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I think back to Jeffy’s words in our last phone call, when he told me to ponder my power. How Derek himself pretty much just said the same thing to me. How Grace and Naomi also suggested it.
“Thought of any baby names?” he asks.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper. “I’m on the pill.”
“Kiss your crazy husband, good girl.”
I don’t move, so he does, and I melt as he kisses me, as he touches me, looking at me like I’m making all his dreams come true. I can’t fuck Derek into being mentally well, but can I ponder my power to find a way to help him find some semblance of wellness?
I get why he’s never wanted to trust another therapist. The trauma he went through as a child at the hands of a child psychologist was beyond extreme.
He never saw therapy do anything good for anybody in his life. He was surrounded by mental illness. The trauma of finding his mother unconscious and bleeding in the tub from self-inflicted wounds imprinted on him from a young age. Him wanting to look after me and solve all my problems is obviously related.
What would be the best way for him to get some help?
Yes, I need to ponder my power here some more.
But right now I can’t think anymore, because he’s lifting me, turning onto his back, and planting me on top of him. I look in his eyes, at the joy on his face as he gazes at me, looking at me like I’m the one and only woman in the world. Like he can’t get enough. Like he really, truly loves me. Like I’ve helped take the pain away.
It's kind of heady.
I take his jaw into both hands and slowly move in, staring into those eyes until our lips touch. My eyes close as I kiss him, holding his face, absorbing the scent and feel of him. Giving myself something I’ve, at some level, wanted since the very beginning.
Letting myself feel the reality of what this could be. Me and Derek. Together. Really together.
He guides his hardness to my opening, and although his eyes look gentle, he slams me down hard, making me whimper. He grasps my hips. I squeeze tight and begin to rock, still kissing him.
His hands release my hips and capture my breasts.
“I love you so much,” he tells me between lip touches. “I’m gonna make you so fucking happy. Please let me make you happy. Please, baby, please.”
“Okay,” I relent.
“What?” He stills.
“I said okay. But Derek… don’t fuck it up.”
He jolts in surprise and stares, chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes rove my face.
“I won’t,” he vows, eyes fiery.
“Don’t fuck it up, or you won’t like what happens,” I warn.
His body goes perfectly still. His expression goes completely cold. I hold his stare. He pulls his cock out and warmth overtakes his features as he flips me to my back and slams inside me.
“I won’t.”
And he’s fucking me, fucking me like a jackhammer, pinning me with his strong body, bruising my hips, but although I’m on my back, being fucked hard, I feel strangely powerful.
I lift her out of the shower, our mouths fused together, and carry her back to the bed. It’s got to be approaching dusk. We’ve been at it for hours. Not just fucking, either. Making out. Like teenagers. Groping, kissing, and… of course fucking. And I am not done. I want to fuck her until the end of time. I’ll keep fucking her as long as my cock keeps going hard tonight.
It's soft right now, so maybe I’m done. Or maybe I’ll be good to go again in another ten minutes, so I arrange her so I can get ready to feast between her thighs, but my phone chimes with a text alert from my suit pants. I lean over, dangling off the edge of the bed in order to get to it.
“That’s Carson. Food plates from the buffet are outside the door. You hungry?” I ask, sending a thumbs up.
“Starving,” she says in a sultry voice, and I feel a nip on my ass cheek.
I jolt in surprise.
