stomach as he drops to his knees and tears my leggings off. I hook my finger in the band of my panties and peel them off in a frenzy. I want him to fuck me so badly, I can barely see straight. He pulls a single foot out, his hand rough against my heel, my leggings and panties still wrapped around my left ankle. “I could be out right now, fucking anyone I want. You know how easy it’d be,” he breathes. I close my eyes as he slides his tongue beneath my belly button.
I know it. I know how easy it would be. I’ve seen the way women look at him when he walks into a room. I don’t understand why he’s not playing the field, this is his chance.
He grabs the underside of my thigh and pins it against the wall and slides his hot tongue against my wet lips, teasing. He almost does me in when he presses against my clit. “I’ve missed your sweet pussy,” he whispers as he pulls back up. His warm breath lingers along my neck as he trails kisses there. “I don’t want anyone else,” he whispers. “All I want is you. Even after all you’ve put me through…all I want is you.”
And with those words, I grab onto him and pull him against me. He holds me up with a hard grip and pins me between his hips and the wall. His fingers dig into my ass and it hurts, but the pain doesn’t bother me in the least. I close my eyes as he finally sinks into me, and it feels like heaven. “I’ve missed you too, Ella. I hate you right now,” he breathes, his mouth pressed against my neck. “But I also love you…still.”
The house is quiet as he presses slowly into me, slow and deep thrusts. The feel of him inside me again is the most amazing thing in the world. I never want to let go. I cry as the pleasure builds because I don’t know if I’ll ever have this again.
And as he makes me come, the only noises coming from behind the powder room door are the soft sounds of our labored breathing, quiet whimpers of pleasure, my climax muffled in the softness of his shirt, and his, buried in my neck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I can almost taste it.
The house is a disaster and it’s empty. It’s the perfect time to tidy up. I sit alone on the area rug in the living room, holding the mosaic picture in my hands — a beautiful princess with golden locks in a pink dress, sitting under a tree. There are two frogs at her feet… her frog princes perhaps. The tears stream as I pick up the remnants of the girls’ project which has been sitting on the coffee table for days now. It really did turn out quite well, and I wonder where I should hang it.
Gabe has them for the day, so it’s just me. I don’t want to think about him, to remember what he said to me before he left — the day we made love in the powder room.
He was so gentle right after. As the waves of pleasure subsided and my whimpers faded into the quiet room, my mouth still pressed against his hot chest, the only sound was the buzz of the washroom fan. I was still pinned up again the wall. He kissed me softly on the cheek before he slid out of me and released me carefully, letting my feet touch the floor.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” I whispered. “Do you think they heard us?”
He shook his head as he kneeled in front of me and helped me into my leggings. He smiled at me, with that beautiful flushed post-sex expression — the look of a satisfied man. “They’re still probably busy. When they say five minutes, they mean twenty.”
I smiled down at him. “You’re right.”
Then his smile faded. “Mirella,” he started. And I knew it wouldn’t be good — he only ever calls me Mirella when he’s upset. Suddenly, I wondered what I had done. We had just made love. What could I have done?
He stood back up to his full height, and leaned into me, tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, the gesture so gentle, but in contrast, his words were harsh. “This didn’t mean anything,” he said, his eyes dark, as black as coal. And I knew this wasn’t him speaking.