Delayed, Nathan Kingsly [read aloud txt] 📗

She exhales as I drag her across the nearest wall and pin her to it, using it as leverage as I grip under her thighs. Her feet dangle mid-air, her hands brace against my shoulders. She lets out a gasp, and her back arches away from the cold of the wall, thrusting her perfect breasts in my face. Those sky eyes of hers are wide but dilated, waiting for my next move. We have spent so much time in the dark that I only now notice the sparks of green coloring the very edge of the blue.

Memories flash, reminding me why this is familiar, and I’m glad that blonde at the gym passed on me. This fantasy is more deserving of Emma. There’s not a blush on her cheeks, she’s not embarrassed by her desires, and I doubt it would change if someone did catch us. There’s not a passive bone in this woman’s body unless she’s following orders from me, and I can’t ignore how much it turns me the fuck on.

Or maybe I’ve spoken too soon, her hand goes to the back of my neck, and she’s kissing me. Her tongue isn't asking for permission, and it’s so clever she doesn’t need it; I’d let it play with mine anytime. With her other hand on my face, she tilts my head thinking she can take over the kiss. For a while I let her, because I like the way her nails dig into the sensitive skin of my neck, and how her fingertips dig into my cheekbones. There’s a possessiveness in her touch that I haven't felt from anyone, in any capacity, in a very long time. I’m weak in the wake of her, and for once I feel like it’s okay for me to be anything but strong.

When my hands fists in her hair, wrenching her head to the side, I devour her neck, my four-day unshaved facial hair scraping against her sensitive skin. When I pull back, resting my cheek against hers, blood reaches to the surface, making the spot pink, and my breath over it making her shiver.

“Tell me you want me.” My eyes squeeze shut. I hadn't meant to pant it into her ear. Too late, I bite my lip.

“I don’t just want you, I need you.”

Pulling back, I look into her eyes. My hand releases her hair, and I cup her face, stroke the softness of her cheekbone with my thumb.

The word ‘need’ is a better description of what I feel for her. Want is something you desire, a luxury, but without it, there is no chance to feel its absence. Need is a thing you’ve experienced and now know after you’ve had it, you can no longer be without.

Pushing inside her with one smooth thrust, no longer wanting to be apart, I revel in her reaction. She closes her eyes, her head hits the wall with a muted thud, and her mouth shapes her moan that’s turning out to be an obsession of mine.

I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine with letting her go when this whole thing is over, but I’m not sure I can now. The thought unsettles me more than how I left things with my family, and that surely makes me a monster.

It’s been so long that I’ve felt exposed and vulnerable, and she’s done it in an insignificant amount of time. As if all those barriers and walls I erected meant nothing as she jumped on that trampoline of hers and scaled them without effort. Even when I swore I would tell no one of my past failings, I did. She didn’t do what I expected, even with all the knowledge she now has. She’s still here, naked even, letting me feel her from the inside out.

Her fingernails are punishing on my shoulders, and she’s since looked back with hazy passion-filled eyes. My thrust is deep but lacking in punishment or pace. There’s a ripping desire to destroy and protect her at the same time, and they are warring with one another. Destroy so that she can think of no one else. Protect her from me, aware that I may ruin her if I try to keep her. No matter what side wins, there will be consequences.

I can tell when she cums around me. She grabs hold of my face and kisses me hard. The hungry kiss is my undoing.

After I help her down and wash her from head to toe, I help her to bed. She curls into me when I follow shortly after. She lays her cheek on my chest, and the top of her head tucks perfectly beneath my chin. I’m drained after all I’ve felt and said in the past few hours. So, when her fingers start to lazily trace my tattoos on my chest, it doesn’t take long for it to soothe me to sleep.

As sleep claims me, I hear a disembodied whisper saying, ‘I’m so sorry’, but never divulging for what.

Groaning, I squint against the light coming through the crack the curtains provide. Turning my head, my body tries to follow, but I take in a hiss of breath.

“Shit.” I try to flex my hand again, but it’s stiff, already bruising, and it’s angrier than my morning erection.

When I turn back to rectify my hard-on and think to indulge a good start to Emma and my travels, I’m met with an empty bed.

Testing the sheets for warmth, they are cold, as if it’s been hours since she’s laid next to me. Leaning upon my forearm, I call out her name. Silence greets me. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I stretch and head to the bathroom. Expecting it to be shut, it’s wide open, with Emma nowhere in sight. The things that I'd scattered, back in their place on the counter. My discarded clothes folded there too.

A stone drops in my stomach, making it roil and my head