Fuck, I hadn’t come that hard in a long time. Maybe ever.
She stirred as I traced her spine, letting my palm rest on her lower back. I was still hard as I pulled myself out, a little of my cum sliding onto the sheets. I swiped it with my finger and pushed it back into her. If I was going to be reckless, I was going to go all the way.
I wanted her to keep that cum in her pussy all night.
I turned her over and she looked up at me, her lip swollen and a little bloody from biting it. Her pupils were blown, her dark eyes wet. But her breasts were hard, her pretty nipples peaked with arousal.
She’d thoroughly enjoyed what I’d done and that caught me off guard. I bent, kissing her nipples. Caressing the roundness of her breasts with my mouth until her eyes closed.
Her head fell back and she moaned. Her hips worked against me. My God, she was a desperate thing.
“I’ll make you come again if you need it.”
Her stomach tensed. “I’m sore.”
I slid down beside her, pulling her body against my chest. Twining her soft legs around mine and sliding my hand up her back. Holding her close. She’d had a long day and I felt her body soften in my arms. I stroked her hair until her breathing began to slow and she nestled against me. She kept her dark eyes on me until her lids grew too heavy to keep open and she fell into a deep sleep.
I stared up into the dark, unsettled. By my standards, I’d been gentle, but she probably thought I was a monster. I should have held back, I should have been kinder. But, despite what I’d said earlier, I wasn’t sure I knew how.
I was, as I’d always been, inherently broken.
After a while, I gave up on sleep and slipped from her arms. The house was quiet as I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and moved down the dark hall. The small statues in the blue lit alcoves along the walls flickered in the dark. Watching me with judgemental stares.
In the studio, I closed the door and turned on the lights. The hunk of plaster sat in the middle of the room, covered by a cloth. I pulled it free, took up my pencil, and poured a glass of whiskey. As I downed it, circling the plaster, I noticed my fingers were streaked with traces of red.
My wife’s blood.
Monster.
The flashback hit me hard and I reeled back. Into my head came my grandfather’s voice, stern and powerful.
“Don’t spoil him, he’s already a monster.”
I shook my head again, harder this time. I’d dropped the pencil and spilled my drink on the table. I righted the glass, filling it again, and forced my breathing to even. He was dead, he was fucking six feet under the ground. I’d never have to contend with his drunken rages, with his constant abuse, ever again.
A bottle swung out of nowhere, heading straight toward my face. I flinched violently, forcing myself to remember it wasn’t real. Goddamn it, I clenched my eyes shut. I needed to get these images out of my head. It had been years and every fucking time I thought about that bastard, every memory of him came pouring back.
Why my parents had allowed him to be around me, I would never understand. My father knew his father was abusive, that he beat my grandmother. And they had to have known I hadn’t fallen down the stairs and cut my face open by accident.
That kind of injury was so clearly intentional.
And yet they just let it happen because, with five children, they didn’t have the time to watch me and my grandmother did. Perhaps they believed if they didn’t acknowledge that I was being harmed that I wasn’t really hurt. Perhaps in their eyes, ignorance and denial were easier than the truth.
I was never going to allow that in my house. My children would be protected against my father’s coldness and neglect. And if anyone so much as glanced at Rosalia the wrong way, I would break their neck.
I swallowed, looking up at the plaster. At least I’d gotten this obsessive love of beauty and art out of it all. At least, when I got older and big enough to stand up to my grandfather, I’d done what my father wouldn’t and hit back. At least the last few years of my grandmother’s life had been peaceful, surrounded by nothing but her beloved, marble guardians.
I ran my fingers through my hair, brushing it back. I’d finished the other side because I already knew how to sketch it, but I hadn’t seen her body before tonight. Now, every curve, the rise of her hips and breasts were burned into my mind. I sketched them onto the plaster. Every detail beautiful, down to the soft, little swell of her lower stomach between her hipbones and the secret apex between her thighs.
My brain fell quiet as I worked and it was calm when I finally returned to my bedroom. Rosalia lay on her back, the sheet pulled down from her right breast. My cock hardened and I slid between the silk sheets and moved atop her body, kissing softly down between her breasts. She moaned and her lids fluttered.
“Let me fuck you, kitten,” I breathed.
She didn’t speak, but her eyes opened and her legs spread slowly. Allowing me to sink between them and into her wet heat. Her mouth twitched and I saw the pain in her bleary eyes. But I also saw the pleasure and I felt her grip me and draw me deep inside.
My God, it felt like acceptance. The kind I didn’t deserve.
I took her with sleepy strokes, my face buried in her neck. The pleasure swept over me like water rushing gently through my hips and I sagged over her body. Her gaze was unfocused and her lids closed as I rolled onto my side. My cock was still buried in her soft heat, keeping my cum deep inside her body, as I closed my eyes.