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Authors: Jacqueline Abrahams
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or excitement? I
can’t tell . I don’t stop to find out. My hand moves to
pull the bra down, and I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard.
Louder cries from Emily. My hand slips inside her pants, into her
panties, into the warm heat.
She
must like this. She’s so very warm and so very wet. I
slide my fingers in. One, two, three, and pump into her fiercely. Her
body arches back in response. I look up at her face. She looks at me
with lust-filled, yet questioning eyes.
I reach down and pull
her pants down to her ankles, and then drop my boxers. Without
another word, I spin her around, lean her forward, and press into her
from behind. Emily’s body tenses as I slide into her. Slowly, but
purposefully at first. Her hands grip the sink’s single faucet in
front of her firmly, giving me the traction I need. I use one hand to
push her body against the cold stone countertop, and the other to
grip her, pulling her head back. This is reckless abandon and chaos
at it’s very best.
She moans, then cries
out, a small choking sound escaping her lips every time I pound into
her. Harder, faster now. I can’t tell if she’s crying in pleasure
or pain. She feels so tight, and I’m so far gone. It all just
sounds like white noise now. Her knuckles are nearly white from
gripping the tap so tightly. I give her one final thrust; it’s the
hardest, the deepest, the most violent. And finally, all the tension
in my body releases into hers.
I lean over her back,
loosening my grip on her hair, and seeing the strands on my hands
that came loose through my yanking. Emily is quiet. Her breath
ragged. This, this was ownership. She was mine .
I lace my arms around her waist and rest my head against her back,
listening to her breath, shallow and quick from the exertion.
She turns to face me,
her eyes look confused, but not angry. “Did I hurt you?” I ask,
pushing a strand of hair gently away from her face.
“No. I mean yes,
but—” she stammers.
A sinking feeling forms
in the pit of my stomach.
“I liked it,” she
finishes, oddly very shy suddenly. “It was different, somehow.”
“How?” I ask,
trailing a finger down her cheek, memorizing every bone, every angle.
“Just—different.”
She looks away quickly, as if to compose herself, then returns to
face me with a smile, looking almost as if it were forced. “I can
handle you though. I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” she
teases.
“Really?” I say
cockily. Emily surprises me often. But this time, this time I was
truly floored. I feel completely sexually emancipated. For the first
time since we met, I feel completed by Emily. Like I don’t need
anybody else. Only I do .
I need Aria.
“You would tell me if
I hurt you, right? I don’t wanna hurt you,” I add eyeing her with
genuine concern.
“You would never hurt
me,” she says, but it leaves her mouth as more of a question than
an affirmation. Her eyes search mine for a few moments, the question
hanging above our heads.
“Never deliberately,”
I say, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the bedroom.
Emily doesn’t protest when I pull her onto my naked body again. I
thought that fucking her would resolve the disconnected vibe I keep
getting from Emily, that if we were close sexually, then the feeling
of emptiness in the space between us would be bridged. That doesn’t
happen, though. My suspicions are further fuelled by the fact that
she sleeps with her back to me, avoiding curling into my arms as she
usually does. I don’t like
this feeling at all.
Chapter 8:
Emily
I stand in the shower
alone, after Blake has left for work. It’s Saturday, but it’s not
unusual that he’s at work today. He often works the weekends. The
warm water falls against my skin. I am so tender from last night.
Every droplet that lands between my legs causes a sting. Last night
was, well, I can’t really put into words the way it felt. Blake was
wild, reckless. He’s normally so put together. Everything
can’t tell . I don’t stop to find out. My hand moves to
pull the bra down, and I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard.
Louder cries from Emily. My hand slips inside her pants, into her
panties, into the warm heat.
She
must like this. She’s so very warm and so very wet. I
slide my fingers in. One, two, three, and pump into her fiercely. Her
body arches back in response. I look up at her face. She looks at me
with lust-filled, yet questioning eyes.
I reach down and pull
her pants down to her ankles, and then drop my boxers. Without
another word, I spin her around, lean her forward, and press into her
from behind. Emily’s body tenses as I slide into her. Slowly, but
purposefully at first. Her hands grip the sink’s single faucet in
front of her firmly, giving me the traction I need. I use one hand to
push her body against the cold stone countertop, and the other to
grip her, pulling her head back. This is reckless abandon and chaos
at it’s very best.
She moans, then cries
out, a small choking sound escaping her lips every time I pound into
her. Harder, faster now. I can’t tell if she’s crying in pleasure
or pain. She feels so tight, and I’m so far gone. It all just
sounds like white noise now. Her knuckles are nearly white from
gripping the tap so tightly. I give her one final thrust; it’s the
hardest, the deepest, the most violent. And finally, all the tension
in my body releases into hers.
I lean over her back,
loosening my grip on her hair, and seeing the strands on my hands
that came loose through my yanking. Emily is quiet. Her breath
ragged. This, this was ownership. She was mine .
I lace my arms around her waist and rest my head against her back,
listening to her breath, shallow and quick from the exertion.
She turns to face me,
her eyes look confused, but not angry. “Did I hurt you?” I ask,
pushing a strand of hair gently away from her face.
“No. I mean yes,
but—” she stammers.
A sinking feeling forms
in the pit of my stomach.
“I liked it,” she
finishes, oddly very shy suddenly. “It was different, somehow.”
“How?” I ask,
trailing a finger down her cheek, memorizing every bone, every angle.
“Just—different.”
She looks away quickly, as if to compose herself, then returns to
face me with a smile, looking almost as if it were forced. “I can
handle you though. I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” she
teases.
“Really?” I say
cockily. Emily surprises me often. But this time, this time I was
truly floored. I feel completely sexually emancipated. For the first
time since we met, I feel completed by Emily. Like I don’t need
anybody else. Only I do .
I need Aria.
“You would tell me if
I hurt you, right? I don’t wanna hurt you,” I add eyeing her with
genuine concern.
“You would never hurt
me,” she says, but it leaves her mouth as more of a question than
an affirmation. Her eyes search mine for a few moments, the question
hanging above our heads.
“Never deliberately,”
I say, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the bedroom.
Emily doesn’t protest when I pull her onto my naked body again. I
thought that fucking her would resolve the disconnected vibe I keep
getting from Emily, that if we were close sexually, then the feeling
of emptiness in the space between us would be bridged. That doesn’t
happen, though. My suspicions are further fuelled by the fact that
she sleeps with her back to me, avoiding curling into my arms as she
usually does. I don’t like
this feeling at all.
Chapter 8:
Emily
I stand in the shower
alone, after Blake has left for work. It’s Saturday, but it’s not
unusual that he’s at work today. He often works the weekends. The
warm water falls against my skin. I am so tender from last night.
Every droplet that lands between my legs causes a sting. Last night
was, well, I can’t really put into words the way it felt. Blake was
wild, reckless. He’s normally so put together. Everything
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