Left Drowning(98)

I wrap my legs around his waist and lift into him. And now he’s the one saying my name over and over. Hearing me come like that has gotten him close. Closer than I want.

“No,” I tell him. “Don’t you dare come yet. I need you to keep f*cking me.”

I’ve learned that sometimes this is what I want after I come—I want to get f*cked long and hard. While I am crazy about the times we have gentle, tender lovemaking, I’m equally aroused by the grittier, dirtier side of sex. Fortunately, so is Chris, and likely even more so than I am.

Maybe it’s not fair to ask him to wait, especially after what did just did for me. But it is his fault for being so indescribably good and for making me want as much as I do from him.

“Blythe, I don’t think I can wait.” He’s still grinding into me.

“Yes, you can.”

I love this part: the power exchange.

Sometimes he’s in charge, sometimes I’m in charge. We’ve started to share this power more equally, trading it back and forth, often over and over in one night. And then there are times when there is no power game, when we do everything together, we feel everything together, we come together. I’m going to need that again. Later tonight.

But for now, I need him to do what I want.

I push him up hard, and he stops moving.

“Think about whatever you want. Painting the house. Doing the dishes after Zach made that gnarly batch of chili.” I smile. “I don’t care what you have to do. Think about whatever you have to, but don’t stop f*cking me. I need you, Chris.”

Chris shuts his eyes for a minute. I love watching him focus like this. I can feel the shift in his body, the ability to control himself reappearing. He pulls out farther now and f*cks me like I want. Slow and steady and deep. I look down and watch his cock thrust smoothly in and out, slamming into me over and over. I’m even wetter now after coming, and this can’t be making things any easier for him. But somehow he is able to last for me.

I can still feel the end of my orgasm, how sensitive I am, how I throb each time Chris enters me. I pull him in faster. Rougher. I love when he holds himself up on his hands, angles his body against me. I tuck in my knees. “Harder,” I tell him. “Harder.” He gives me what I want. He’s completely immersed in me now, I can tell. He can keep going.

I put my hands on his chest. He’s starting to sweat, which turns me on even more. “Yes, Chris.” He f*cks me for what feels like forever, but I can’t get enough. I push his chest up higher, and he sits back so that he’s kneeling again, his hands holding my legs.

We watch how deep his cock goes inside me like this, how hot it looks, how good we look f*cking.

“Blythe.” He can barely talk, but he looks at me. “Fuck, I love your *.”

I smile again. I can toy with him, too. “I know.”

Over the past month, Chris has empowered me in ways he probably wasn’t planning on. I can be bold and insistent, and, like right now, even a little self-satisfied. He’s learning to let me play with my power, just as I let him. On the flip side, I can be vulnerable and honest with him to a degree I never imagined. In bed and out. I can be everything with him and for him.

Right now, Chris is on that pleasure edge, and I can’t make him wait any longer. “I’m going to make you come now,” I say. “As hard as you made me come.”

I slide my legs out from between us, and he drops his weight onto me. I tighten around him and rock my hips hard. I put my hands on his ass and pull him in, over and over, getting him louder and closer. “I want you to come on me. Let me feel it.”

His body starts to stiffen as he pulls out and gets the condom off fast. He rubs himself over my body until he shakes hard against my stomach, and then I feel him come on my chest as he groans my name. He sounds and feels unbelievable.

Chris puts his hand over mine and moves it across my stomach to my breasts. I love this. While he catches his breath, he looks between us and watches as I rub the wetness over my nipples. He kisses me now and lowers his body to rest on mine. I want to stay like this—with Chris pressed against me, kissing me, tasting me—until we can f*ck again.

I kiss the sweat from his shoulders and neck. “You were born to f*ck me, Christopher Shepherd.”

He tucks my hair behind my ears and kisses me softly. “I was also born to love you.”

Later, Chris falls asleep and I watch him breathing peacefully. We have been drowning in each other. In beautiful ways, yes. But I know there are other reasons for this intensity. Chris is escaping, running from his own hell, and I am enabling that because I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.

But I also know that we can’t stay like this forever. I need to pitch more articles for the magazine where I used to work in Boston. They’re not paying me much for my freelance writing, but I want to stay in their good graces. Chris and I haven’t talked yet about what we might do when summer ends. Estelle, Eric, Zach, and James have to go back to school, and surely Sabin will want to get out of the Bar Harbor area soon, since there’s not a particularly hot theater scene here.

At some point, I’ll have to get back to Massachusetts. James and I have made the decision to sell our parents’ house near Boston. The truth is that we’ve overspent fixing up the house here on Frenchman Bay, but we both agreed that the investment is worth it. This place now feels more like home to us. I’m not sure if I could live here year-round, but the idea certainly has its appeal. It would be incredibly quiet during the long off-season when the tourist crowds disappear, but I might very well like that.