Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  He obliged and moved. She threw her head backwards, almost kissing the sofa’s armrest upside-down. Then she settled to look at him. She perspired and hissed and hissed.

  Then she separated from him.

  He breathed loudly as his cock was squeezed out of her, inch by inch, ever so slowly. He held his climax with all his might.

  Then he felt her cold lips on his. She whispered his name and no one could’ve ever said it more ardently.

  Gently Scipio’s hips sank in between Summer’s legs as she opened her thighs really wide this time. How much longer did she expect him to last? She had to take him now. Now. He knew what would follow his climax – the second erection that he and Emily used to dread. He couldn’t think about that right now. Summer had seen it, and perhaps assumed it was a product of his nervousness, a one-off.

  Summer impatiently pushed his cock back inside her. Now he reached the depth where control became impossible. From her moaning, writhing and screaming, he was sure Summer had orgasmed, but he held his to ask, ‘I’m close… are you…’

  Summer nodded frantically.

  And he came. In between his own bliss he could hear Summer moan. He was sure it was another one, and he smiled a post-orgasm smile for the first time in his life.

  And as soon as he pulled out, it happened. By this time Emily would’ve shooed him to the bathroom. ‘No girl could ever satisfy your stupid cock, Joseph!’ she’d grumbled. Sometimes he himself was too tired and chose to stay in bed and endure blue balls, with migraine and sometimes nausea.

  Summer’s eyes were closed. He could hide his hardness from her now. He hoped she’d lie like that for a while, giving him a chance to reposition himself and cover up.

  But Summer’s hand was already back on his rock-hard cock. This time she was mesmerised by him. She clearly wanted to say something, but she kept it to a silent ‘oh’. She put her arms around him, kissed him and motioned him to place his knees on each side of her waist. Would she take him again? The position he was in wouldn’t allow him to enter her. He looked at Summer – she gave him a reassuring gaze. Gently she massaged his cock, and placed it in between her breasts. He loomed over her, but he didn’t dare move.

  Her skin and flesh surrounded him. This time it was he who sighed and panted like he’d been dipped in cold water. But he still didn’t move.

  ‘Do it for me,’ she whispered.

  He almost cried. How could she want him again? So desperately. He’d never seen a woman so aroused before. Her breasts swelled, her nipples stood erect. Scipio placed his palms on top of them, rubbing and squeezing them. Summer moaned – the moan of a woman being made love to by a man she loved.

  As he reached his second climax, he swore he would never let her go. Never… ever…

  Summer nudged herself to give room for Scipio to lie down beside her.

  ‘Sorry…’ he said, realising his cum was all over her upper chest and neck, dripping down her hair.

  She dipped her finger into one of the puddles and sucked it.

  And he kissed her, again and again, convincing himself it hadn’t been a dream.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ Summer asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she said as she was about to get up.

  ‘You don’t want me to see you walking naked?’

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  A few minutes later Scipio heard Summer call. He quickly put on his underwear and headed to the bathroom.

  ‘What is it?’ he said standing in front of the closed door.

  ‘Can I borrow your shampoo?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you have another bottle? This one’s empty.’

  ‘Ummm… sorry… no… I don’t.’

  ‘Would you mind going over to my house and grabbing the green bottle from my bathroom?’ she said. ‘The key’s in my handbag.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, and put on the rest of his clothes on the run.

  When Scipio went inside Summer’s ensuite, he was confronted with shelves of bottles, all of which had some degree of green. ‘Jesus…’ He sighed. How many bottles of shampoo did a woman need? He tried to read all the labels and smell the content to find exactly which one made her hair smell so divine, but in the end he just grabbed the one labelled 'nourishing and refreshing green tea'.

  Summer took Scipio’s towel from the rack and held it close. It felt like him, it smelled like him. She wrapped it around her and combed her wet, unshampooed hair. What was taking him so long! She flattened the waves and let the strands fan on her back. Maybe tonight she could let the remnants of their sex linger on her hair until the morning.

  She smiled thinking about how he’d burst right in front of her face. Finally she’d got to do it Russian style. She was sore after the first round – that impossible phallus – but Scipio had still wanted her; he’d still needed her and how could she ever refuse?

  That wasn’t just making love, that was love, Summer was sure. It wasn’t the kind of peak she reached when she was breathless, or when she watched Bobby coming breathless. It was loving, generous and honest. There was no him or her, they were one.

  She had been tempted to do her choking routine on him, she was aware of it, but Scipio had so many amusing body parts she could play with. Those pecs, those nipples. She smiled remembering his reaction when she pinched them.

  A few times she had wished, too, that Scipio would’ve followed her cues. She’d placed his hands on her throat; had he understood what she’d wanted? She doubted it. He probably wouldn’t have guessed she was into erotic asphyxiation. Maybe he wasn’t ready and only pretended he didn’t understand. But someday, if he stayed, she would make him understand. For now, whatever happened next, Scipio had given her a night she’d treasure forever.

  He was a hero from whatever angle she drew him. Those muscles, those perfect abs, perfect pecs, perfect biceps. He was the only one who could make her cry and make her sleep for 13 hours. Tonight would’ve ended with that boy’s death (in her hands, Justin, the boy from around the corner, was seconds away from drawing his last breath), or her roaming alone when she’d decided to drive and leave Penguin forever. But once again Scipio had saved the day. When he’d begged her to face Bobby together, she knew she had to stay.

  Tonight had indeed ended differently. She’d tasted how sweet he was. She’d seen all of him. That second rush was almost instant, like his balls had been making semen non-stop. What intrigued her was that he still looked embarrassed to be hard again. And he’d thought he could hide his massive phallus? Perhaps he felt doing it again after his woman was satisfied was not a gentlemanly thing to do. Could she have had him inside her again? Maybe next time she’d try.

  Had she confused sex with love? Summer contemplated. No, it was love, she was sure. Scipio was love. Till death do us part like traditional husband and wife?

  Could it be?

  No. Things had happened too fast. Would it be fair to drag Scipio into her nightmare? What about the games that she had got used to now? What about her scars? What would he think about what she’d done to Pierre?

  Everything hurt now.

  What was she thinking?

  Her hands shook. She wanted to clench something.

  She opened the vanity drawers. His things: deodorant, flannels, combs, shaving cream, a blade…

  Summer

  Why was she hearing her own name?

  Summer

  Pierre? Go away!

  ‘Summer?’

  Bobby?

  She turned towards the open door, her back against the shower curtain.

  The soft call turned into a frantic voice. ‘Summer, don’t!’ Scipio gripped her wrist. Only then did she realise she had picked up the blade. He knocked her hand against the sink, forcing her to let go. ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted.

  ‘I was just looking at your things!’ she shouted back, and pushed him away.

  Scipio shook his head. ‘Summer…Please… don’t.
’

  She swung a fist and hit his mouth. ‘Is that all you think of me?’

  Why did she hit him?

  ‘Summer, you need help.’ Scipio took the blade and headed to the door.

  ‘No! What are you doing?’ Summer made a big step to stop Scipio. The towel loosened, and now she had her back against the sink. Scipio’s eyes widened.

  The reflection in the mirror…

  ‘Noooooo!’ Summer recoiled as she realised Scipio had seen her scars.

  Scipio came and hugged her.

  ‘You saw them…’ she whimpered.

  ‘It’s all right, Summer,’ he said.

  She knew exactly where those eight marks were, those patches of hell. His hands were now touching all of them: the biggest one under her left shoulder blade, two on the peak of her thoracic spine, and five small ones along her waist. No one else had ever stroked her back after the incident, let alone touched and felt those marks. Bobby’s tongue had, but she’d considered it torture. But she’d wanted Scipio to stroke her back because he was comfort, he was safety. Now, his touch made her cry out, as loud as the cry she had let out after Scipio found her on the floor next to the flimsy ceiling fan. She’d never cried in front of another man. Never. But with Scipio she’d wanted to cry all the tears that she’d never had a chance to release.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she whispered, muffled by Scipio’s shoulder. ‘Not a shrink, not a doctor.’ She almost bit his flesh.

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  Summer still held him tight.

  ‘I promise. Just take a deep breath, Summer. Look at me. Tell me, please, tell me.’

  ‘I wanted to punish him,’ she said.

  ‘Punish who?’

  ‘Pierre.’

  ‘Who’s Pierre?’

  ‘My dad. I didn’t want to call him Joseph – Joseph was someone else – someone who existed in another life, untouchable, unvisitable. I didn’t want to call him Dad, either, because he wasn’t my dad anymore.’

  She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘My twin brother, Jake, was the sweetest thing. His friends pulled a prank on him. We lived in Washington DC at the time. Pierre was supposed to be away in Philadelphia, but he found Jake topless with foul words written all over his torso while his friends were filming him. They had an argument, then the argument hit a point where. . .’ She paused. ‘Jake had found Pierre with another woman. Just before the incident. Jake rubbed it in and rubbed it in until Pierre exploded. Pierre had a boiling kettle in his hand. He threw it at Jake but I shielded my brother. The kettle hit my back and the water splashed all over.

  ‘And you know what Pierre said to me? Well, he said sorry, oh, yes, he did. But after that he told me, “It’s not too bad, Summer. The scars will heal. But we have to go to the hospital now.” Not too bad? Not too bad, he said! So I made it bad so he remembered! I doused those burns with bleach.’

  Scipio wept.

  ‘And Pierre stopped being my dad then.’

  By this time she guessed Scipio had heard too much. But he looked back at her, and she still found that love in his eyes as he squeezed her hands.

  ‘Pierre wanted me to have a surgery to remove the scars. But I refused. I wanted them to stay, as a reminder. Perhaps if he’d sent me to some budget doctor in Thailand I would’ve gone. If it’d been botched, that would’ve punished him even more.

  ‘After the incident, my mum took me away from Pierre. We mended things later, but one thing led to another … eventually Pierre committed suicide. I found him hanging in his office. The note you found on me that night … it was his.’

  ‘Oh, Summer…’

  ‘I didn't go to his funeral,’ she sobbed. ‘And I hate it that they buried him next to Jake. I can’t go to my brother’s grave anymore. I simply can’t see Pierre. And, as you know, my mum never knows he’s gone. So that man really is alone. I tore off the first sentence of his suicide note. The bit where he said he loved my mum, and he loved me. And the last bit… where he hoped he could reunite with Jake.’

  She paused.

  ‘What do you think, Scipio? Do you think Pierre loved us?’

  Summer waited for his answer.

  Urged by her stare, Scipio said, ‘He did, Summer. I’m not him. But I am a father and I was once a husband.’

  ‘I loved him, you know. I did, once upon a time. Look,’ she said and showed the side of her left thigh. ‘I did this when I was fourteen.’

  Scipio tried to hide his gasp. Summer thought he might’ve had enough. She’d proven herself to be too complicated. What would he do now?

  He offered his chest for her to lean on. He rubbed the scar and said, ‘Of course you loved him.’

  ‘I didn’t want to lose him when my mum found out about his affair. I cut myself so Mum would stay. My life was a nightmare, Scipio. When my brother got sick I used to cut here, too,’ she said touching her left arm. ‘How did I grow to hate my own dad? How did I drive him to kill himself?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘I did! We had a big fight the night before he did it. And I hurt him, really hurt him. You know what, I even hated my mum. She should’ve been my confidant when everything crumbled. I saw my parents as my enemies. My God! I have so much hatred I shouldn’t even breathe.’

  She lifted her face and watched the big man cry. Now she was going to tell him about Bobby and she bet he wouldn’t be crying after that.

  ‘Marry me, Summer,’ Scipio said.

  And her mind was blown to pieces.

  ‘Marry me,’ he begged.

  She said to him, emphasising every word: ‘Scipio, I have a lot of baggage.’

  ‘I can take it,’ he said. ‘Believe me. I will take it.’

  ‘Your heart can take anything, Scipio. Mine can’t. Marriage is about give and take. Having me as your wife would be unfair to you.’

  ‘Unfair? Summer… you’ve given me a purpose. You are stronger than you think. And we’ll do this together. We will be as strong as each other.’

  They were both silent for a while.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ Summer whispered, stroking his swelling lip. ‘If I hit you, you hit me back, okay?’

  ‘I will never do that,’ Scipio said.

  ‘I want you to.’

  ‘No, I will never do that, Summer,’ he said.

  No, he would never do that. So she had to stop doing that to him.

  Could she?

  ‘Scipio, I’m married.’

  Scipio stared at Summer.

  She looked into his eyes and said, ‘You asked me why I’m here. I’m running away from my husband.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Bobby. Bobby Swinburne.’

  From his expression, she could see no sign he had heard of Bobby’s name. She concluded he wasn’t aware of the ‘baby-face basher’.

  ‘Do you love Bobby?’

  She’d never thought she’d hear Scipio saying that name. It suffocated her.

  ‘Do you love him, Summer?’

  You can’t have two husbands.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  She did. But she couldn’t say it.

  He continued, ‘We haven’t known each other for long, but what we’ve been through together is more than enough for me to know that I love you. Ever since I saw you standing in my shop, I knew I wanted you. I’m willing to go with you all the way, regardless of your marriage. But only if you want me in your life.’

  ‘He won’t let you have me, Scipio.’

  ‘He has no choice.’

  ‘He will hurt you.’

  ‘It’s okay, as long as he doesn’t hurt you.’

  ‘He will kill you.’

  ‘That’s okay, as long as you live.’

  ‘I will kill myself if he kills you, Scipio. If you want me, you have to accept that.’

  Scipio looked into her eyes. ‘All right.’

  Summer felt weak. All right. That was all, no argument.

 
She knew he wouldn’t let her go. It had been love that Scipio gave her, and it had been love that she felt. Together. They’d do this together. Maybe she would have a family by the time Bobby found her next. But she would defend them – Bobby would die at her hands before he could hurt her family.

  In Scipio’s arms she said: ‘I’ve wanted you in my life since the day I saw you. Whenever I’m alone I wish you were with me. I love you.’

  Once again, she let him hug her all the way. He touched her burn marks. And she surrendered as Scipio carried her to his bed and laid her down. The bed was so soft it almost swallowed her.

  His towel barely clung to her breasts; yes, his towel, the one that he dabbed, wiped, patted his body with; and now it was drinking from her skin. He untucked its twisted portion along her bust then peeled it left and right. It was like opening a window – now she had shown him everything.

  She welcomed his body and all its warmth. His erect phallus hesitated but she opened herself up to him – no ambiguity. She screamed in pain, he tried to pull out, but she didn’t let him. He was in her and he knew what to do this time. She let him drive from start to finish. To her it felt like she was already his wife. She wanted him to choke her, oh it would’ve made it so much ––

  But once again he moved, and that mighty pain made her let go as she dealt with the pleasure it caused.

  She was breathless for all the right reasons. When it was done, she looked at her man. That impossible phallus rose again. So the second coming happened every time, she established. Any pussy would’ve been too tight for it, and once might’ve been twice or three times the average man’s effort. Scipio rolled over and covered them both with the bedsheet. He blew one long breath after another, and grimaced.

  Summer crawled to his side, touched his phallus and pulled him by the waist so he was on top of her again. She opened her legs wide.

  ‘Summer you don’t have to…’

  ‘Do it for me, please.’

  And her man duly entered her again. Parts of her walls were numb after the two previous penetrations, and the pain had escalated deeper inside. But she let all of him in. She moved her pelvis, he followed. Finally he glided deeper – so deep it felt as if his phallus had reached her chest. And he climaxed, for the fourth time tonight.