watchful gaze of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Wes pulls back and sweeps the hair back out of my face, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the very first time. And it’s that expression on his face that finally gives me the courage to say the words I’ve been holding onto.

“Don’t make me wait anymore,” I whisper. “I know what I want.”

Wes kisses me again, fiercely, his tongue probing into my mouth while his hands rove down my face. Down my neck, my arms, and back up to my breasts. He cups them in his hands, the calloused skin rough and ticklish on my sensitive flesh. He bites my lip, not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to hurt. I can feel that warmth between my legs getting hotter, tingles rolling from my head to my toes. He unfolds me like a flower, blooming under sunny blue skies. I spread my legs for him, arching my back to press my breasts into the cups of his hands. He massages them, squeezing gently, then rolling his thumbs and forefingers over my nipples until they stiffen into peaks. I groan, tossing my head back as he bends to tug a nipple between his teeth. He flicks his tongue over it, sucking and squeezing until I’m panting with need. Tendrils of sharp pleasure reverberate through me, making my clit ache. I need him to touch me there. I need his hand or his mouth or his cock. Badly.

Almost as though he can read my mind, he slides a hand down along my stomach, over my pelvis, to cup my mound, using his middle finger to stroke my slick sex. I thrust into his hand involuntarily, instinctively pushing toward that glorious touch. His fingertip brushes over my clit and I cry out, trembling. I reach my arms out and grab hold of the sheets, steadying myself. He lifts his fingers to his lips and sucks my sweet juices from them, his eyes closing tight in pure enjoyment. He leans back down, kissing his way up between my breasts, along my collarbone, to that ticklish spot on the side of my neck. I shiver, torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to stay in this position forever. He kisses lightly at first, just letting his teeth brush over the skin, and then he sucks harder. One hand cups my left breast, stroking my nipple and squeezing the taut, smooth flesh, and his other hand slips down between my thighs. He circles my clit with two fingers, making me burn and shake.

“Oh god, oh god,” I murmur breathlessly, my eyes rolling back in my head.

Wes sucks a deep, bruising kiss into my neck, making a mark on me to brand me as his own. I almost can’t wait to look in the mirror later and see what it looks like. See the purple proof that Wes fucked me, took control of me, marked me for however long the bruise lasts. I wish I could keep it forever, remind myself every time I pass a reflection that I was his. That I will probably always be his. Because right now, in this overwhelming, pulsing tidal wave of emotion and passion, I know. I know I’m his.

Wes knows it, too. I can tell by the way he plays me like a beloved guitar, his fingers slipping over my skin like he knows me by heart. He finds those sensitive, hidden places so easily, by instinct, reading me from memory or by some crazy psychic connection. Whatever it is, I never, ever want him to stop.

He slips a finger inside me, hooking it to stroke expertly at that most hidden of gems deep within. His lips rove down to suck my breasts again, licking and biting gently at my nipples. I rock my hips and moan, unable to even think of a coherent sentence, much less say one. My pleasure is mounting, circling around that little knot of bliss he’s building inside me, making it almost hurt, it’s so fucking good. I whimper, gripping the sheets tightly.

“Yes, baby,” he growls, looking up at me. “Come for me. I want to feel your sweetness all over my hand. Give it to me, sweetheart. I know you need this.”

I rock against his hand a few more times and then I come with a shattering scream, collapsing like a ragdoll as my pussy clenches and twitches around his fingers. Wes bends to kiss me, biting and sucking as he positions the head of his thick cock at my pulsing hole. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, begging him to fuck me.

“Tell me how you want it,” Wes commands, those blue eyes flashing with danger.

“Hard. Please, Wes. Fuck me hard. I want it… I want it to hurt,” I beg him. “Fill me up.”

He teases me for a moment, rubbing the head of his shaft in a tight circle around my pussy, tantalizing me, making me desperate. I thrust up toward him and he smirks. There’s no question who is in control, and it sure as hell isn’t me. Normally, that might scare me. I like to be in control. I’m always taking charge. But not now. Not with Wes. I don’t have to. He knows just what I need and how to give it to me. It’s liberating. Freeing.

And it’s fucking hot as hell.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you’re screaming, but don’t you dare come until I tell you to,” Wes orders. “Got it?”

I nod. “Yes. Yes,” I manage to whisper.

“Good girl,” he hisses through gritted teeth. And then he pushes the full, enormous length of his cock inside me, sliding in to the hilt. I whimper and clench around him, my pussy convulsing instantly at the overwhelming pleasure. He’s so fucking big. I can feel myself stretching to accommodate him. It hurts, in the best way possible.

“Fuck me, Wes. God, I need you to fuck me,” I plead. He wraps his arms around my thighs and moves backward, yanking me to the edge of the bed as he stands up, his shaft still feeling sheathed inside me. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, slides a pillow under my ass, and with his hands gripping the soft flesh of my thighs, he starts to thrust. At this angle, I can feel everything-- every last glorious inch of his massive cock slamming into me, striking my g-spot over and over again.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Such a tight little pussy.”

He fucks me so hard I can feel my body sliding up on the bed, but he pulls me back, snapping his hips to shove his cock in and out faster and faster.

“Touch yourself. Play with your clit, sweetheart. I want to see you writhe.”

Obediently, I reach down and start to massage my clit, moaning at the near-incomprehensible bliss of stimulating my clit and my g-spot at the exact same time. Wes smirks devilishly, licking his lips at the sight of me, like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen in his life. He fucks me deeply, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting me up to slam into me harder while I tremble and whimper. I can feel my orgasm coming closer, my pussy tightening up as Wes pounds into me.

“You want to come, don’t you, baby?” he growls.

I nod. “Yes. Oh, fuck. Please. I need to come,” I breathe.

“Not yet. I’m not finished with you yet,” he promises darkly.

He reaches down and scoops me up. I put my arms around his neck as he holds me up, his strong arms bouncing me up and down on his cock, spearing me so deeply it almost feels like he might break me in half. Face to face now, he kisses me, swallowing back every single one of my moans. My climax is getting closer and closer now, stimulating further by that deep ache.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Wes whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“I’m ready. Please,” I gasp.

“Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock,” he demands. He fucks me faster, holding me up and bouncing me on his shaft harder.

And just like that, I’m screaming, going limp as I gush all over him, making us slippery as he lowers me back onto the bed. He stands up and snaps his fingers. “Turn around. Get on your hands and knees like you did in that air vent. Show me that beautiful ass,” he commands.

Still pulsing from the waves of orgasm, I do what he orders, bending over and looking back at him over my shoulder eagerly. At this point, he could tell me to do absolutely anything and I would do it in a heartbeat. As long as he keeps making me come, he can have anything in the world he wants. I have never felt like this before, and I don’t want it to end.

Wes grabs me by the hips and shoves his cock back inside my trembling, slick pussy easily, starting out slow for a second before picking up the pace. He bounces my ass against him, his balls slapping against my clit as he buries his cock deep within me.

“Such a good girl, taking every fucking inch,” he groans, fucking me so hard it brings tears to my eyes. “I think you deserve to come again, don’t you?”

“Fuck-- oh god-- yes! Yes!” I exclaim as he pounds into me, stuffing me full of his shaft.

He reaches underneath me to stroke my clit, rubbing his fingers in tight circles around and around while his cock shoves into my g-spot, hit after hit. I can feel my body going all tingly and tense, building toward another orgasm. Wes slaps my ass, then squeezes it tightly with his free hand, using it to steady himself as he fucks me faster and faster. I can feel him starting to lose control, the rhythm getting more and more erratic. I clench my pussy around him, squeezing him tight and making him groan.

“Yes, Molly. Just like that, sweetheart. You want me to come inside you, don’t you? Just stuff you with my come?” he rumbles, rolling my clit between his fingers until I’m seeing stars.

“Oh--oh, fuck-- yes. Yes! Wes, oh god!” I cry out.

“Yeah, baby. Tighten that little cunt for me,” Wes groans.

“Feels-- so-- fucking-- good,” I whine, falling forward and burying my face in the sheets while he pounds me so hard from behind, his hand gripping my ass, bruising me, marking me as his own just the way I like it…

“Molly!” he bellows, and he tightens up for a moment just before letting his thick seed pour deep inside my pussy. Scarcely a half-second later I’m wailing, pulsating around him and gushing sweet honey all over his cock as he fucks into me a few more times, milking every last drop of his come into me. Both exhausted, he pulls me up to kiss the back of my neck, wrap his arms around me, his hands squeezing my breasts as we cling together through the last dazzling waves of shared pleasure.

He releases me and slides out, climbing onto the bed beside me as we collapse against the pillows. Still shaking, I wriggle into his arms, resting my forehead against his powerful chest while his muscular arms slide around me, shielding me from the world. Here, in this moment, nothing can hurt me. No pain in this world can reach me. With Wes, I’m safe.

We stay this way for the rest of the night, curled up on the bed, soaking in the warmth of each other’s presence. We don’t need words. We don’t need anything but this, just being together in the comfortable silence. I’m exhausted, and Wes hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours. For a moment, he acts like he might get up, go post up and keep guard. But I pull him closer, unwilling to let him go for even a second. The moon casts glowing pillars of light through the windows while the city goes to sleep outside. Just before I drift off to sleep, I reach out and grab my burner phone. There’s still no answer from my sister. I know I should be worried, but I’m so fucking tired, so comfortable here with Wes, ready to sleep.

But before I close my eyes, I send a quick SOS text message to Andie.

In the morning, I wake up still wrapped in Wes’s arms, my whole body aching with the effort of last night’s fuck. I roll over and kiss him gently on the nose and those bright blue eyes flutter open. He smiles, warming my heart.

I slowly sit up, stretch, and then instinctively check the burner phone. It dawns on me, the memory of sending that SOS message to Andie last night. I click the screen open, and my heart stops. There’s still no answer. Andie has never ignored an SOS message. Ever. Something is horribly, horribly wrong.