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"PTSD is a tricky bastard," I confess, the confession scratching its way up my throat. "It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, stealing your peace, your sleep, your control."
"Then we'll fight it together," she says fiercely, her resolve sparking something within me. "You're not alone, Greg."
The vulnerability in her eyes mirrors my own, and I realize I'm done fighting this—fighting us. I lean forward, closing the distance between us until our lips are a breath apart.
"Kelly," I whisper, my heart thundering against my chest.
"Greg," she whispers back, a tremor in her voice.
Our mouths meet in a kiss that's both a promise and a plea, soft and slow at first, but growing deeper, hungrier. It's a collision of need and longing, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that's been simmering between us from the moment we met.
My hands find their way into her hair, tangling in the soft brown strands, pulling her closer. She responds with equal fervor, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing against mine. The world shrinks until there's nothing but the taste of her lips, the sound of our mingled breaths, and the undeniable truth that we belong to each other.
"God, Kelly," I groan against her mouth, "I want you so much."
"Then have me," she breathes out, her desire a match to my own.
We leave the coffee shop and walk the short block to my apartment.
Neither of us speaks. I can’t, and I’m afraid if I say anything it will break this moment.
I know better. I shouldn’t do this. I’m at least ten years older than her and jaded from the military. She’s too young and pretty and vibrant and carefree. I’ll only taint her.
But god help me, I can’t stop.
I pull her into my apartment and into my arms.
And then my lips are on hers again, my tongue slipping into her mouth.
She moans into the kiss, her hands pulling at my shirt, seeking skin. The feel of her fingers tracing fire across my chest shreds the last of my restraint. I lift her up without breaking our connection, and she wraps her legs around my waist, a perfect fit against my body.
We stumble into the bedroom, our movements desperate, fueled by a hunger that's been building since the first glance. As we fall onto the bed, clothes are shed without care, each piece a barrier we can't wait to destroy.
"Greg," she pants as I trail kisses down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, "please."
Her plea is my undoing. My hands explore every curve, memorizing the landscape of her body as if it's a map to my salvation. When I find her hot and ready, the sound of her sharp intake of breath drives me wilder. I position myself at her entrance, looking into her eyes for any sign of hesitation.
There's none—just raw, unbridled desire.
I push into her slowly at first, giving us both time to adjust to the feeling of being connected so deeply. Her eyes flutter shut, lips parting in a silent cry of pleasure that sends shockwaves through me.
And then I go completely still when I realize she’s unbelievably tight.
“Kelly, are you a virgin?” I look down at her in shock as she bites her lip and nods.
I close my eyes tight and try to control my breathing. Mine! She’s all mine. Only mine.
“You beautiful, perfect thing,” I groan out as I can’t control myself anymore and start pumping in and out of her.
She whimpers, and I feel her pussy flutter around me, and that only drives me wilder.
“Fuck, baby, this little virgin cunt has got me going crazy, you know that? You know how perfect you are?”
Kelly doesn’t speak. She simply cries out and clings to me as I fuck into her harder and harder.
With each thrust, I go deeper, both of us losing ourselves in the rhythm we create together.
Her legs tighten around me, pulling me in closer as she meets my movements with urgency. The room fills with the sounds of our breathing and the soft cries that spill from her lips each time I touch just right.
