Take Me With You(58)

“Don't,” I whisper. “Let me see you.”

“No…” he says, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. Normally so verbal when he fucks, he's almost silent during this frenzy.

I slip my tongue through his boyish pout and slide him inside of me. It's effortless and breathtaking at once. We both exhale into each other's mouths. I wrap my legs around him, pinning him to me, claiming victory over his stubborn attempt to fight this.

He's as deep in me as any man could ever get, and I grimace and moan at the painful filling of my pussy.

“Oh god,” I cry. “I can't hold on.” It's too much, he's too far inside of me.

As his hips weave against mine, he slides his hands up my nape and tugs my hair, pulling me away from him. For a moment I think he's going to come in for a last second maneuver, throw me on my stomach and fuck me in the ass, leaving me without an orgasm as a punishment. But instead, he watches me—my face, my body—riding him. In that moment, I get that chill, the one only he can give me, where I am singularly coveted. I am the only woman on earth. I am his. I don't have to compete with anything or anyone for his gaze.

He sits taller and slides both of his hands under my ass, boosting me up, so that he can worship my breasts. My breaths skip as his lips glide over the tender nipples. They ache, but his mouth finds a way to give them relief and draw out pleasure. It's impossible to hold on any longer as the pulsing deep in my core grows to a crescendo. I let out a series of wails, wrapping my arms around his head, smothering his face in my breasts. His cock thickens against my spasming walls, and a flood of his warmth releases inside of me. He collapses underneath me. My body goes soft, as if gripped and constricted until the moment of death and then released to see another day. I wither on top of him, skin to skin. Our bodies breathe like two parts of one living being.

He keeps his head turned away from me. I know he's confused. I know he's upset that he let it all get this far tonight.

I reach over and play with his tendrils. I've wondered for months what I would do if I ever got to see all of him. All I want to do is this simple ritual, a way to stay connected after something so intense and confusing. Until this point, every time he fucks me, he walks away. It feels like I'm being thrown overboard, left to fend for myself in a harsh, unforgiving sea. But this small act, it keeps me above water. And, if my gut is right, it's doing the same for him too.





He's still here. Hours ago he was a terrifying nightmare in a mask, and now he's lying next to me, asleep, his golden wisps of hair and gentle expression marred with a fissure like that of a wounded angel. I had dozed off by his side, I'm not sure how long ago, but his arm finding a way around my torso woke me.

Once the initial grogginess wears off, I realize that the door to the cabin is unlocked. It can only be locked from the outside and he's still in here with me. This could be my chance, to slip out from under him. If he startles, I can tell him I was just going to the bathroom. If I could just free myself from his grip, I can quietly slip out the door and get a head start.

But something is holding me back. Well, many things.

What will I do when I get back? I'm not so sure I want to get rid of this baby anymore, but the idea of facing the world—facing Carter—with another man's child, no relationship could survive that.

Guilt. He's beside me, suddenly looking so vulnerable, and—I can't believe I am saying this—he finally trusted me. Let me see him. And I would be betraying him. If he caught me, which is likely, I would never get that chance with him again.

But I have no idea what life holds for me in here. Of course nothing is certain, but I can't just stay here in this shack forever. I have a brain. I matter. This can't be my life. Maybe last night changed things. If I can win this small battle, I can keep winning little ones until I can figure out what I want to do next.

I stare at the door, fully torn, paralyzed with fear and indecision. I should leave, but it's a fool's errand if I do. I wouldn't make it far, and if I did by some miracle, I'm not ready to face my old life. There will be a better time.

Just to test, however, I slowly slide from under his arm. He doesn't even flinch. When I creep towards the bathroom however, and the floor creaks, that's when he shoots up. I can barely make out his frantic silhouette as feels the bed for me.

“I'm here,” I whisper, softly putting my hand on his shoulder. “I have to use the restroom.”

He stills, but I can't see the details of his face. He finds his flashlight and scans it around the room.

“Are you leaving?” I ask. It was nice to have someone sleeping beside me.

He doesn't respond.

“You should stay. It's already very late.”

He flashes the light up and down at me, I shield my eyes, then he shoots it over at the mess on the floor. Now that the alcohol has dried, it stinks. I've gotten used to it, but apparently he hasn't.

“We can use the shop vac. You did bring it all the way out here.”

He doesn't say anything, but he hands me the flashlight, guiding my hand towards the mess. He pulls off the suction hose and switches it on. I shine the light on the mess at first, but playful instincts take over. He has to have a sense of humor somewhere in there. So I flash the light on his butt instead. Frustrated, he turns to scold me for my lack of focus to find me giggling. He looks down and sees where the light is aimed. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's not really angry, and points back to the mess.