by Finn, Emilia
“Sucking your…” Her eyes widen. “You want me to…” She gulps.
“Do you trust me?”
Our hands continue moving, but she pays hardly any attention as she considers my words and works through her fear. “Sure… I mean, I trust you. Sorta.”
I laugh at her half-assed answer, but this train left the station long ago. I can’t stop this now. I want to fuck her raw, but since that’s off the table, I cup the back of her head and bring her forward. “Open your mouth nice and wide. Tuck your teeth behind your lips.”
“Like…” I see her move her lips, but the fog of desperation clouds my vision.
And my sanity.
I give her just one second to practice with an empty mouth, then I pull her down and fill her up until she chokes and gasps.
“Oh fuck!”
Abigail’s nails dig into my thighs as her throat squeezes me almost to completion. She pulls back and heaves, but she doesn’t run away. She gives a gentle nod, as though giving herself a pep talk, then she pushes down again and sucks me off like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Her eyes water and her chest spasms when she goes so far she can’t breathe, but she pulls back and catches her breath, then she pulls me in again.
She’s a fucking saint. She drags me closer and closer to the edge, and pretends that she’s not freaking out about the massive dick in her throat. She groans as though this brings her pleasure, and when I figure she’s got it under control and drop my hand away from her head, she reaches out and puts it back.
She wants me to control her.
“Fuckkkkkk.” I pull her down and push up at the same time. She gags every single time, but the sadistic asshole in me loves it a little too much to stop. “Abigail, fuck.”
“Mmm.” She doesn’t speak, partially because she doesn’t want to stop, but mostly because I won’t let her.
I bring her forward and fuck her mouth like she’s a cheap whore. But she’s not, and that makes this so much sweeter. She’s never done this for another man. She’s terrified. She was ready to sleep, and didn’t have to do shit for me. But here she is, on her knees for me, and saying nothing about the way I hurt her, or how I hold my orgasm back and make her work harder for it.
Her jaw must ache. Her knees are probably sore. But she gives selflessly, and when I can’t hold it back any longer, I push her down until my cock is deep in her throat, and I come so violently that my entire body quakes.
I should have warned her I was going to come.
I should have given her the option to say no.
But my body has other plans as I spurt down her throat, and my orgasm tears me apart and just–won’t–stop.
“Fuck!” I pull back when her fear-filled eyes meet mine. She gasps for breath in loud, wheezing pants, but still, she doesn’t run away while I try to catch my breath. My body is numb, tingly, and so fucking worked up I think I just tossed a gallon of cum down her throat. “Jesus, fuckin’ hell, Abigail. Jesus, fuck me three times and send me to hell.”
“Did I…” Her chest continues to lift and drop. She’s breathless and gasping to catch up. “Did I do it right?”
I throw my head back and laugh so loud I feel her jump. My heart thrums against my chest. My head is clouded. My vision blurred. My face feels fucking numb, but I sit on this wet couch and stare at the ceiling while Abigail’s heavy breath is heaven for my ears.
“Spencer?”
“You did amazing, Priss. So fucking amazing.”
“Okay…” Her voice shakes and rattles. It carries a tinge of fear, so I open my eyes and look back down. She’s still on her knees, and her hair is sex-messed for the first time in her life. “I think maybe I bit your…” She clears her throat. “You. Did I hurt you?”
I chuckle and sit forward so our noses almost touch. “Don’t overthink this, babe. You just sucked me off like a pro. I couldn’t teach you that shit. That was all you.” I don’t want to stand. I don’t want to do shit. But pulling in a deep breath, I do exactly that and fix my jeans. She looks up at me with her innocent eyes and thickened bottom lip, since she insists on nibbling it when she’s nervous.
I could stand right here for days, looking down and seeing her on her knees for me. I could look into her innocent eyes and know what she does for me. For only me.
“Come with me.” I take her hands and pull her up. She’s still naked from the waist down, and my front door is still open. She would die if she knew that any of the guys could let themselves into the range at any time.
None of them did, but the risk was always there.
I leave her standing in the middle of my living room for a beat while I head out the door and snatch up her purse. Bringing it in and closing my door, I turn back and lead her to my room. “It’s time for bed.”
She slams on the brakes and pulls us to a stop. “No, I–”
“Don’t overthink this, Priss. I promise I won’t fuck you. I won’t even ask to fuck you. When it’s time for that, it’ll be because you asked for it. For right now, we sleep.”
* * *
Abigail jumps in my arms. The sun isn’t up yet, and the air outside of my covers is cold, but her violent twitches tear me out of my dreams long before I realize gunshots are ringing just outside my door.
“Spencer!” She shoves my shoulder with fast jerks. “Wake up.”
“M’awake. Lay back down.”
“Did you hear that?” Her whole body literally quivers from fear. “Spencer!” She presses her thumb against my eyelid and pries it open. “Wake up!”
“Yes.” I blindly snatch her hand and pull her back down into the spoon my body makes. “It’s just Jay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Jay? Bishop?”
“Mmm.” I smack my lips and push my hardening cock against her squirming ass. “Shush.”
“Jay Bishop is shooting things outside your door right now?”
“Mmhm. He doesn’t sleep much. He tends to pass the time fucking. If Soph says no, he shoots instead. Go to sleep, Priss.”
“Spencer!” She smacks my arm, and works hard to dislodge it from around her stomach. “I cannot go to sleep while someone shoots things just outside your door! He’ll know I’m here. My car is outside.”
“He already knows you’re here. His girl hacked my security forever ago. There’s no hiding from them.”
“Oh my gosh. He knows I’m here?!” She goes into a full meltdown, and annoys me with the way she moves the covers.
It’s cold, and I was enjoying the sweetest dream that included the final bit where I get to fuck her. Reality means no fucking, but in my dreams, she’s a playground where fears and pain aren’t something we have to worry about.
I dig my hand under the top she still wears, and bring her squirming ass to a halt when I snake my hand toward the valley between her tits. “Lay down with me, Priss. We have hours before we have to get up.”
It’s like she’s a deer in my headlights, a wild animal caught in fear; she can’t move, she can barely breathe.
Until she can.
Her hand snaps to mine, though hers is on top of her shirt. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I’m still half asleep, so I press a kiss to her shoulder blade and pull her closer. “You’re nice and warm, Priss, and your fucking around is making me cold.”
“Don’t touch my breasts.” She tries to move my hand, but she has no hope of winning an arm-wrestling match against me. I’m triple her size and could Olympic lift her… With one arm. “Please don’t touch. I told you last night.”
“Please lay down.” I drag my hand back down her torso and feel the anxiety leave her body. She’s still a little tense, and I know she flexes her stomach as I pass over it, but her anxiety downgrades from panic to nervous the lower I go. “I don’t get to sleep much, Abigail. So when I do, I like to actually sleep. If you don’t wanna close your eyes, then maybe you can stroke my nose while I do.”
“Your nose?” She turns in my arms until we lay chest to chest, and
her eyes flicker between mine and my nose. “What?”
I shrug. I can’t believe I just asked her to stroke my nose like she was my fucking mother.
“Never mind.” I turn onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow. “Go to sleep, Abigail.”
“No, stop.” She pushes up onto one elbow and sucks more frigid air beneath the covers. She pushes her fingers through my hair and pulls until I turn my face. The pulling hurts in the best way, but her inquisitive eyes do something else to my blood. She brings her hand closer until the tip of her finger brushes over the bridge of my nose. “You like this?”
“Jesus.” My eyes flutter closed, and a groan works up my throat. I like her stroking my nose almost as much as I like her sucking my dick. Almost. “Yeah, I like it.”
I open my eyes again to see her smile.
Every few seconds, Jay shoots off another round in the lanes outside my door and makes her body twitch and jump, but she slowly adjusts and relaxes us both with her rhythmic stroking.
“I like that you like this.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm. It makes you seem less…” She shrugs. “I don’t know, formidable, I guess. Like it gives you a weakness.”
“I don’t like weaknesses, Abigail. You’re insane if you think saying that pleases me.”
She snickers and lowers down so her head rests on my pillow. I turn back to my side, because I guess I like pillow talk now. And though I’d rather be fucking, or dreaming of fucking, this works too.
“Your nose has been broken a few times?” Her breath hits my chin as she speaks, making me smile. I close my eyes, because it’s literally impossible to have my nose stroked and keep them open. “How many people did you annoy?”
I slide my hand beneath the covers and hold onto her hip. She tenses for a moment, but I don’t go higher. “I’ve annoyed a lot of people in my life. Annoying a dude with fists is always better than annoying a dude with a gun.”
“How many times?”
I open one eye. “My nose?” When she nods, I close it again and relax. “I don’t even know. A few.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Little bit. Hurts more when it’s being reset and healing. Hurts less than a gunshot wound.”
Her breath speeds a little. “Have you ever been shot?”
“Few times. Nothing that’s killed me yet.”
I swear I can feel her disapproval in the air.
“That’s not funny.”
“I never said it was. I think being shot is the most unfunny thing that’s ever happened to me.” I knead her hip and chuckle. “I’ve been hit three times. Two were pretty superficial and needed nothing more than butterfly bandages. Flesh wounds.”
She gulps. “And the third?”
My hand leaves her hip for just a moment and lifts the blankets. I sneak a look at her bare legs, knowing that she hasn’t got panties on, then I stroke the old wound about two inches above my heart and watch her face pale.
“It’s all better now, but I was hit a few years back. I was serving overseas, and we were driving from point to point, because our guys were ambushed on the north side of the town we were in. We drove over an IED on one of the roads I’d considered safe. It tossed us into the air, and killed two of my friends instantly.”
I reach up and stroke her nose now, because she needs the comfort. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone as empathetic as her in my life.
“There were five of us in the car. I was riding shotgun. My driver and the guy sitting behind him were gone before we dropped back to the ground. Me and two others got out, but we were ambushed and pinned against the wreckage.” I turn to my stomach and lower the covers so she can see the scars on my back. I have what looks like road rash, burn scars, and the exit wound from the bullet that should have killed me.
My whole body quivers when she strokes the rough skin.
“I did what I could to help my brothers, but I was kinda shot up and useless. Ironic, considering I’d chewed one of them out only that morning for being lazy and incompetent. He saved my life and never said ‘I told you so,’ or expected a thank you.”
“Do you still hang out with him?”
I shake my head. “Nope. He died the very next day.”
I turn back to my side and pull her close when her breath catches. I don’t know why I say these things so callously. I knew it would hurt her, but I still said it without attempting to soften the blow. Because I’m an asshole.
“It was quick and clean. He didn’t suffer, Abigail.”
She sniffles and wipes a hand beneath her nose. “What happened to him?”
“He was patrolling the field hospital I was laid up in. We always had several on patrol, so he was one of many. He wanted to stick close to me, I guess. But he was taken out in one single shot. No pain, no thought. He was here, then he wasn’t.”
“That’s so sad.” Her eyes well up and spill over. “Did you get to say sorry for chewing him out?”
I shake my head. “I did not. The chewing wasn’t undeserved, though. He had been lazy, and he was copping an attitude every time someone spoke to him. We were soldiers, Abigail. And we didn’t exist except as a whole. Consider our army one single body; some of us were the arms, some the legs. Some were the brains, and others the heart. We weren’t afforded individuality or bad days. If the arms stop working, we’re kinda fucked. If the legs stop moving, we become sitting ducks. So I tore him up and demanded he become one of the team again.”
“And he did?”
“He did. He saved my life. And when we brought his body home for burial, we found out why he was in a bad mood. His high school sweetheart had been fucking around on him. He thought they were forever, and she thought being with a soldier was sexy. But it didn’t take her long to get bored with the uniform. She’d sent him a letter and told him that she was in love with someone else. She needed space to ‘find herself’. She needed to ‘explore’ and ‘see what else the world could offer’. But when we carried his casket off the aircraft, she came running. She was sorry.” I meet Abigail’s eyes. “She was also pregnant. And we’d been gone eleven months at that point.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh no.”
“Mmm. She’d explored, alright. And she wasn’t just a day along, or a month. She’d been fucking around on him for at least six months. She was sorry, but he was still dead, so we walked on past her and laid him to rest ourselves.”
“Where is she now? And the baby?”
I shrug. “No clue. She made her bed. She wanted exciting and new, she got it, and my comrade got death. Life doesn’t pause or slow down for idiots who can’t make a decision. The rest of us have to learn how to make choices on the fly. We aren’t afforded a timeout so we can sit down with a coffee and have time to think. And we especially don’t get the luxury of picking between people we claim we love. That’s what she wanted… a buffet of choices, and zero consequences for her inability to make up her mind.”
“But that’s what you do,” Abigail whispers. “You pick between women all the time. You admit it.”
“But I don’t love them. I don’t hurt people’s feelings.” I pause and consider my words. “In my world – and I mean my work, not my sex life – if you don’t keep moving, you die.” Jay accentuates my point with another gunshot that makes her jump. “We don’t do things half-assed, and we don’t fuck over the ones that mean something to us. I chewed the guy out, but I didn’t fuck his girl. I told him to pull his head out of his ass and focus, but I didn’t get personal and say shit I regret. He died knowing who his brothers were. He died honorably.”
She reaches up and swipes an errant tear from her cheek. Strangely, that single tear slices me up.
“I’m sorry for making you cry.”
She gives a wobbling smile and goes back to stroking my nose. “It’s okay. I’m mourning a man I never knew.”
“You allow yourself to feel too much.” I lean forward and press a kiss to her lips. “You’re always letting shit
dig into your heart. You gotta protect it.”
“I don’t want to protect it,” she argues. “I like feeling. I like knowing I’m here and that I can feel. It hurts, of course, but he deserves a moment, right? He deserves to be loved by a stranger for a second, and remembered for his bravery. I don’t consider that a flaw.”
“Not a flaw,” I concede. “But it’s dangerous for you. If you take on too much, you hurt yourself. If you hurt yourself too much, you eventually have no choice but to stop feeling. It’s better for you to choose to close yourself off from some things, rather than be forced to become an unfeeling machine.”
Her eyes drop to my chest for a moment while she thinks. “I don’t know. I think we’ll have to agree to disagree, because I’m okay with taking on someone else’s hurt sometimes. If I have the room, why not? Maybe the person I’m helping has no room left at all. Maybe my act is what saves them.”
“And maybe that one straw is the one that breaks your back?”
Again, she shrugs. “Which are you? Do you not feel by choice, or because you were hurt too much?”
I consider her question with serious thought. Part of me defaults to this being a choice. But then part of me remembers the Ashleys of the world.
I had a girl in high school too, and her need to explore taught me early that fucking bitches is immeasurably more gratifying than being hurt by them.
But then there’s this small part of my brain that reminds me I’m lying in bed right now with a half-naked woman. I didn’t fuck her, I’m allowing her to stroke my nose, and I’m mourning for a young soldier that risked, and eventually lost, his life for me.
“I don’t know which one I am,” I answer truthfully. “It’s a complicated question, I guess.”
Her eyes come back to mine. Green and blue. They haunt my fucking dreams.
“It’s okay to not be sure, I guess. So long as you’re thinking about it. What was his name?”
“Whose?”
She grins. “The soldier. The man that died outside your hospital.”
