by Kelly, A. S.
“Yes…”
“Now…”
I slide inside her again, as she watches my hand tormenting her. My dick is on the brink of exploding, spurred on by the sight of her pleasure.
Christine yells, jolted by the orgasm that flows from her body to mine, overpowering us both, leaving us breathless.
I fall onto her, resting my head between her soft breasts as she lets go of the sofa behind her.
“Oh my God…” she says, as soon as she gets her breath back.
I look up.
“Don’t you even think about leaving now,” she warns me, reminding me of our first encounter, and making me feel like a piece of shit.
“How long do we have before Evan comes home?”
“Have you not had enough yet?”
I smile at her, leaning into her ear. “I want you again,” I breathe into her skin.
I lift myself up, keeping her legs wrapped around me, and carry her upstairs. She throws her arms around my neck.
“Are you scared I’ll drop you?” I tease.
She shakes her head. “All these muscles have to be good for something, right?”
I laugh again. It’s like I can’t stop laughing, recently.
“You have no idea how useful they can be sometimes.”
“I’m not sure, but I think you’ve just showed me.”
“Fuck, yes,” I growl, grabbing onto her buttocks.
I head up the last few stairs and she points me to her bedroom. I barge open the door with my shoulder and throw her straight onto the bed, her body bouncing on the mattress.
“Now you just need a caveman’s club.”
I laugh as I approach the bed. I grab the waistband of her useless panties and throw them onto the floor.
“You’re overdressed, O’Connor. Show me what you’re hiding under there.”
I slide my jeans and my boxers to the floor.
“Oh shit,” she says.
“Mmm?”
“It’s better than I imagined.”
I laugh again as she sits up, holding her hand out to me. I take it and she pulls me in towards her.
She strokes my face, and leans in towards my lips.
Pain overwhelms me in an instant.
I put a finger between our mouths and close my eyes, sighing.
She stays there, silent for a few seconds, then speaks to me softly.
“They really hurt you, didn’t they?”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
“Hey,” she says, still stroking my face. I find the courage to open my eyes. “One step at a time, okay?”
I nod, trying to calm my emotions – because, right now, I could cry, or get up and leg it as far as I can. But neither of those reactions seem appropriate.
“Come here. I want to see if those muscles are real or if it’s just the alcohol talking.”
My mood lifts immediately.
“It’s all real. Totally, one hundred per cent real.”
“Just let me touch you and make sure.”
47
Chris
I’ve been dreaming of laying my hands all over him from the moment I saw him with his shirt off in his parents’ garden. Now I’ve finally had the chance to make sure that this man is real, and not just the fruit of my imagination.
Ryan is kneeling on my bed, in all his beauty. And I only say ‘beauty’ because I’m lost for any other words.
Everything I had imagined is nothing compared to what I have in front of me.
His body is carved from marble, perfectly sculpted. His muscles are tense, the veins pulsing through them; his arms are strong, overpowering, and his thighs are thick and well-defined from years of training. His abs – which I can’t help but want to trace with my tongue – delve down into the shape of a V as they disappear beneath…
“Are you staring at me?”
“Oh yeah.”
He laughs. Tonight he can’t stop laughing, and God, it makes me really fucking happy.
He stalks towards me threateningly, and I instinctively grab onto the duvet – after having a taster of him on the sofa, I know what to expect.
“We rushed into things,” he says, seductively. “But hey, that was your fault.”
“Mine?”
“Fuck, Christine, you’re too damn sexy.”
“I think you have a problem.”
“I do: one. You, and how hard you make me.”
I glance down and see his erection, ready to take me once again. I can’t believe it.
He leans his forehead against mine and breathes heavily.
“What the fuck have you done to me?”
“Me?”
“You…what have you done to me?”
“Well, it looks like you’re still here, still breathing – and you seem fine to me,” I tease him.
He smiles.
“Exactly…I’m fine.”
I slide my hands down his face.
“You could be better, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“Much better,” I say, suggestively, lifting myself up just enough to grab his dick in my hand.
“Jesus…” he says through gritted teeth.
I guide him inside me.
“I’m not finished yet, either,” I tell him, bringing myself down on top of him and feeling him make his way inside me.
Ryan pulls me down by my hips. “Oh, fuck, yes” he says, letting his head fall against my neck, his hands squeezing my butt.
I rise and fall on his cock, sighing in delight every time I feel him penetrate right into the deepest parts of me. I place my hands on his chest, gently lying him down underneath me. He stretches his arms out behind his head and watches me in delight as I take everything I want from him.
My hands trace the outlines of his abs – every contour, every line – as I move myself on top of him, drawing a moan from him that vibrates through my veins.
If I liked Ryan O’Connor before, it’s way more complicated now. And it’s my own fault.
I speed up my movements, and he grabs my hips again, pushing me down onto him. He takes my breasts in his hands, pulling the nipples towards him, as I feel an unbearable heat rise between my legs that could set my whole body alight.
He plays with my nipples, pinching them between his fingers so hard it almost hurts – but the pleasure overrides any pain. Those hands…my God, I knew they’d be my undoing.
“I want to feel you come again,” he says, his voice full of authority.
He doesn’t have to tell me.
“And I want to watch.”
His words ignite me immediately. I keep moving on top of him, as he keeps tormenting my breasts, taking them between his lips and looking me shamelessly in the eyes.
Ryan O’Connor isn’t just in my body. Ryan O’Connor is flowing through me, like a roaring, uncontrollable river, which threatens to flood everything and ruin anything good in my life.
I know. I can feel it, and I can see it in his eyes: even though they’re burning with passion, they can’t hide the icy flicker he holds hostage. It could freeze me over, too.
But I want it. Christ, I want it.
I want Ryan O’Connor and everything he brings with him.
The wave washes over me: an overwhelming heat that completely submerges me, then releases me suddenly, exploding through my body. I come onto him desperately, with no more oxygen left in my lungs.
As I try to get my breath back, Ryan smiles at me, satisfied.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks.
“What kind of question is that?”
He lays me out on the bed, then turns me onto my front.
“Because, that way…” he says, squishing me with his body. “We can keep going…”
Jesus, yes. Keep going for as long as you want.
He lifts my hips and pushes his erection inside me once more.
My clit is swollen, still pulsing, but I can’t help but want him again.
Rya
n O’Connor is too much – but he’s never enough.
He lifts me up and I place my hands on the mattress, on all fours, completely vulnerable to him.
His warm hands slide down my back, then grab my waist, pulling me against him.
Ryan takes me again and again. He takes my body, my mind and everything that I’ve ever been.
He empties me out completely, only to fill me up with him.
One of his hands slips between my legs, seeking out my inflamed clit. With the other, he grabs one of my breasts and roughly squeezes a nipple.
I lift myself up to him instinctively, but he pushes me down, just like the first time we were together.
“I want you like this.”
I give in to his desire, his force. To him. Because the only thing I want is to keep feeling him, to feel him wanting me.
His thrusts become almost painful: he’s strong, tireless. Out of control.
Ryan O’Connor is everything, and I’m what he wants: so I let him take it.
His hands move determinedly, impatient to reach his limit as he penetrates me harder and harder. His chest rubs against my back, his skin becoming my own.
I become his.
His thrusts become more forceful, their speed and intensity leaving me breathless – then Ryan explodes inside me, sending another orgasm rippling through my body. I collapse onto the bed, with Ryan on top of me.
He pants onto my back, glistening with sweat, as I try to regain the oxygen in my lungs, my face squashed against the mattress. After a few minutes, he rolls to the side, letting me breathe: but I lie there, frozen in that position. I’ve lost the strength to move, and I don’t know how I’ll ever get up from this bed.
His hand slides slowly over my skin, his fingers tracing his name onto me. His breath fills the whole room, forcing me to breathe him in.
And that’s how Ryan O’Connor arrogantly walks into my life, taking over everything in just one night.
48
Ryan
I admire the curve of her glistening back, the shoulders littered with freckles. That arse. Her legs. The colour of her skin. I trace my finger along every imperfection, because I need to touch her: to feel the connection between us, to make sure she can still feel it. Can still understand it.
I have to imprint this moment into every corner of my mind, this longing to have her again.
This desperate desire to be with her.
I came here without knowing how it would end, hoping that she would want exactly what I wanted, but I had no expectations. My imagination was nothing compared to what actually happened. I never thought I could feel so happy, at ease – so secure – with a woman’s body laid out next to mine. With her body.
Not to mention the jokes, the little digs at each other, the laughter.
I’m seriously fucked.
Christine stirs, turning her head to the side.
“Are you staring at me?”
“Maybe a bit. Looks like you’re not the only maniac here.”
“Me, a maniac?”
“Yeah – you can’t stop staring at me, imagining… Well, is your imagination satisfied?”
She turns her whole body towards me, resting one arm under her head.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“You’re very confident, O’Connor.”
“Well, your moaning made it quite clear.”
She sits up suddenly.
“Bastard…”
I grab her arm before she can throw herself onto me.
We stay like that for a few seconds, each lost in the other’s sadness: because that’s what’s lingering over us now.
Doubt, unanswered questions. The knowledge that neither of us really know what just happened, or what it means.
I want to do it. I want to give myself to her a little more. To let her have the rest of me. To really kiss her, to feel her and let her feel me – but I can’t.
I’m scared. Scared that it’ll all be another lie, another failure. Another disappointment.
I slowly let go of her arm and she replaces it under her head, keeping a painful distance between us. But she’s doing it for me. I know that. And that makes me feel even more guilty.
“I should go…” I say, my heart heavy. “I guess Evan will be back soon, and you don’t want him to find me in your bed.”
She sighs sadly. “Yeah.”
I start to get up, but she grabs my arm.
“Maybe…maybe five more minutes? Just so that I don’t feel so worthless.”
“Is that how I make you feel?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry…you’re not, Christine. I’ve never thought you are.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Then just stay for a bit longer. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I lean towards her and turn to face her.
“Christine…”
“Mmm?” she says, her eyes closed.
I can’t do it. It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth is sealed, my throat burning up. My heart is rebelling.
“You too, Ryan O’Connor,” she murmurs, half asleep, saving me from any more embarrassment.
I watch her fall asleep with a smile on her lips, relaxed and happy. I brush the hair away from her face and trace her profile: eyes, nose, cheekbones, mouth. I run my finger along her lips, and I’m suddenly overcome by an unbearable longing that I have to push down right away, or I’ll a huge mistake before anything can even happen between us.
I watch her for a while longer, trying to gather up the courage to leave with no regrets. But I can’t – it’s too difficult, this time.
I don’t want to leave her. I want to hope, to dream for just a little bit more, before I go back to reality and regain control of my thoughts and my feelings – because they can’t come out.
It can’t happen again.
I can’t turn back.
I can’t be that Ryan anymore.
The Ryan that someone else took away, the one that is being reconstructed piece by piece. But they’re pieces that I can’t fit together, not by myself or with anyone’s help.
Not even with hers.
Not even Christine can help me get back on my feet.
Not even Christine could love me, if she saw me for who I really was, day after day. If she really knew me, knew the kind of man I am and what lengths I would go to just to protect what I have: to protect myself from everyone, from everything.
From her.
49
Chris
I sit up in bed, a familiar smell wafting up from downstairs. I shiver, pulling the sheet up to my chin and look down, suddenly realising I’m naked.
Naked?
Oh, Jesus…
I jump up, quickly rummaging around for something to wear, but all I can find is my underwear from last night.
Fuck.
Did I leave my clothes downstairs? Did he? And, more importantly – when did he leave?
Well, I guess I should’ve expected it sooner or later – after all, I told him to leave so that Evan wouldn’t see him. So why do I feel like crying like a little girl?
I should know by now what men are like – especially one like Ryan O’Connor.
I shouldn’t have expected anything from him. A couple of orgasms – or maybe it was three…
I quickly jump under the shower, and five minutes later I’m in my big, soft dressing gown, ready to go downstairs and greet my lovely teenage son, who’s apparently decided to try and cook something this morning.
I tread barefoot down the stairs, tightening my dressing gown around my waist, and I pass the living room, heading into the kitchen. The smell of coffee just starts to reach my nostrils, when his laugh stops me in my tracks.
I lean my shoulder against the doorframe – the scene in front of me has broken off a little piece of my heart.
Ryan is still here. He’s here with Evan. Ryan and Evan are making breakfast together.
Ryan stayed t
he whole night.
“Oh, good morning!” Evan notices me. “Don’t get used to this, okay? It wasn’t my idea.” He smiles happily, and my heart leaps in desperation.
“Good morning,” Ryan says awkwardly, without peeling himself away from the hob.
Evan looks from me to him then says: “Should I…er…go upstairs for a minute…or, er…outside – yeah, I’ll go outside,” and he dashes out the front door.
Ryan slowly approaches me, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor.
“You thought I’d gone.”
I nod.
“I fell asleep. I didn’t even hear Evan come home.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”
“Evan’s great, he’ll understand.”
“I made some coffee,” he says, smiling lopsidedly.
“Thank God,” I say right away.
Ryan laughs. His laugh is beautiful, so full and contagious.
I laugh, too, illuminated by his newfound easygoingness, by his laid-back presence – something I know I desperately need to be a part of.
“Shall we have breakfast?” he asks, nodding towards the breakfast bar.
“I’ll go and get Evan.”
“Evan’s here,” a voice calls, followed by the sound of the front door slamming behind him. “So, have we talked everything out here?”
“Evan!”
“If you’re arguing for my sake, there’s no point.”
“Why can’t you go back to being five years old again?”
“If I was five, Mum, you’d have a real problem trying to explain to me what Mr Muscle is doing in our house.”
Ryan bursts out laughing and Evan follows suit – after a few moments, I join in, too. And we laugh and laugh as we sit down at the breakfast bar together. We laugh some more as Evan steals the last bit of bacon, taunting Ryan with it. And I laugh even harder when Evan tells Ryan that he found his shirt on the living room floor last night when he came home, and tells him that he’s happy to see that it’s currently being worn inside-out, making coffee explode from Ryan’s nostrils.
But inside, I’m crying from desperation; I know that this scene is just a dream, and the moment I’m forced to wake up, I’ll be left with a sea of pain.
