But Ms. Crane was right. People like us can’t do ‘easy’。
So I grab her by the chin and make her see it—all of it. “There’s never going to be anyone else for us. Do you understand that?”
She looks just as scared as I feel, breath bursting from her blood-stained lips with every body-jolting thrust. “You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I fucking can.” I steal the kiss—there’s no other word for it—forcing my tongue inside, making her take me as I fuck her. It’s not how I wanted it to be. It’s nothing like that soft, sleepy morning fuck I’d promised her all those weeks ago. What’s happening here is all desperation and sharp edges, a grunt being pulled from my throat as my hips drive mindlessly into her body. Somehow, it feels fated to be this way, though. Fast and rough and bloody.
It’s how I know it’s real.
She comes with a cry tearing from her chest and it makes me crazed, both hands reaching up to grab the headboard so I can get closer, dig deeper, batter her even harder. It’s senseless, this notion that if I can just get enough of myself inside her, she’ll never be able to exorcise it.
I realize she’s made her way out of this maze of deranged lust when I see she’s gone limp and passive. A strand of her hair has gotten caught on her lip and it billows away from her mouth as she pants into the space between us, eyes fixed sightlessly on mine. For once, I don’t drag it out, the days and weeks of not being inside of her testing my limits in a different kind of way. Teeth clenched, I hiss, spine going stiff as I pump her full of my come. Maybe it’s not the sweet morning sex I’d envisioned, but an energy shudders between us, and when she reaches up to sweep my hair back, it expands and ebbs, the crescendo of a grim symphony.
And then, its bittersweet coda.
She kisses me back just as sweetly as this was supposed to be, bringing me down from the brink with her sticky lips and soothing fingers. I think it’s like that for a while, but my brain’s too slow to notice, because all it cares about is not breaking this connection. My cock’s going soft, but I keep surging against her cunt, keeping it burrowed inside.
We take a long time to catch our breath. Probably because we won’t get another, our kisses turning slow and languid, but no less fervent. It isn’t until Story turns her head to the side, gasping, leaving me to nip at her jaw, that I let myself roll away.
“Fuck me, that was worth the wait,” I mutter, staring up at my ceiling. Normally, I’d reach for a cigarette or a bottle. Instead, I reach for her, ready for that very first post-sex cuddle.
Thwarting me, she bolts upright. “Oh my god! It looks like a massacre! Are you okay?!”
“I just had the best nut of my life,” I tell her, stretching my arms above my head. “I’m fucking aces.”
She assesses the bed, pulling the （formerly） white sheet to her breasts and using it to wipe away the smear of blood on her mouth. “Tristian is going to have a coronary if he finds out we did that!”
I snort. “Tristian? Ms. Crane will tan my hide if she sees this.” I give the sheet a firm tug, ripping it out of her hands. I’m not ready for her to cover up. “I’m burning these. No one will ever know.” Again, I reach for her, but she winces, catching herself before she falls into my side.
“We need to clean that. And us. And our mouths. Oh, god.”
Catching her, I roll us so she’s on her back, pinning her to the bed. “This isn’t exactly the post-orgasmic glow I was hoping for. How are you squirming around like this? I was throwing you my very best in dicking downs, girl. You should be halfway comatose.”
She pauses, tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “Sorry.” She doesn’t look sorry, though. She just looks bright-eyed and a little too wired. “It’s not you. I just had, like, ten gallons of coffee tonight.”
“You must have if that didn’t fuck it out of you.” Sighing, I roll away, heaving myself off the bed. “Fine. We’ll clean up, then sleep.”
But even after we’ve had a hasty wiping down and toothbrushing session, I’m still watching her fine ass zip around the room, stripping the bed, gnawing on a fingernail as she inspects the cut she’d made, jiggling her knee as she perches on the mattress and rubs ointment over the wound. I can tell she’s grossed out by it from the way her forehead puckers, but the shine in her eyes as she flicks her gaze up to me fucking beams with satisfaction.
It’s almost enough to chill her out.