my hold and keep her there that made her so wet. Her pussy made wet, sucking noises as I pumped into her.
She moaned and twisted a little beneath me. She planted her heels on the chair, on either side of my hips, and pushed herself up into me, meeting my thrusts. I thrust harder, pushing her down with my weight and kissing her. I bit her lip gently.
“Why do I want to hurt you?” I asked her, my voice raspy against her lips.
“I don’t know,” she breathed. Her eyes locked with mine, those fathomless, bottomless depths. “You can slap me again if you want to.”
I didn’t. I just stared at her.
I wanted to watch her come.
Take.
I ground into her clit with my pelvis, digging deep with my cock, answering her body every time she rolled her hips. Pressing into her deeper, harder, every time she pressed into me. I watched her face as she moaned. I watched her eyes, drifting, the dark turquoise depths stirring. I watched her skin flush and I watched the sounds falling out of her mouth. Her soft, swollen lips.
When I knew she was close to orgasm, I slowed down but I didn’t let up on the intensity. I wanted to draw it out. I wanted to savor it. I didn’t want to miss a thing.
I slid myself in and out of her slowly as she started to come. I felt the spasms in the tight sleeve of her pussy as she gripped me. I reached down between us and pinched her clit, and she gasp-moaned. “Ahh, Cary,” she groaned, and I held on, trapping her flesh with my fingertips, squeezing. She thrashed around a little as the waves crashed through her body.
Then I felt my own pleasure about to tear loose. I couldn’t hold it back anymore.
I sank my mouth over hers and plunged my tongue into her, letting go. And when I came, my whole body convulsed. Felt like I pumped a gallon of wet heat into her. We slid together, both of us pool-wet, sweat-wet and slippery. She was shuddering beneath me as we kissed, breathing against my face.
I collapsed on top of her, my head swimming with vodka and pleasure.
She sighed, her hands playing gently in the hair at the nape of my neck.
“You’re afraid I don’t need you,” she whispered against my neck, her lips brushing my ear. “But I do.”
We went to shower in the poolhouse, then I made Taylor eat some food and drink a ton of water. Then I slept next to her in her bed in the poolhouse. I couldn’t let her out of my sight after all the vodka.
Just the thought of anything happening to her made the blackness creep in around the edges of my vision. And because I was kinda drunk, it was worse. Harder to control. I had a terrible, restless sleep.
I kept jerking awake in the night to check that she was okay.
That she was still breathing.
That she hadn’t thrown up on herself and suffocated, or fallen and hit her head.
We really didn’t drink all that much. She seemed pretty sober, considering, by the time we went to bed. But it was just my anxious nature. I couldn’t even rest.
It wasn’t because I loved her.
It was just my nature to worry.
I liked her. That was all.
And I felt responsible for her. The vodka was my idea, and she was here because of me.
No matter what she said about two people being what they were and feeling what they felt from the moment they met, or how right she might’ve been about that, I wasn’t falling in love with her. I knew that much.
That kind of thing took a fearlessness I just didn’t possess.
Maybe I used to. But not anymore.
Anyway, as I lay in her bed in the middle of the night, sleepless, I knew Taylor Lawson didn’t need a man like me. She needed someone fearless, like her.
Someone who meandered around life’s rules and really didn’t give much of a fuck about them, deep down. Someone who laughed out loud at crude comedy specials, who splashed around and did cannonballs when they were in a pool, and picked the vodka with the coolest bottle. Someone who knew how to have fun and not always take every moment of life so damn seriously.
Sure, I could bend the rules, even break them, in the studio, and in bed.
But in life?
I’d pretty much opted out of life in general a few years back.