Beyond Repair (13 page)

He was trying to be that one.

She couldn’t let him be that one.

“You already do,” she said, because wasn’t that true? It
wasn’t just the kisses and the caresses and the conversations that made her
feel so much better. It was the sense of
fixing
something. Or if not
fixing, then at least
helping
. God, she hadn’t realized how much she
just wanted to
help
.

It was probably a compulsion.

Dr. Sanderson would have said,
You need to recognize when
you’re sublimating the trauma, Enid
.
When you start dealing with it in
damaging ways.
But she no longer spoke to Dr. Sanderson, so really what did
it matter? What good had all of that done her? It was better to just go on as
they had, distracting each other from important things.

She even knew a good way to do it.

A really pleasant, thrilling way to do it that seemed to
spark through her the second she thought of it. It wasn’t even a difficult
thing, either. She was still completely primed from the night before, and even
if she hadn’t been…her face was right next to his throat. All she had to do was
maneuver him inside, inch by painstaking inch. And then once that was done she
just turned her head a little…

“Are you kissing my neck, or is it just that your face is
wet?”

“I guess I’m kind of kissing your neck.”

“That’s…you know that wasn’t the point of this hug, don’t
you? I mean you…that is really…oh okay that…don’t do it like that come on Al I
was trying to…”

“What were you trying to do?”

“I don’t know. There were…words in it.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I see.”

“And I…I really…I know what you’re doing.”

“I think I’m putting my hand under your t-shirt.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that. I’m getting that. But—”

“Do you like me doing that?”

“You know I do. I like it too much. I swear you could stroke
my toe with your elbow and I’d go fucking nuts. Why do you make me so nuts?” he
asked, but he clearly wasn’t expecting an answer. He was too busy turning his
head so she could lick along the line of his jaw, eyes closed and everything
just as blissed-out as he’d been the night before. Or almost as blissed as he’d
been the night before.

He was still resisting just a little.

“It’s just that…it’s just I want to do something for you. Is
that really so bad?” he asked, while she did her best to not hear. It didn’t
even take a lot of work, really. Once she got to a certain point her instincts
just took over, and suddenly everything was all hot and fierce like it had been
the night before.

If anything it was
more
than the night before. Now
she had the luxury of experience behind her, and the knowledge that he wasn’t
bothered by anything she’d done. It opened up possibilities that hadn’t been
there previously, like the one she’d really wanted to try but hadn’t quite
dared.

This time she dared. She didn’t even wait for him to take
anything off or say that it was okay. She wasn’t sure he
could
say it
was okay, considering that his eyes were already closed and his head was
already back and he seemed to be using her hallway wall to keep himself
standing up. So she simply went for it, bending over to mouth hot and wet over
the obvious curve of his hard cock. Then when he choked out an
oh you’ve got
to be kidding
, she went one further than that. She knelt on the floor—with
the door still halfway open and the possibility of someone passing by—and
tugged his pajamas allll the way down, down, down.

Of course he tried to be polite about it. “You don’t have to
do that,” he said, as though there was really a possibility that she might not
want to. That this was all about distraction, and absolutely nothing to do with
the urgent need to taste the very swollen and slippery cock she’d just
revealed.

But if he really thought that he had to be insane. All she
could think about now was taking him in her mouth—if only to hear him moan the
way he did when she finally did it. He damn near keened as she let her lips
just slide a little way over the thick head—but it was when she dared to suck
that he really gave in to it. She just wanted to taste him better really, and
somehow ended up with this long, slow pull.

One he seemed to appreciate very much.

“God, yeah, just like that,” he said, at which point she
knew she had him. He didn’t care about anything now but watching her with those
hooded eyes and helping her when she struggled, gently guiding himself toward
her when she got too sloppy and crazy and went off course. Murmuring
encouragement every time she glanced up with questioning eyes and moaning the
second she hit it just right.

He seemed to like it best whenever she licked as she sucked,
though she did it quite by accident. Or not by accident, exactly—more out of a
sense of what turned her on. She found she liked running her tongue around that
glossy head, and even more so when her swirling, slippery laps at him produced
a burst of that clear liquid. It didn’t taste the way she’d imagined, all
pungent and vaguely unpleasant.

It tasted like the ocean outside, and every time she got a
bit of it a gush sensation went through her body. More than that really. It
felt as if she were right on the verge of coming already, though this time it
was completely obvious why. She’d spent a good portion of the night before
doing things she barely dared fantasize about, and then instead of going to the
bathroom to sort herself out what had she done?

She’d forced herself to fall asleep. Somehow, insanely,
she’d forced herself to fall asleep, and now the whole thing had rolled over
into today—into this tsunami of unresolved desire. She suspected that was why she
was being so crazy, so lewd, even though neither of those things made it any
more bearable.

It was just making it all worse. She could actually feel her
own wetness on her thighs, all slippery and messy and rude. Every time she
moved something slick slid against something slicker, until she was moaning
right along with him.

Not that he minded. The sound seemed to drive him crazy—or
was it the buzzing sensation that same sound produced? She wasn’t entirely
sure, but kept right on doing it anyway. When she did it he said some
wonderfully filthy things, most of them about her hot little mouth sucking him
off. Dear God, she could have died over him saying,
Fuck yeah, suck me off
.
It was too crude for the kind of guy she’d come to know.

Yet strangely all the better for it.

It was shocking and rough, and most of all it washed away
any hint of the things he’d been suggesting. There was nothing healing about a
thick cock in your mouth and a hand in your hair—because by God he was doing
that too. He almost had a fistful of it. He was actually really close to the
scar on one side, but for the first time she found it didn’t matter at all.

She wasn’t afraid of him unearthing it, because they were
fucking
.
That was what this was—fucking and sucking and having him grunt and pump his
hips. “Oh fuck I’m gonna come, I’m gonna do it in your mouth,” he said, and
every inch of her rejoiced and reveled in it. She worked harder on him, harder,
just to have him spill over her tongue.

And when he did it was a different kind of bliss. It was
feeling him let go, feeling him find pleasure and release—and in such a
visceral way. His cock damn near leapt in her mouth, swelling and spurting and
ohhhhh so much sweeter than anyone had ever said. Why didn’t people say what
this felt like, to so thoroughly pleasure someone?

He trembled as he came. He actually trembled, and called her
name.

It was without doubt the most satisfying experience of her
life—or at least it was until she tried to stand. She tried, but man alive did
she fail. Her legs felt as though they were made of straw—shuddering, shaking
straw—and God only knew what had happened between her legs. Everything seemed
to have swelled to three times its normal size, and no amount of breathing
calmly through her nose made it die down.

But more importantly, she suspected he had noticed this.

She could feel him watching her, despite her best efforts to
look normal. She even managed to make it to her feet finally, and smoothed down
her probably crazy hair. Got her heaving chest under control, kept her gaze as
innocent as possible. By the time she’d straightened her nightgown he was bound
to think she was perfectly fine.

She hoped he thought she was perfectly fine.

She hoped in vain, however.

“You’ve got to let me do something for you this time, honey.
Please tell me I can do something for you. You look like you’re gonna pass out.
I’m surprised you haven’t—Jesus
Christ
you must be going crazy. Aren’t
you going crazy?”

She didn’t think he needed to ask. She was pretty sure she
was drooling out of one side of her mouth, and her face flashed so hot she was
afraid of losing skin. It felt as though her cheeks were about to peel right
off her, so he was fine to make the assumption.

He just wasn’t fine to act on it. It made her go all rigid
just to hear him
offering
to act on it. She felt her hands come up when
he stepped closer—despite her best efforts to do otherwise—and was only saved
by the gentling gesture he made and the cautious, calming words he said.

“Look, look, we can do it however you want. You don’t have
to take measures to make sure I don’t ask or see or say, okay? I won’t do
anything you don’t want me to do. I won’t try to make you give what you can’t.
I just want to make you feel good, honey, that’s all,” he said, but it was the
last little thing that really broke her. “I can do it just fine over your
clothes, you understand? You don’t have to take anything off.”

He knew, that was the thing. He knew far more than he ever
seemed to and much more than she’d ever said—as if he saw right to the heart of
her without any explanations at all. She could
say
she was just not
experienced or act as though she only wanted to touch him. She could try to
distract him from serious things, with sex.

It didn’t matter. Underneath, he understood.

But even sweeter…he never let her see he did.

He let her have all her hidden things.

“I don’t? I really don’t?”

“Of course not. It’ll be easy—I promise. Here, just come
here to me. Come on, it’s okay,” he said, though she wasn’t expecting what he
did once she’d agreed. She went to him trembling and wary, sure he was going to
just dive in right there and then on the hallway floor, and instead he…he…

He scooped her into his arms.

He carried her up the stairs.

He laid her out on the bed so sweetly, so sweetly, arranging
her nightgown for her in a way that left her untroubled, one reassuring hand
stroking over her hair. Then just when it was almost too much too bear—just as
she was about to tell him she didn’t need him to be so careful or to make her
better, that maybe she didn’t even deserve it, he made everything all right
again.

He made it all right with filthy, filthy sex.

“Spread your legs,” he said, and suddenly her body was alive
with arousal again. He just did it so low and husky, with the barest hint of
demand. And he used the word
spread
—oh God, why was the word
spread
so damn good? It practically made her hair stand on end.

It definitely made her do it.

She couldn’t go far because of the constraints of her
nightgown, but as it turned out she didn’t need to. He managed pretty well with
them parted a little, because he didn’t really go for the rudest parts. He just
sort of rubbed idly over the uppermost bit in a way that hardly seemed to
count. It was almost her belly, in truth.

So why did it feel like the horniest, hottest thing in the
world?

She didn’t know, she didn’t know. The only thing she fully
understood was how it made her feel to see him do it. To watch him watching her
as he rubbed her so slowly and deliberately, as if he just knew what it would
do. He knew he was teasing her, spreading her open, getting her ready for more—though
even he seemed shocked by her reaction. She saw his eyes flash bright when she
bucked, and he moaned to see her twist her head into the pillow. Then just as
she managed to get some kind of rational hold on herself, he did it again.

Of course he did. He wanted to see more. He wanted her to
make that sound again, and boy did she make it. This time he wasn’t careful
about the hand he had between her legs. He stroked her deeply, roughly, fingers
near forcing the material between the plump lips of her pussy, and the sound
that came out of her hit
obscene
.

It was almost a panicked protest, breath catching in her
throat over the sheer unbearable intensity of it. She couldn’t take this, she
couldn’t—he was going to kill her with sensation. He’d barely touched her clit
but barely was more than enough, and especially after he’d said things.

Oh he was saying a lot of things.

“Fuuuuccckkk, does it really feel that good? Are you that
turned-on?” he asked, but he didn’t really require an answer. He got what he
needed a moment later, once he’d really worked that material over her slippery
folds and her slick little hole. She knew he had, because he went very still
suddenly. And she could feel him looking.

She had her eyes shut, but she could feel it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaking wet. Seriously, have you been
going around with all this between your legs? I can feel it through fucking
flannel, honey. Oh my God, I can feel it through
flannel
,” he said, the
first words almost steady and sure and the last ones like nothing she’d ever
heard before.

His voice went up and down. He couldn’t seem to breathe.

He kept right on talking, however. He had to, apparently.
Things like extreme embarrassing arousal needed lots of comments, and he made
them until her face burned hot. Until she was sure she wanted him to stop, even
as her body begged him not to. Man, her body loved to hear him talk about her
slipperiness, her state of crazy excitement, and finally oh finally oh God she
could hardly stand it…