More Than Enough
Page 43
“You’re fucking incredible, Riley.” And then I blow. I come harder than I have since the first time I was inside her, my breath catches in my chest as she keeps her strokes going and “Holy shit!”
She laughs as I throw the shirt across the room and wipe my brow on my forearm. Then she climbs onto the mattress, her legs on either side of mine, straddling my waist.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I say back, feeling the wetness of both our parts as they touch, my still hard cock between her folds. She kisses my neck, making her way up to my jaw, before finding my lips. Her hips circle, grinding herself into me. It’s too much. Too fucking much. Because I’m already close to coming again and I need her to get off again. At least twice.
I am a gentleman, after all.
So, I flip her onto her back, her hair splaying across my pillow. I kiss and suck and lick my way down from her neck, stopping at each of her breasts, paying them equal attention before I move to her stomach, my tongue dipping into her belly button. She writhes beneath me, her hands fisted in the sheets as I move lower again, her moans of pleasure filling my ears and making me harder. I taste her again, because I didn’t get enough the first time. Her back arches off the bed, her legs squeezing the sides of my face as I bite down on her clit. I place my arm across her stomach, keeping her in place so I can get my finger inside her again.
She’s close. I can tell because her breathing’s stopped, her stomach muscles have tensed and her thighs are pressed hard against my ears. She’s trying to lift off the mattress, trying to get more of me.
I give her more.
Fuck, I give her everything.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” She says this over and over while my fingers work faster and faster until they’re completely soaked with her juices and so is my mouth. She drops back on the bed, her hands releasing the sheets, her entire body covered in sweat and nothing—not a goddamn thing has ever, EVER, turned me on as much as watching and feeling her hand around my cock, guiding me to her entrance while her eyes lock with mine. I reach across her and open the drawer of my nightstand to pull out a condom and, with one of her hands still around my cock; she uses the other to take the packet from me. She bites down on the corner, tearing it open and then, as if she wasn’t sexy enough, she rolls it on for me. Then she places one hand behind her head, the other covering her breast as she bites her lip and nods once. I push up on my left arm, my right hand gripping her leg and wrapping it around my waist so she’s wide open for me. I wasn’t kidding when I said she was tight—because she wasn’t kidding when she said she was “almost” a virgin. On the first thrust, I’m inside her and on the second, she leans up, her hands on my shoulders and her mouth by my ear when she moans, “Fuck me, Lance Corporal Banks.”
We lay together, her head on my chest and my arm around her, completely naked and covered in sweat. Our bodies stick to the sheets but we’re both too exhausted to do anything about it. “What the hell got into you, Hudson?” I joke. She laughs and presses her face into the crook of my neck. “I read that book you got me.”
“Yeah?”
“It was a little more… erotic than the first one.”
I chuckle, making her half sit up and look down on me.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I reach for my phone and send Cam a text.
Dylan: FUCK YEAH BOOKS!
Twenty-Seven
Riley
The next couple months go by in a blur. Mom jokes that Dylan may as well move in with the amount of time he’s over. We spend every night together, either at his house or mine. Sometimes I wonder if it’s his way of keeping an eye on me—making sure I don’t drink. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m grateful for him. Each day we spend together, we learn and we laugh and we love more than the last. I push him to maintain his rehab. He pushes my buttons. Same old. But he also helps me to push my boundaries. He encouraged me to go into town, which I did, with him holding my hand, our chins raised and ready for whatever would come my way.
Nothing came.
It seems that to a degree, Mom was right. People just needed something to talk about. Apparently, the current “talk” is some priest having an affair with a housewife. Whatever. People are stupid.
That night, I wrote letters to everyone I affected with my actions, put them in a jar, and walked into the stores or offices and handed them to the owners, Jake’s dad included.
Mr. Andrews was happy to see Dylan, and happy to see that I was happy. We also went to see Dr. Matthews, his friend’s dad, and got me on birth control.
We go to Dylan’s check ups together (I’m on my third notebook) and his doctors are happy with his progress. And even though we know the clock is ticking on our current time together… we don’t talk about it.
We don’t look at the clock.
We’re having too much fun.
My mom brings it up sometimes, but never to the point where she’s the one pushing the wrong buttons.
A few nights ago we drove down to UNC for “Operation Mayhem: Retaliation Edition.” I didn’t really know what this meant, but it involved me dressing in black, fishing wire, a fishing rod, sixteen cans of cat food, a crowbar, the High School Musical soundtrack, a shit ton of eggs, a blow up doll, and five huge black dildos. That’s just what was in the front seat. I don’t even want to list what was in the bed of his truck. Nor do I want to think about the dent this made on his credit card.
“Mo money, mo problems,” he said when I casually mentioned it, which made absolutely no sense but he’d been talking to Dave a lot more lately so I guess that might have something to do with it.
I beg him to leave Lucy alone since her and I had started texting a bit, mainly about books. Oh. I forgot to mention, the morning after I showed up at his house in the middle of the night, Dylan went out and got me a Kindle and had Lucy load it up with “her” types of books. He just kept saying, “Read, Riley. Read as much as you want, whenever you want.” So I did. And now Lucy and I read books together—something she loves because we’re both quick readers. Anyway, his response to my request to leave Lucy alone was quite disturbing. “But then what would I do with three of the dildos and the five feet of chains?” So… I left that alone.
I also left him to do most of the mayhem himself considering I already had a record for disorderly conduct. We left UNC as the sun was rising and headed back home. I asked why he didn’t stay to at least watch one of the reactions. He said it wasn’t the point. The point is to plant, not to witness. That’s rule number four.
Did I mention that I think I’m in love with him? Because I think am. Soul-crushing, heart-stealing, life-changing, guilt-free L.O.V.E in love with him.
“All right, babe,” he says, sticking his head out from under the hood of the Honda. “Turn her over.” I put my Kindle on the seat next to me and reach for the keys in the ignition. Then I crank it. It starts first go, causing a giant grin to form across Dylan’s face. I start to celebrate but he presses a finger on his lips to silence me, then he closes his eyes and listens to the quiet roar of the engine for a minute. I guess hoping it doesn’t die.
She laughs as I throw the shirt across the room and wipe my brow on my forearm. Then she climbs onto the mattress, her legs on either side of mine, straddling my waist.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I say back, feeling the wetness of both our parts as they touch, my still hard cock between her folds. She kisses my neck, making her way up to my jaw, before finding my lips. Her hips circle, grinding herself into me. It’s too much. Too fucking much. Because I’m already close to coming again and I need her to get off again. At least twice.
I am a gentleman, after all.
So, I flip her onto her back, her hair splaying across my pillow. I kiss and suck and lick my way down from her neck, stopping at each of her breasts, paying them equal attention before I move to her stomach, my tongue dipping into her belly button. She writhes beneath me, her hands fisted in the sheets as I move lower again, her moans of pleasure filling my ears and making me harder. I taste her again, because I didn’t get enough the first time. Her back arches off the bed, her legs squeezing the sides of my face as I bite down on her clit. I place my arm across her stomach, keeping her in place so I can get my finger inside her again.
She’s close. I can tell because her breathing’s stopped, her stomach muscles have tensed and her thighs are pressed hard against my ears. She’s trying to lift off the mattress, trying to get more of me.
I give her more.
Fuck, I give her everything.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.” She says this over and over while my fingers work faster and faster until they’re completely soaked with her juices and so is my mouth. She drops back on the bed, her hands releasing the sheets, her entire body covered in sweat and nothing—not a goddamn thing has ever, EVER, turned me on as much as watching and feeling her hand around my cock, guiding me to her entrance while her eyes lock with mine. I reach across her and open the drawer of my nightstand to pull out a condom and, with one of her hands still around my cock; she uses the other to take the packet from me. She bites down on the corner, tearing it open and then, as if she wasn’t sexy enough, she rolls it on for me. Then she places one hand behind her head, the other covering her breast as she bites her lip and nods once. I push up on my left arm, my right hand gripping her leg and wrapping it around my waist so she’s wide open for me. I wasn’t kidding when I said she was tight—because she wasn’t kidding when she said she was “almost” a virgin. On the first thrust, I’m inside her and on the second, she leans up, her hands on my shoulders and her mouth by my ear when she moans, “Fuck me, Lance Corporal Banks.”
We lay together, her head on my chest and my arm around her, completely naked and covered in sweat. Our bodies stick to the sheets but we’re both too exhausted to do anything about it. “What the hell got into you, Hudson?” I joke. She laughs and presses her face into the crook of my neck. “I read that book you got me.”
“Yeah?”
“It was a little more… erotic than the first one.”
I chuckle, making her half sit up and look down on me.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I reach for my phone and send Cam a text.
Dylan: FUCK YEAH BOOKS!
Twenty-Seven
Riley
The next couple months go by in a blur. Mom jokes that Dylan may as well move in with the amount of time he’s over. We spend every night together, either at his house or mine. Sometimes I wonder if it’s his way of keeping an eye on me—making sure I don’t drink. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m grateful for him. Each day we spend together, we learn and we laugh and we love more than the last. I push him to maintain his rehab. He pushes my buttons. Same old. But he also helps me to push my boundaries. He encouraged me to go into town, which I did, with him holding my hand, our chins raised and ready for whatever would come my way.
Nothing came.
It seems that to a degree, Mom was right. People just needed something to talk about. Apparently, the current “talk” is some priest having an affair with a housewife. Whatever. People are stupid.
That night, I wrote letters to everyone I affected with my actions, put them in a jar, and walked into the stores or offices and handed them to the owners, Jake’s dad included.
Mr. Andrews was happy to see Dylan, and happy to see that I was happy. We also went to see Dr. Matthews, his friend’s dad, and got me on birth control.
We go to Dylan’s check ups together (I’m on my third notebook) and his doctors are happy with his progress. And even though we know the clock is ticking on our current time together… we don’t talk about it.
We don’t look at the clock.
We’re having too much fun.
My mom brings it up sometimes, but never to the point where she’s the one pushing the wrong buttons.
A few nights ago we drove down to UNC for “Operation Mayhem: Retaliation Edition.” I didn’t really know what this meant, but it involved me dressing in black, fishing wire, a fishing rod, sixteen cans of cat food, a crowbar, the High School Musical soundtrack, a shit ton of eggs, a blow up doll, and five huge black dildos. That’s just what was in the front seat. I don’t even want to list what was in the bed of his truck. Nor do I want to think about the dent this made on his credit card.
“Mo money, mo problems,” he said when I casually mentioned it, which made absolutely no sense but he’d been talking to Dave a lot more lately so I guess that might have something to do with it.
I beg him to leave Lucy alone since her and I had started texting a bit, mainly about books. Oh. I forgot to mention, the morning after I showed up at his house in the middle of the night, Dylan went out and got me a Kindle and had Lucy load it up with “her” types of books. He just kept saying, “Read, Riley. Read as much as you want, whenever you want.” So I did. And now Lucy and I read books together—something she loves because we’re both quick readers. Anyway, his response to my request to leave Lucy alone was quite disturbing. “But then what would I do with three of the dildos and the five feet of chains?” So… I left that alone.
I also left him to do most of the mayhem himself considering I already had a record for disorderly conduct. We left UNC as the sun was rising and headed back home. I asked why he didn’t stay to at least watch one of the reactions. He said it wasn’t the point. The point is to plant, not to witness. That’s rule number four.
Did I mention that I think I’m in love with him? Because I think am. Soul-crushing, heart-stealing, life-changing, guilt-free L.O.V.E in love with him.
“All right, babe,” he says, sticking his head out from under the hood of the Honda. “Turn her over.” I put my Kindle on the seat next to me and reach for the keys in the ignition. Then I crank it. It starts first go, causing a giant grin to form across Dylan’s face. I start to celebrate but he presses a finger on his lips to silence me, then he closes his eyes and listens to the quiet roar of the engine for a minute. I guess hoping it doesn’t die.
