Her pussy clenches around my fingers and I pump them more, making her leak arousal and scream another orgasm.
By the time I pull out of her, she’s dazed, her eyes half-droopy, even as a little smile grazes her lips.
I stroke the sweat-soaked strands out of her forehead. “Are you in pain?”
“A little, but it feels good.”
“It does?”
“Yeah, so maybe you should fuck me in the ass more often.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh”
“Are you sure you can take it?”
“I can take anything you offer, Nate.” She smiles and I can’t help mirroring it. Lately, I noticed how easy it is to smile around her.
“Come on, let me take care of you.”
“I love that. When you take care of me, I mean.”
I carry her in my arms and take her to the shower, where I fuck her slower in the cunt while I clean her. Then I wash her hair with her vanilla shampoo. She kisses me on the neck for having remembered to pack it.
We spend more than an hour in there, fucking and cleaning and messing everything up again, especially after she gets on her knees to clean me and ends up sucking my balls dry.
Once we’re done, I wrap her in a towel and carry her back to the bedroom to dry her hair.
“It’ll dry on its own,” she grumbles, staring at me through the mirror.
“That’s not healthy. Stop being lazy.” I run my fingers through her strands and inhale her scent. The scent that should be boring but is now growing on me more than anything. Then I turn off the hairdryer and brush the strands back.
“Hey, Nate?”
“What?” I ask absentmindedly, too focused on her hair.
“Why do you never kiss me?”
I pause, meeting her gaze in the mirror. It’s cautious, expectant, and on the verge of gray.
“What’s with that question all of a sudden?”
“You never do. I just thought it was weird.”
“I don’t kiss.”
“You just fuck?”
“Correct. I just fuck.”
“What if I want to kiss?”
“Gwyneth, I told you…”
“This is sex only, no feelings,” she repeats, mimicking my tone before she slips back into hers. “I know that. But this is about kissing, not feelings.”
“Kissing is related to feelings for me. That’s why I don’t do it.”
She stands up abruptly and faces me. There’s a soft halo around her face, a tension in her neck, and she’s clinking her nails over and over as if she can’t keep them in one place.
“Even now?” she asks in a low, haunting voice that fucking guts me.
Though, no. It’s not the voice that guts me, it’s the expectation in it, on her face. It’s practically shining through the green of her eyes.
But I can’t allow her to have rosy dreams. I can’t let her build her life on expectations.
She said I make her feel full, but it’s the fake type that holds no meaning.
After all, how could I cure her emptiness when I’m hollow myself?
“Even now,” I say.
She flinches as if I’ve slapped her. There’s a tremble in her chin before it spreads to the rest of her body.
“Screw you,” she whispers, and storms out of the room.
I don’t follow after her, because it’ll just get ugly. She probably needs to cool off for a while before we talk again.
I spend some time checking my emails, then I go to the living room to find her sleeping with her head on the table and her notebook between her fingers.
It’s open on the letter N, where she’s been scribbling in bold red letters.
Nate.
My jaw tightens and it takes everything in me not to rip up the thing. Does she really think she’ll get rid of me by just writing my name in a notebook?
She obviously doesn’t know the heights I’d reach to make sure she remains fucking mine. I warned her and she didn’t listen, so all she can do is bear the consequences.
I carry her to the bed and when I’m covering her, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s the hospital.
My fingers flex. They wouldn’t call at this hour if it wasn’t something important. I take my phone and step outside to answer it.
“Nathaniel Weaver speaking. Is everything all right with Kingsley?”
“Yes.” There’s glee in the nurse’s voice. “Mr. Shaw just woke up.”
30
Gwyneth
Dad woke up.
Dad. Woke. Up.
I still can’t believe it and keep mentally shaking myself during the entire ride to the hospital.