This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,76
I lift it up and it allows me better access inside of her. My finger grazes the pea-sized nub inside of her and she shudders wildly at my touch.
“Ahhhh!”
I massage that spot inside of her harder and force her into another orgasm before she even comes down from the first. When she lets out a pained sob, I slip my hand out of her and catch her before she collapses in the shower. Ignoring awful images, I delay those thoughts and stay in the moment with her. Gathering her soapy, languid body in my arms, I pull her to me—against my firm chest and hard cock.
Our heartbeats are now in competition on which can make it to the finish line first. The moment isn’t ruined by talking or acknowledging that this hasn’t happened to me in over a decade. Instead, we bask in the frozen moment of time.
“Are you okay?” she questions after some time. “I’m afraid to move. I can’t tell you how good it feels for you to hold me.”
I close my eyes but images of me holding her until I crush her ribs and puncture her lungs terrorize me. Quickly, I jerk them back open.
“I’m better than fine. I’m afraid to let you go.”
But the water starts to cool and I’m forced to break from her so we can rinse off before the water turns to ice.
After we’re both wrapped in our own towels and are standing in the bathroom, she speaks again. “What are those for? Do you take all of them?”
“Fluoxetine, fluvoxamine, sertraline, clomipramine. All antidepressants prescribed to help with OCD,” I say softly. Then, I point to another group on the countertop. “Zoloft, Prozac, Paxil, Klonopin, Valium. I’ve tried them all at least once. They never work.”
She frowns and picks up the clomipramine. “I read good things about this one. A lot of studies had said it helped.”
“That’s the one that I tried to pick non-existent scabs from my belly. Apparently in some people, the anxiety worsens. Besides, I feel better when I don’t take anything at all.”
“Oh,” she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice, and sets it on the countertop. “I see.”
Needing to change the mood, I stalk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Why don’t you put on your new outfit? I’ll make us some breakfast before your run.”
I turn just in time to see her reaction. Her breathtaking smile lights up not only her soul but mine as well. It’s a sight to behold. A sight I’ll never tire of seeing.
My hot breath against the glass revives her smudges from when she first got here. The B encircling the heart warms me. I’ll never grow tired of seeing it here. My housekeeper was informed to leave it be when washing the windows.
She’s been running for two hours now back and forth up the beach. I miss her voice and her smell but I love how happy she seems. A couple of times she stops to suck down one of the three water bottles she took down with her in her bag. Other times she stops to stretch. And every so often, she turns toward the house and waves. I know she can’t see me from where she’s at but I always wave back.
The things she does to my heart are wicked.
Ever since she gave me the world’s best hand-job known to man, I’ve been unable to force her from my mind. Not that I’d want to anyway. For the first time in a long time, I’m able to get lost in something that doesn’t bring pain or heartache my way. She gives me something to look forward to. Baylee gives me hope.
Which is why…
I took the fucking Klonopin.
If it helps, even a little, I could touch her more. Kiss her maybe. Taste her. The thought isn’t as abhorrent as it would have been a week ago. In fact, it’s all I can think about. My mouth waters and I practically drool for a taste of her.
Perhaps tonight, I can dull my senses enough to get lost inside of her. What I wouldn’t give to be able to thrust into her tight pussy and rain worshipful kisses all over her neck and face. To let my fingers dance all over her flesh in an effort to bring her multiple orgasms.
I can do this.
At least I fucking hope so.
The timer dings and I rush to turn the heat off of the mushroom bourgignon I’d been cooking for the past