My breathing stays ragged for long moments. Minutes? It may as well be an eternity.
I feel boneless. Drained, in every possible way. But I also feel so at peace.
It’s messed up. My brain is fuzzy, but I’m aware enough to know that this is all so messed up.
I don’t know anything about the man whose body is still draped over me, still inside of me, except his name. Nero.
That’s not entirely true. I know that he was here when I needed him most. I know he took the reins I handed him. And, oh boy, did he do a good job.
I toiled over the decision all evening, but I opened that door because I wanted him to walk through it. Just like he did before. And when he did, he gave me even more than I’d dared to dream for.
I let my hands flatten on his bare back, feeling it rise and fall, his skin hot under my palms.
Nero makes a sound I can only describe as contentment, as he burrows his face into that spot between my neck and shoulder, causing me to smile.
He’s not so intimidating now. Not so scary.
But the situation is surreal all the same.
It’s hard to breathe with his weight on top of me, but I work to take short inhales, so he won’t move. I’m not ready to break this spell. And I don’t want to deal with the consequences of my actions just yet. I’m enjoying the feel of his skin under my palms.
Then his teeth sink into my neck, causing me to jolt in response, making all of my muscles contract.
“Payton, you keep squeezing my cock like that and I’m gonna fuck you again.” His lips brush against my skin with each word, and I can’t stop my core from clenching around him, again.
He groans, and I brace for him to roll off me.
That’s what the men always do in movies, and the books I read. Instead, he pushes back until he’s kneeling between my legs, just like he was when we started. And he’s still inside me.
Nero’s fingers dig into the soft flesh on my inner thighs, holding me open.
Now that we’re done, and the intensity of the passion has subsided, my cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. The room isn’t any less dark, but our eyes have adjusted; and laying, spread eagle, completely naked in front of a wonderfully fit man, is not a comfortable situation for me.
A rumble rolls through Nero’s chest, his fingers flexing against my legs as he shifts his hips back, his cock finally slipping free.
I try to close my legs, but the grip he has on me prevents it.
“Nero?” I don’t know how to voice my discomfort, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not giving any notice to my words. His full attention is focused between my legs.
Shifting under his gaze, I feel it. His… release, leaking out of me.
I try to close my legs, but he only tightens his grip.
“Just wait,” he grits out.
Giving up, I let my knees drop open, my legs relaxing as much as possible. But when he swipes a finger up my entrance, my knees automatically try to snap closed.
“Nero!” His name is a squeak. And when he lifts his glistening fingers, I slap my hands over my eyes.
A second later he lets out a deep moan, and I’d swear his finger is in his mouth again, but I don’t lower my hands to watch. It’s all just too overwhelming.
The hand on my thigh squeezes once more. “Don’t move.”
I nod my head at his command, noncomplying with my compliance.
The mattress shifts and I finally peek through my fingers when I sense the room is empty. I’m tempted to close my legs, but I know there’s no point. Plus, I can feel the cooling mess slipping down to the mattress, to pool between my thighs.
The bathroom faucet turns on, and a few seconds later Nero is striding back into my room. There’s not a shred of concern on his face over the fact that he’s walking around fully nude. And if he’s not going to hide, then I’m going to look.
I almost ask him to turn on a light, just so I can see him in detail, but that would mean he could do the same with me; and even though he seems very happy with my body, I’m not ready for that level of scrutiny.
Nero climbs back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot between my legs.
I’m about to ask him what he’s doing, when he presses the cold damp washcloth against my pussy, dragging it through my folds.
I jerk away with a startled cry.
“Stay still.”
That’s what he says––stay still––before proceeding to use one hand to hold me open, while the other, wielding the cloth, cleans me. Intimately.
“It’s cold,” I hiss.
He gently passes the cloth over me once more. “I know, Baby.”
“You could’ve used warm water,” I grumble, apparently accepting the whole weird situation.
“You’re gonna be sore enough the way it is, the cold might help.” He says it matter-of-factly while climbing out of the bed once more.
“Oh.”
The water runs again for a minute, and when he reappears in the doorway, I realize I can finally close my legs.
And he’s right about one thing at least. As I flatten my legs to the mattress, I’m already aching, inside and out.
Nero stands there, watching me for another moment, before clipping out, “I’m not staying.”
And just like that, it feels like my whole body has been covered by a cold towel.
“Alright,” I whisper my reply and reach for the blankets, pulling them up over my nakedness.
There’s a wet spot on the sheet underneath me, but I’m going to ignore that until he leaves.
I watch in silence as Nero picks up his articles of clothing, pulling them on one by one.
I don’t know why his actions now are making me sad. This is what I expected him to do. Truly, I didn’t think this would suddenly become some sort of loving relationship. I’ve never been foolish enough to hope for that. From anyone.
When he turns to grab his pants, the small bits of light reflect off his back, and I can see discolored marks of scars.
I felt them when I had my limbs wrapped around him, thinking nothing of the raised texture in the moment. Seeing them now, even just in bits and pieces, it’s jarring. There are several.
The urge to ask him about them, to touch them again, dances across my tongue. But I stay quiet.
Nero shrugs his shirt on. “I’m not staying.”
It’s a repeat of what he already said. And its meaning is clear. I’m not staying is different than I can’t stay.
He’s choosing to leave. Choosing to walk away.
And since he didn’t acknowledge my reply before, I don’t bother saying anything.
And it’s fine. It really is. Hell, I basically tricked him into taking my virginity. He’s probably dis––I nearly shake my head at that thought. He’s clearly not disgusted. In fact, he was the exact opposite of disgusted.
Nero pulls his suit coat on last, and I watch him stuff his tie into the pocket, rather than put it back on.
He’s larger than life standing there at the foot of my bed. Looking dangerous. Like a twisted mix of savior and executioner, wound together to create one confusing and sinful package.
Well, that’s it then.
Opening my mouth, I say the only thing I can think of. “Thank you, Nero.”
And I mean it. I mean it so much.
Nero stares at me, releasing a sigh so long and loud, that it has me tugging the blankets up all the way to my nose.
His cheeks flex as he clenches his jaw. Then he tips his head back and lets out another sigh toward the ceiling. “Goddammit, Payton.”
My lips pinch together. I don’t know what’s happening.
I didn’t think thanking him would be such a misstep, but it’s not like I can take the words back.
Then he’s ripping his suit coat back off and striding to the side of the bed.
Automatically, I start to scoot away, my body’s natural reaction to being stalked.
“Stop,” Nero snaps, and I do. I swear my eyes widen comically when he yanks the blankets back and climbs into bed next to me.
“What, um…” I trail off.
“I’m not staying,” he mutters it this time.
He sounds so resigned, even as he does the opposite of what he just said, and I almost laugh.
Nero drops onto his back, shifting the pillow, lifting his head and smacking it back down against the lumpy cotton, trying to get comfortable. With one final sigh, he stretches his arm out in my direction. “Come fucking cuddle with me.”
