“Yes,” I cried, arching my back, surrendering to him as he spanked me hard, direct across my clit. I had to bite my lip to force myself not to cum.
“That’s it,” he praised me, stroking me soft, then hitting me hard. “You take your punishment.”
When he told me I could, I came apart so hard for him, my body and mind exploding with pleasure, endlessly sobbing, climaxing pleasure he kept coaxing again and again out of my body.
“You’re mine,” he told me, growling it out rough and demanding and my body sang its response, one orgasm feeding into another, each summit leading into the next peak until finally I collapsed, completely spent.
He wrapped me in his arms, whispering in my ear, “And I’m yours. And I’m not done with you yet.”
Propped up on my hands and knees, he fucked me from behind, hammering into my pussy so hard I could barely stand the onslaught, bracing myself against the headboard, against the bed. But even as I struggled under his force, the size of his cock stretching my pussy as he pounded me mercilessly, that was exactly how I wanted it. Exactly how our two puzzle pieces fit together. No one else could match our edges and grooves.
He shot his cum into me so deep, sending me over the edge yet again, quivering and shaking, crying out his name as he called out mine. Then we lay in bed, naked. I sprawled across his chest, panting. He brought his hand to my back, caressing me, down to my thighs, up again. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Sophie Douglas.”
I smiled, too spent to say anything in response. I simply enjoyed, instead.
“You know I never stopped loving you,” he added.
“I never stopped, either,” I admitted, remembering those seven long years. Now that I was back with him, it seemed so obvious. That longing ache I’d never shaken, the way I’d felt numb with other men, it was Liam I’d been missing.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d never broken up? If you had moved to New York with me all those years ago?”
He shook his head. “I used to, but not anymore. Now that life’s so good I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”
“I was so young and stupid,” I continued, remembering it so vividly. “My mom told me it would be unfair to you to bring you to New York. You wouldn’t know anybody. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Sophie.” He held me to him, kissing me full and deep. “Let it go. What happened, happened. What matters is now.” He held me, kissed me again and I felt his promise in it.
“I love you, Liam.” I meant it body, mind and soul.
“I love you, too,” he murmured. “And I’m never letting go.”
Epilogue, December
Liam
Right after Thanksgiving, our entire downtown exploded in little white lights. Every year we put together a big Christmas parade through the center of town and tourists flooded back for it. I wasn’t usually the kind of guy who noticed details, but this season all the lights plus the wreaths and bows on every streetlight and shop window struck me as beautiful. It was probably because I was in love.
I’d become one of those annoying people, smiling at nothing, whistling as I worked. On nights off, Sophie and I liked to stroll downtown, arm in arm, hot chocolates or coffees in hand admiring the lights. We stopped to chat with locals we knew, admired babies and puppies and just about everything else. We were both pretty annoying, come to think of it.
It couldn’t be helped. It came from being so happy. Neither of us could believe everything was coming together so nicely. Sophie had opened the doors of her dance studio in September, right at the start of the school year. She offered all kinds of dance classes to everyone from preschoolers to seniors. Her friend Lara helped her teach, and they had so much demand even during the “off” season they’d brought in one more teacher specializing in hip hop.
Sophie had tried to talk me into take a class. As much as I loved my girlfriend, and I was completely crazy about her, that was not going to happen.
“Don’t you want to move like JT?” she’d teased me, dancing around the living room to his latest hit.
“Are you referring to Justin Timberlake?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t admire his dance moves.”
“OK, I’ll just keep that thought to myself.”
“Seriously, though.” She’d perched herself on the arm of the couch. “He’s a straight white boy just like you, but he can move his hips! He’s proved it can be done!”
“Are you saying I can’t move my hips?” Those were fighting words. She’d started giggling and running away, which of course just baited the bear. We hadn’t done much discussing of dance classes after that. But I had shown her I could move my hips in a nice rhythm, thank you very much.
I was so proud of her, seeing all her hard work paying off. Nights when she was working but I wasn’t, I usually stopped by to bring her something to eat. She’d go the entire afternoon and evening without a bite if I didn’t remind her. I guessed old habits died hard.
One night in early December, I got there around 5:45 p.m. knowing she’d still be teaching for another 15 minutes but I wanted to stand outside and watch. Chilly as it was, I just pulled my hat down over my ears and enjoyed the scene inside. Sophie looked lit from within, laughing and flitting around her dancers. The girls all seemed to be in their early teens, maybe 13 or 14 years old, and they gazed at Sophie like she was a magical fairy princess touched down from above.
She took to the front of the room to demonstrate something. I didn’t know what it was called, but she basically spun herself around like a top then flung herself high into the air like she weighed nothing, spread her legs into a perfect line, floated there for a while and then landed gracefully on both feet. At least that was how it seemed to me. Her students seemed to watch her with the same mystification. She laughed, said something reassuring which I could see made them all smile and then set them each working on one small piece of the movement.
I could tell she was doing what she loved, and I loved seeing her do it. Once the class disbursed, I stole in for a moment with some soup.
“From my mother,” I told her, giving her a quick kiss.
“Ooh, what is it tonight!”
“Chicken noodle.” Sophie’s eyes lit up. I set it all on a counter in back. “See you tonight.” I kissed her again, never one for missing an opportunity.
“Thank you so much, Liam. I haven’t eaten since—”
“I know, since lunch. You’re bad at that.”
“I am,” she acknowledged.
“See you around nine.”
“Around nine.” She smiled and gave me one more kiss for good measure. See, I said we were annoying.
I drove home, already eagerly anticipating her arrival in a few hours. Because she’d be heading exactly where I was. She’d moved into the cottage with me at the start of November, when Lara’s lease had run out. Lara now lived above the dance studio and Sophie lived with me, right where she belonged.
Pulling in, I noticed that the light was on in the main house. Mom must be home. I decided to stop in and say hello, tell her how much Sophie appreciated her soup. She was in the kitchen and when I sat down she put some pulled pork and a roll in front of me.
“Eat,” she demanded, as if I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” I agreed, making myself a sandwich. There were many perks to living with my mother, and I was aware and grateful of every one of them.
“So, tell me about the studio.” She always wanted to hear the latest news, how rehearsals were going for the big holiday performance, whether the new hip hop hire was working out. Half the time I had to tell her to ask Sophie directly, because I didn’t know the kind of details she wanted. The two of them were becoming fast friends.
“Uh-huh.” She nodded at what I was able to tell her. And then she asked, “And when are you going to ask Sophie to marry you?”
“Excuse me?” I’d been drinking a glass of water when she a
sked and just narrowly missed spitting it all over the table.
“Sophie? When are you going to propose?”
“Um, Mom, I haven’t exactly—”
“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t decided if you’re going to ask her.” She threw a dishtowel at me. It hit me square in the chest. Pretty good aim. But I was also a big target.