JUSTIN’S POV
9:47 a.m.
It’s Tuesday morning when you awake all alone. Naked. Without him. The sunbeams from your bedroom window nudge you toward alter-ness and illuminate a note laying on Brian’s pillow…I let you sleep. It’s not until you’re being pelted with warmth in the shower that you sort of remember the night before. You lean against the tile and try to make the images resurface, but all you can conjure up is the feeling that you’d been cut wide open and bled euphoria everywhere.
Blue jeans slip on easily; you forget to be hindered from the painful bruising. It too is fading away. There are hours spent in your studio actually working, actually producing; ideas slip-sliding out of your mind and right onto the canvas almost slick-like; never a moment with too little paint on a brush. Being on the cusp of what comes next? doesn’t hurt or make you anxious.
He’s home.
5:33.
He can fill a doorway just right; his body snaps snug inside a door frame like a puzzle piece, and then snaps right back out and comes toward you. Hesitation employed by each of you just to rent this moment a little bit longer.
Breathes you in like he owns you.
Draws you up on your toes.
……
……
Watch him undress from the comfort of your bed; your clothes left scattered in the hallway, all his doing. His necktie falls like a sigh on the edge of the mattress before slinking to the floor.
……
Lungs abdicate responsibility and let your skin do all the breathing; let it gasp and whine and beg to be touched. A chill spikes beneath it when expectations surface; an intimate, invading thrust seals your connection though his mouth hovers right above yours – out of reach.
The headboard working itself loose again. Sheets tangled. Blankets kicked down and out of the way. You lick the sweat on his neck, tongue his earlobe, wrap yourself tightly around him, plead with his hands anytime they slip off your ass.
“This what you want?” His voice a whisper laden with gravel. “Fuck you within an inch of your life and then drag you back kicking and screaming?” You start to shake, involuntarily, trembling as the truth is pounded into you. “You’re gonna come; I can feel it,” he warns you, “You get so fucking tight.” He says that last word right into your mouth, pulling you into a kiss that feels like a black hole of desire. You see-saw on the tip of release and when it finally runs you down, he sucks the moaning right out of you.
The shaking gets worse; he clamps himself on top of you trying to hold you still, both hands squeezing your bottom hard as he fucks you. “It’s okay; it's okay,” he steams into your ear.
“I can’t stop,” you admit to him.
……
……
He thinks you mean the twitching. Only the twitching.
……
……
Until you come again.
…….
“Christ, Justin…fuck,” he pants, “Wait for me next time.”
……
The fuck continues; the oversensitivity borders on excruciating; you feel your eyes roll back in your head.
……
Brian sounds like he’s praying into your shoulder blade, mostly things you can’t understand, except when you hear your name and feel his body steel itself against his end game--finally. He’s out of breath afterwards, a sheen of sweat all over him when he collapses on top of you like a pile of lead bricks.
……
The trembling starts to subside when your bodies are officially disconnected. “Okay, that was kind of weird,” Brian says, “I felt like I plugged my dick into an electric current or something.”
“Sorry,” you offer, and he laughs and kisses the top of your head. You tighten your grip around his torso; lying on his chest always feels like the safest place in the world.
“You don’t need to be sorry…at all.” He sighs and continues, “So if I decide to let you sleep tomorrow morning, this is what I’m coming home to tomorrow night?”
“I guess so. Maybe I’m like a little kid when you break their routine.”
“Maybe. I’ll take that under advisement.”
……
You feel Brian start to fall asleep beneath you, and you don’t stop it from happening. When he starts to snore, you scoot to the edge of the bed, reach down and slide open his nightstand drawer, running your fingers over the wood grain in one of your many paddles.
Thursday is too far away.