She whimpers against my body, and my breathing becomes ragged as I try to make this last as long as I can. After a while, she presses her lips to my neck, not having enough energy to travel the distance to my mouth. “Please,” she pleads, her voice full of sheer want. “Pleasepleaseplease.” She kisses my collarbone and it’s over at that.
I take her hips in my hands and begin to thrust so hard and fast in her that she starts to shriek. Her waves of pleasure crash into her and flow throw me. She grips the back of my hair, my waist, my arms, my thighs, anything to keep her upright as her orgasm pummels her.
She sinks into my body, and I pull out of her slowly. Exhaustion fills me, and I know this is the hard part. I want her to be satiated; I want one long, rough lay to be enough. One day, I know we’ll get there. But today is not that day.
She is already sliding off my body and kneeling beside my waist. I glance at the clock and gage how much time we have left, and then I feel her take my dick into her palms.
With one hand I gather her hair out of her face, and she sinks her mouth around my cock. My breathing evens out as I watch her tongue lap at the head and lick all the way down the shaft. It’s hot as hell. I close my eyes and relax against her movements. She touches my cock with the perfect amount of force, knowing all the places to suck. And it doesn’t take long before I’m rock hard again. Her movements become faster and more determined. I even hold her head steady when she wraps her lips around my long shaft. Her eyes flit up to mine in a doe-eyed way…and she has my entire cock in her mouth. This, right here, is what turns me on the most.
She begins to move her mouth back and forth again, and I have to pull her off. “But I want you to come in my mouth,” she says.
For fuck’s sake. She does not make this easy.
“Well, I want to come in your pussy,” I retort. “I see we have a predicament. Should we flip for it?”
“No!”
I grin. “I didn’t think so.” I roll her onto her back and my hand slides between her legs, feeling just how soaked she is. I know she’s on the pill, so I don’t bother grabbing another condom. I want to fill her with my cum, to leave myself inside of her all week.
I hover over her body, my eyes on hers. She looks at me like I’m the only man in the world, like she could stay here in this bed forever. We have ten more minutes and that’s it, but I don’t think she’s counting. If her new psychiatrist forces her to be abstinent and this is the last time we can fuck, I’m going to make it worth it. I’m going to make her remember every movement and detail.
I’m going to make this one unforgettable.
{ 42 }
LOREN HALE
A lot can happen in one month.
Lily miraculously passed her finals and all her classes, which means she’ll attend Princeton next year as a senior. Only one semester behind. Connor’s emergency tutoring probably had a hand in her success.
The summer has turned fiercer and now at the end of June, we’re all silently praying for rain.
The weather is the only thing I can predict anymore. I thought four weeks would have been enough to dissuade the media and return us to our semi-normal lives. The press may be slightly less ravenous, but cars still sit outside the gates of the house, snapping pictures whenever we leave.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are the worst.
We sit in a corner office of a New York City high-rise, and Dr. Oliver Evans gives me one of his patented you’re-not-really-supposed-to-be-here scowls. I didn’t trust Lily to see a new male therapist for her sex addiction, so naturally I tagged along for her first meeting.
Oliver’s theories about sex addiction are a one-eighty from Allison’s, and our initial encounter didn’t go so well. I almost hit the guy and walked right on out. But Lily’s adamant on appeasing her parents and making things right with her family. She wanted to return to these weekly appointments, and the only way I’ll sleep at night is if I accompany her.
So Oliver stares at me like I’m getting on his last psychiatric nerve. He’s forty-something with dark brown hair and rectangular spectacles that make him look more mousy than smart.
“It’s been four weeks,” I remind him. “I thought we’d be friends by now, Oliver.”
He senses my sarcasm and scribbles something in his notebook. This isn’t couples therapy. It’s just supposed to be for Lily, but he often starts writing whenever I start speaking. He thinks it pisses me off, but I just hope he gets a hand cramp.
“Lily, how are you doing abstaining from sex? A month is a milestone for a sex addict. You should be proud.”