Broken Girl(56)

He slides his fingers out, leaving me aching for more as he lifts his tongue from between my legs. I huff and vault my hips against the air.

“I can feel you want to come. You ready for me?”

He tears open a condom and for a moment I only hear the unraveling of my soul. Seconds tick away and the anticipation steams through my body. He drags his fingers across my leg, driving me further down into the frenzy rushing my body.

The chill of the room startles me as he unties my ankles. Kneeling between my legs, he spreads me wide with his stiff cock pressed firm against me. I hope, no pray for the split second he’ll penetrate the defensive wall I’ve always built every time I’ve ever consensually have sex with a man.

He rotates his hips, teasing me with the head of his cock, leaving me desperate for his return. I rock my hips, wordlessly I’m begging him to fill me, f*ck me, sink himself so deep into me, that we’ll both be lost to where his body meets mine.

He collects a sharp breath before he slowly stretches me, opens me up, and splits me apart. He pulls back, faster this time and thrusts again. I lose my breath, vibrating from my core. Back and forth, inside and out, he’s annihilating me, taking me beyond any other moment I can remember. He’s so much more than a date, more than a demon slayer, he’s a savior—someone who I believe can cleanse my soul.

He grabs my legs, and drapes them up over his shoulders. He pushes deep, thrusts into me until my body breaks into a full-fledged orgasm owning every part of me from the deepest place nobody has ever seen to the edge of where my skin meets his. My words stolen, I can’t tell him I’ve come. My body language speaks volumes. The motion of every cell in my body gets to experience what sex is supposed to be like between two consenting adults. He speeds up driving deeper before he buries his fingers in my clit and massages. My body accepts his offer, rolling stronger than before I bust apart for a second time as his body stiffens and his hips jerk spastically against me. I’m vibrating harder than ever. I can’t see, I can’t talk, all I can do is grab him and hold him tight on my body as his cock pulses inside of me pouring into the condom what my womb craves to consume.

He slips the scarf up off my eyes, his body still collapsed against mine. In the glow of the room my eyes adjust to see his body glistening, his dark hair damp, his skin ravaged with goose bumps.

I am safe.

Finally, someone who makes me believe I’m worth more than a casual f*ck. I am worthy of sexual pleasure without fear or guilt.

He looks at me and a smile creeps across his tawny tinted face, he reaches up and dries my cheeks. A reprieve sweeps through my body.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispers with a sense of urgency. He delicately caresses my face, his concern apparent as his thumbs swipe away the last tears rolling down my cheeks.

“No,”

“Why are you crying then?”

He shifts his body off mine, pulling me into his chest simultaneously.

“It’s so much deeper than the surface pain,” I whisper barely audible.

He stares at me, we look at each other for a lengthy moment, I know down in my gut it’s f*cking crazy to think I’ll let someone into my heart after a lifetime of so much pain, but the last three days have been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. He’s like a breath of fresh air in a polluted city.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

I want to believe him, crave it as a matter of fact. And for a moment I let my dreams cloud my reality. Maybe he’ll take me wherever he’s going. If he starts to love me beyond the label of who I am, I won’t have to spend the rest of my life being paid for careless f*cks with pricks who shoot their wads and move on. Mister makes me better, I feel like a better person when I’m with him. Shit, even when I fight him, he still makes me feel beautiful, wanted, and desired beyond a simple quick f*ck.

“You want to take care of me?” I ask, but I know, in my gut he’s talking about the present time and I’m talking about the future. I make sure I answer and question him in broad f*cking strokes on a painting of my future. I’ve spent my entire life shutting myself off to the idea that there’s a knight-and-shining-armor coming to save me. Why’s my heart flipping the switch on my mind now?

Betrayal, f*cking betrayal.

“Yes, let me take care of you.”

He pulls me into his embrace. My limbs are listless and heavy. My body’s exhausted from giving him everything within me. I moan and he responds by sweeping me into his arms

“What happens now, Mister?” I ask scared to hear his answer.

“I take care of you, and it’s Garrett.”

“What’s Garrett?” I ask, legitimately confused.

“My name, it’s Garrett, Garrett Chadwick.”

He’s let me in, just as I have let him in. His name’s Garrett, the man who’s healing the broken girl residing just under the surface of who I am.

“Well, Garrett Chadwick, looks like we both learned how to trust tonight.”

“It looks that way doesn’t it?” he answers rhetorically.

We kiss until our bodies are steaming and smoldering. His body responding to my touch, my body ready to go, he pulls me to the edge of the bed, rolls on a rubber and takes me from behind. This time it’s raw, fierce, and primitive. We both have a burning need that must be satisfied. Clutching my waist, he pummels me with his entire length, I thrust back taking every inch he is giving me.