A Time for Hope (Lexi, #3)(21)
“Yes.” I finally found my voice as he continued to move, deeper and deeper inside of me. His rhythm stayed steady, perfectly controlled. He glided in and out of me with purpose but without the roughness or desperation that I had anticipated.
“Ahhhh…Lexi,” his jaw tightened as he filled me, I could tell he was close.
He adjusted our bodies, angling me so that his cock stimulated my clitoris with every thrust. I cried out as he quickened his pace. “That’s it baby, come with me.” Alex continued to rock against me as my body tightened around him.
My fingers dug into his back as I felt myself splinter beneath him for a second time and with that Alex exploded inside of me, allowing himself to finally find his finish.
Our sweat-drenched bodies collapsed into the tangle of matted sheets. Alex rested his head on mine, the weight of his body still pressed against me.
“Hi,” I mumbled as I tried to regulate my breathing.
“Hi?” Alex raised an eyebrow curiously.
“I’ve missed you.” I tried in vain to keep the dopey smile from creeping across my face.
“I’ve wanted to Lex, for a long time…” His voice trailed off not wanting to bring up the mention of him despite the obvious elephant in the room.
Alex rolled off me, nestling me close to his side, his hand slowly stroking my arm, “Baby, are you ok?”
“Better than ok, I would have told you to stop if I wasn’t. Really Alex, I am great.” Honestly the whole time Alex was making love to me, it was just the two of us. Sure things were intense, I hadn’t come that quickly in a long time but my body and my mind knew it was Alex. At no time did I associate his touch with memories of my attack. I felt safe, loved. It was hard to explain but it was like my mind had the ability to recognize the difference.
“Good.” Alex breathed. I could tell he was still not a hundred percent convinced I wasn’t going to need another round of intense therapy. His eyes wore his unspoken concern.
“Alex, you can ask me anything. I won’t fall apart.”
Alex continued to stroke my arm but remained silent.
“I wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything but you. It was just us.” I volunteered hoping that me talking about it would give him whatever he felt he needed to open up.
“That’s all I needed to know.” He relaxed his head against the pillow, his sexed up blonde hair framing his beautiful face.
I wasn’t sure he was so easily appeased but I was too tired to argue. The day and night had taken its toll and I felt exhaustion creep in.
Alex held me, my head rested against his chest as I curled up in his arms. I felt myself drifting off to sleep.
~~~
The obnoxious buzzing of my phone ripped me from my relaxed dream state. It was the first night in a long time that I hadn’t repeatedly woken in panic. It wasn’t necessarily nightmares that plagued me when I would finally let my eyelids close, it was more a weird sensation of falling or unidentified dread that seeped into my mind suddenly and without explanation. I rarely remembered the “dreams” but the emotions stuck with me, it was like being completely enveloped in darkness with no point of reference and then suddenly the floor falls out from under you. I would often be peacefully sleeping only to startle myself awake and find I was safely in bed and the ambiguous emotion was a figment of my imagination. I didn’t bring it up in my therapy sessions; after all I didn’t need Dr. Hart to tell me what it meant. Having competently graduated from my psychology degree from the University of Google and already having a PhD in Lexi I knew it was my mind’s way of coping with the loss of control. There was also the slight possibility (which I was not yet fully willing to admit) that I had some of the markings of PTSD, but I was already in therapy so I don’t know what difference further talking was going to achieve. I hated that my jittery nocturnal activities made Alex worry and despite my best efforts (yes, in the ultimate control freak move I believed I could contain it) it was something I couldn’t hide.
Thankfully while Alex stirred, he didn’t wake. His beautiful face remained relaxed, blissfully sleeping while I dealt with the incessant vibration coming from my bedside table.
“Lexi Reed,” I croaked pulling my mobile phone into the bed with me.
“Hey Lexi. Sorry to wake you but this couldn’t wait.” Matt’s measured tone alerted me instantly that trouble was brewing.
“It’s OK Matt, which fire do we need to put out today?” I smiled into the phone. In my world of current insanity, my work made sense to me. Things were able to be broken down into simple task based objectives, problem solving was easy when you had solutions. Not to say that the pace of my job was easy, and trying to keep all parties happy often involved more tricks than a circus performer but it was something that I was good at.
“Lex, I’m not sure how to say this.” Matt’s voice hesitated blooming with concern. “I got an email from one of my paparazzi sources. Some photos have emerged overnight. Compromising photos.”
I heard the long exhale and my heart filled with dread. Compromising photos are every publicist’s nightmare for the simple reason that it’s hard to argue with undeniable proof. Unlike “claims” which can often be disproved, even if they have some truth to them, photographic evidence required more than a creative spin. It was those times you hoped the photo was blurry, the subject unclear or the origin questionable. Matt wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t believe the authenticity of the photos, especially not this early in the morning.