by Kim Jones
Clearing my throat, I ignore his comment as I lean my elbows on the counter—trying to appear unaffected. I hope like hell it’s working. “And the other question?” I ask, managing to keep my voice snarky. “Are you hurt, Maddie?” My shitty impression is of him, and he smirks and shakes his head at my feeble attempt.
“If you were hurt babe, I’d know it. Better than anyone. Because I’ve seen you hurt, Maddie. And it’s fucking gut-wrenching. I know, because when you feel pain, I feel it too.”
What does a girl say to that? Nothing. Because there aren’t enough words in the English language to express how complete he makes me feel. It’s like he’s kissing my soul. Now that he’s done that, there’s plenty of more places I can think of for him to kiss.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Maddie.”
He already knows what I’m thinking. Good. I want him to.
I may not be the girl I was six years ago, but my attraction to him is stronger than ever. Just because I want to keep a part of myself hidden a little longer, doesn’t mean I don’t want him to kiss me. Lick me. Fuck me. And for however long it lasts, help me forget this fucked up world I’ve created for myself.
“Tell me,” he growls. He wants to hear me say it. Fine.
“I’m thinking about all the places I want your mouth.”
My breath catches when he drops his eyes to my mouth. “I don’t just want to kiss you, babe.” Say it. Please say it. Please, please, please, please say it. “I want to fuck you.”
He said it. I’m ready. He’s ready. And the only thing between us is air, opportunity and three feet. But he’s closing the distance fast, he’s seizing the opportunity and when he’s directly in front of me, the air is sucked from my lungs.
“Are you still mad, Maddie?” he asks, looking down at me.
“Always.”
His eyes darken and his voice drops. “Then how about I fuck that anger out of you?”
I know this role. He’s asking me how I want it. Does he make love to me? Does he not? There’s no need to pluck pedals from a flower with a question like that. I know what I want—and it’s just what he’s going to give me. Rough, hard and fast in his signature way that has ruined me for every other man in the world.
Slipping his hands beneath my shorts, he curls his fingers around my naked ass. With no effort at all, he lifts me until I’m straddling his waist with my legs locked behind him. I keep my hands on his shoulders, waiting for his command.
When he fucks me, he claims me. He controls my entire body. It’s the one thing I’ve never regretted giving up when it came to my life. And the one thing I need more than any other—complete domination.
“Arms around my neck, Maddie.” He says my name like he owns it. And when I do what he says, I shiver in anticipation of the praise that I know will come next. “Good girl.” Ho-ly shit. Those two words are like the plumbing for my pussy and I immediately get wet at the sound of them.
The walk to my bedroom is tortuous. He’s letting the anticipation build as he pierces me with his stare, promising me things that a girl can only dream of. Just inside the door, I pray that he ignores the light switch. Like he can read my mind, he walks into the darkness and kicks the door closed. The bathroom light is on, illuminating the majority of the bedroom and I curse myself for not turning the damned thing off.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he lifts me from his waist so I’m standing in front of him. Then, because the universe sucks as much as my luck, he reaches over and turns on the lamp beside the bed. Now, there are no shadows for me to hide in. And before he opens his mouth, I already know what he’s going to say.
“Strip for me, baby.”
I wish I was drunk. I should’ve skipped out on the milkshake and fries which are partly to blame for my sober state. But come to think of it, I should’ve skipped out on those bastards years ago. Then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Pulling me between his legs, he cradles my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. But instead, I look over the top of his head. “Look at me.” Without hesitation, I do. “You’re beautiful. I don’t care if you’re not the size you used to be. I want you, Maddie. And the more of you there is, the more I want.” The sincerity in his gaze has tears burning the back of my eyes.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Too late. I’m crying. And that rough, hard, sex is as much a distant memory as my anger. You can’t angrily fuck someone without anger. “I’m trying not to cry…” I cry, and I’m now a blubbering mess. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Talk to me, baby,” Marty whispers, his thumbs working overtime to catch my tears.
Maybe it’s the guilt I feel for lying to him. Maybe it’s my stupid hormones forcing me into early menopause. Or maybe it’s because I know with him, I don’t have to hold it in. I don’t have to pretend to be weak or fight to be strong.
Whatever it is has me ruining the first possible sex I’ve had in a long time in my very own bed. That in itself is worthy of every tear that falls.
Standing, Marty wraps me in his arms and I let him carry every burden, heartbreak, secret and pound I have. He said he knows my pain because when I hurt, he hurts too. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s the truth.
There is an out to my sadness. There’s a way for me to not feel anything that I’m feeling in this moment. He knows it, and when I’m lowered to the bed, I already sense the pain fading as the promise of pleasure starts to course through my body.
“I love your thighs,” he says, pulling my shorts down my legs slowly. “I love the way they tighten around me just before you come.” Kissing his way across my thighs, he places his hands on my knees, spreading me open to him. “I love your pussy.”
I moan as he pushes a finger inside me, arching my back off the bed. “You’re always wet, tight and I love how thick your lips are—I can’t wait to feel them rub up and down my cock.” My hands reach out to him, trying to pull him closer. But they grasp nothing but air.
“Put your hands behind your back, Maddie.” I whimper with need, but shove them beneath me. “You have the smoothest skin.” He continues to fuck me slow with his finger while his other hand creeps it’s way beneath my shirt. “I love how warm you feel. Nothing about this is less than perfect.” Bending, he plants a soft kiss on the center of my belly—rubbing circles around my navel with his tongue.
“Take your shirt off.” When I hesitate, his finger pumps harder inside me, getting my attention before slowing. “I said … take your shirt off.” I pull my hands from my back, struggling to pull the shirt over my head before putting my hands at my back. “Good girl.” There it is again. On cue, I become wetter.
I don’t have to look to know he’s smirking, but I do and he is. The appreciation in his eyes alone is enough to have me coming. But I know better. “And these,” his focus is now on my breasts as he leans over me—his cool breath causing my nipples to harden. “These are better than I remember.”
He speaks like he’s in awe of my body—the body I find disgusting. But if he loves it, then fuck it … I do too. I’ll strip for him anytime. Right now if he wants. I just need him inside me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and it’s like my libido took a swim in the Arctic. I lean my head back and close my eyes, praying I heard him wrong. But then he speaks again. “You sure you want to do this?” His body leaves not only mine, but the bed completely.
I could kill him. How does one go from angry to sad to devastated to appreciated to pissed the hell off in a matter of minutes? Why can’t he just fuck me already? “I need to make sure, Maddie.” Even his sexy bedroom voice is gone. It’s not like this is our first rodeo.
“You’re pissing me off, Marty,” I say to the ceiling.
“Good.”
Before my brain can register the meaning behind his word, his hands surround my ankles and I’m pulled to the edge of the bed. When I look up, Marty is standing before me gloriously naked and fisting his cock
that I swear has gotten bigger since the last time I saw it. I’ve never been so thankful for the extra weight. Looking at him now, I don’t see how he didn’t break me when I was barely a buck ten.
“I don’t have any condoms.” I blurt, for no apparent reason whatsoever. He’d already fucked me twice without one.
“Don’t care.”
“I’m on the shot, though.”
“Don’t care about that either.” He doesn’t have to tell me what he does care about—I can tell by the desire in his eyes as he inches closer toward the magnetic pull of my pussy.
His mouth opens on a moan and his eyes flutter closed as he slowly pushes inside me. The feel of him filling me is nothing short of amazing. He’s stretching me—consuming me. Nothing is as satisfying or rewarding as him inside me.
I bite my lip and suffer through the discomfort that would probably be worse it wasn’t for the overwhelming sensation. His body is still. Mine is quivering with need. He’s buried completely and I want more. When I tell him, he groans painfully.
“Just give me a minute, babe.” My own selfishness has made me forget that unless he’s been with someone else, this is only his third time in five years. I’m a wretched, horny, desperate fucking mess right now. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling.
At a snail’s pace, he moves. Just as the friction starts to heat inside me and my orgasm begins to build, he leans over me—claiming my mouth and suppressing his moans as his cock pulses and his release floods inside of me. That feeling alone is enough.
Running my hands across his neck and back, I lay still. When my muscles involuntarily contract around him, I feel his body jerk with what can only be described as pleasure overload. If this is all the sex I get tonight, it is enough.
“You look disappointed.” He shoots me a cocky grin. “Where is the faith, Maddie?” Kissing a trail across my collar bone, he whispers against my skin leaving a wake of goosebumps in his path. “Surely you don’t think I’m finished with you … I’m just getting started.”
The massive cock buried inside me is still hard, thick and he flexes his hips reminding me that he’s still here—like I need a reminder. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me with him as he climbs onto the bed.
My arms circle his neck holding him to me. My legs part further, welcoming him in. My body sings in anticipation of what he’s promised me. And finally, in perfect, measured, delicious strokes, he starts to move.
I’m immediately lost in a world of pleasure. My stomach is swarming with butterflies. My skin tingles every place he touches. I’m consumed by the can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think feeling of new love combined with body jerking, spine tingling, breath catching multiple orgasms. But it’s not just the thrusts of his hips, and his cock hitting that spot inside me I’d forgotten existed, that have me feeling this way. It’s a combination of it all.
It’s his manly, Marty scent laced with a hint of soap and leather. It’s the dark, sexy look he gives me. The way he parts his lips. The way his breath blows across my face. The way his eyes grow heavier with lust every time my breath hitches or my back arches. It’s the way he sweats … the way his body covers mine … the way his calloused hands move up my sides … It’s everything—it’s perfect.
He kisses me softly. Parting my lips, I open my mouth to him and his long, skilled, velvety tongue inside me is like throwing gasoline on a fire. The soft kiss turns fierce--filled with desire and need and ignites the fuse inside me. I want more of him. I want all of him.
I lift my hips to meet his, and I feel his hands tighten around me. His lips press further into mine as he kisses me harshly, not holding anything back. His pace quickens and I tighten around him—forcing him to drive harder into me.
“Fuck, Maddie.” His voice is low and throaty, and I tremble at the feel of vibrations from his voice against my mouth. I’ve come so many times I’m on the brink of becoming comatose. But I want that one last soul shattering experience before I give myself over to the darkness. And judging by the moves of my guy, he wants to give it to me.
That split second right before the fireworks burst inside you—that one moment is always the best part of release. You know it’s coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop it—even if you wanted to. Your body stills … Heart stops beating. You can’t breathe. Can’t think. All you can do is enjoy that flash of anticipation you’re allowed before you lose complete control. Then it happens.
You try to think of anything you can do to prolong it. Your mind drifts to visions of what’s happening to you. Voices in your head repeat every dirty word or saying that shakes your senses and makes you wet. In those few moments of bliss, you can be anyone you want to be, anywhere you want to be with whoever you want to be with. It’s the greatest fantasy you’ve ever experienced.
As I moan, shake and tighten every muscle in my body with my release, I know Marty is going to make it last as long as he can. My mind has visions of him on top of me, driving over and over, deeper than ever inside me. He’s telling me how much he wants me, how my pussy belongs to him and how tight, wet and perfect I feel. I want to be Maddie. I want him to be Marty. I don’t give a shit where we are, as long as we’re together. This has always been my fantasy, but now … it’s my reality.
I’m as limp as an overcooked spaghetti noodle. If the boogey man was to invade my home, he’d just have to kill me. And I’d die a happy, happy woman. Where Marty gathers his strength, I don’t know. He might be channeling all my energy. But he’s still leaning over me, kissing me back to life.
The bed dips and I become cold from the loss of his body heat. I know he’s looking at me. I’m sure I’m a sight. My vagina probably looks like a deflated football, but I keep my legs open because I just don’t have the energy to shut them. If he never wanted to fuck me again, me and my girl would be okay with that. Nobody should experience what I just did more than once in their life—it wasn’t natural.
“Come on, sweetheart.” One second I’m being pulled to him and the next he’s carrying me in his arms. The act wakes me slightly and I start to struggle out of his hold. It would be pretty humiliating if his knees weren’t strong enough to hold us both up. But we’re in the bathroom before I know it and he’s showing no signs of weakness. He’s really not even straining.
Setting me on my feet in the shower, he keeps his big arm around my waist and turns my back to his front. Jerking the curtain closed with his free hand, he plants a kiss on the side of my head. “Water, babe.”
Oh. I guess that’s my job. I lean over, still using his arm for support and adjust the knobs. Seconds later, we’re both cursing in protest of the freezing water. Then I’m scalding us. Finally thinking like an adult, I turn the shower head off until the water temperature is right, before cutting it back on.
His hands glide over my body, starting at my stomach before making their way to my shoulders where he applies pressure. “Shower massages are the best,” I say, throwing my head back against his chest.
“I missed you, Maddie.” I tense at his words. “I thought about you every day.” It was the first time he’d actually said the words. I thought it would feel good to hear, but it only hurt. My guilt takes another bite and my joyful mood nosedives to melancholy.
Turning around to face him, my eyes level with his chest. There are tiny scars that I hadn’t noticed before. Backing up further, I see there are some on his stomach too. He watches me as I run my fingers over the healed wounds. “What happened?” I whisper, unable to pull my eyes from the scarred masterpiece.
“A lot.”
Unsatisfied with his short answer, I push further—my voice soothing and understanding. “Tell me.”
“These are my memories, Maddie. Not yours.” The finality in his tone is reflected in his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about it. But I need him to know that I’m here to listen.
“If you ever—“
“Don’t.” He cuts me off with a warning. This will never be something we talk about. So
I do the next best thing. I slide my hands around his waist and hug him—telling him everything he won’t let me say in words.
The embrace lasts all of five seconds before he shatters the moment. He doesn’t want this attention. He likes to be in control. I can almost feel his body swell in size as he transforms into the protective, caring, demanding Marty I know.
I’m clean, but I still smell like him. Every time I move, I’m reminded of where he’s been. And the memories cause a spark of electricity to sing through me. Or maybe it’s that he’s standing in my room. Wearing nothing but boxers. Preparing to get into my bed. With me.
“You okay?” My eyes drag from up his thick legs to his face. He quirks an eyebrow in question.
“I’m good.” But I don’t sound it. So I clear my throat and try again. “I’m good. Just tired.” He knows I’m lying. That shit eating grin he’s wearing proves it. “Don’t be smug,” I mutter, dropping my head. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so shy and embarrassed. It’s only Marty. But come to think of it, that’s exactly why.
He was the last man to sleep in my bed. That was six years ago. Having sex with him is one thing, but this takes it to another level. He’s sleeping over. In my bed. And I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
“Hey.” He tips my chin up with his finger. He’s so close. Smells so good. Looks even better. “Stop overthinking everything. If this makes you that uncomfortable, I can sleep in the other room.”
I’m tempted to tell him to. But just the thought of how good his arms will feel around me has me dismissing the idea. I want to be held. I want those big hands on me. I want him to kiss me awake in the middle of the night, then fuck me back to sleep—just like he used to.
“I want you to stay,” I say, the words spilling from my mouth.
He smirks. “Good.”
Tonight, there will be no need for my pillow boyfriends—there’s no room for them either. Marty’s big, strong body takes up half my bed as he curls me into his arms. I feel safe, protected and fearless. I can be Maddie. But what about who I truly am? The new me. The real me. What happens when he finds out? Will he take me as I am? Is it possible he’ll want me just the same?
