Page 96 of Only and Forever
She cries out, watching me as I jerk myself in earnest now, panting. “Fuck, Lu. You’re so beautiful. You make me so fucking hard.”
She arches up in the chair, eyes holding mine. I watch her legs shake, her breath stutter, my name on her lips.
That sight, that sound, sets me off, sends lightning soaring through my veins, pulsing through the base of my cock. I groan her name, hips jerking as I work myself through it, hot, thick, ropes of come all over my stomach.
She gasps, rubbing herself still, her eyes fluttering. She’s getting herself off. Again. The sight of it intensifies my pleasure, dragging out my release so long, so hard, my breath catches in my lungs until I start to see stars and drag in a desperate tug of air.
Tallulah cries out, high and hoarse, and slumps back in her seat.
I can’t take a second longer, either. My hand falls away. I slump back in my chair, too, winded, panting.
Tallulah’s head lolls to the side as she breathes heavily, her eyes holding mine. A wide, satisfied smile brightens her face.
I stare at her, breathing roughly, a smile lifting my mouth, too.
She sighs as she eases her leg down off the chair, then tugs up her dress over her bra. I pull a hankie from my pocket, wipe my stomach clean, tuck myself back inside my briefs. Slowly, Tallulah stands from her chair, then sashays my way. She stands between the bracket of my legs, just like that first night, a month ago, when she showed up here, when I least expected her to.
Planting a hand on either arm of the chair, she leans in.
Tenderly, softly, she kisses me and breathes in. “Now,that’swhat I call a good opening night.”
I laugh against her kiss as I cup her neck, sinking my hand into her hair. “I’ll say.”
Slowly, she stands, then grazes her knuckles along my cheek. Her eyes hold mine. “Sleep well, Viggo.”
I watch her scoop up her shoes and walk toward the door leading to the house, arms swinging lazily, wide swaying hips. Hunger burns through me. I just came and I’m already dying for her again. Dying for more.
“Sweet dreams, Lula,” I call.
She turns at the threshold and smiles coyly. “I’ll be dreaming, all right. But I guarantee you it won’t be sweet.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tallulah
Playlist: “Can’t Buy Happiness,” Tash Sultana
I wake up rested and relaxed. In a much better mood than I was last night, watching Charlie’s teammate be all chummy with Viggo.
The delicious details of what came afterward rush back to me as I stretch, blinking up at the ceiling, smiling to myself. God, that felt good. Really, really good. It makes me nervous, though. If what we did was that good, how much more intense, satisfying, hot, will it be if we get to the point where we’re doing more?
My smile slips. I’m halfway through my time here. One month down, one to go. Just four weeks until Charlie’s wedding, until I promised myself the book would be done and Viggo promised himself he’d be in a place to run the store without my help. Four weeks until we agreed I’d move out.
I know Viggo said there was no need for timetables or shoulds as we figured this out, butIhave a timetable.Ihave a should. Because I’ll be damned if this roommate situation ends with me being where I’ve been before, caught off guard, hurting and being hurt, everything good that we’ve built and shared going up in flames.
I want to be healthier, to work through all my shit that drives my fears, tightens my chest, constricts my throat, when I think about trying to open my heart wide, to pursue a life I didn’t know I could have, a person I told myself I shouldn’t want.
Whipping back the sheets, I sit up. Start my morning routine,finger prick, blood sugar check, take insulin, enter carbs from my impending breakfast bar into the PDM. Staring out the window, I frown, thinking. I want a plan. I need one. Where do I even begin?
My gaze slips to my laptop. It blossoms in my thoughts, the beginning of an idea for the last act of my book, a radically different ending...
A happy one.
But how to write it? Believe it? Do it justice? More importantly, how to do that for myself?
My sister’s voice echoes in my head.Go to therapy!
Sighing, I ease up from the bed and stroll over to the laptop, the place where I’ve lost myself to words and worlds, an escape, a catharsis. Opening it, powering it on, I sit. I open a web browser, typing in the wordtherapist.