Page 62 of Trustfall

“No. It was…amazing.”

I suddenly feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get inside her right now. I pull her down and spread her legs open. She looks nervous, like I’m going to use the vibrator on her again, but then I bring the swollen tip of my cock, already glistening with pre-cum, down to her pussy. I rub it up and down a few times over her entrance, still slick with her cum, and she relaxes.

“Luke,” she whimpers. “I want to feel you.”

“Yeah? You want to feel my cock stretching you open?”

She nods frantically.

“Say it.”

“Yes, yes. I want you. Please, Luke,” she begs.

I quickly move over her and grab a condom from the bedside drawer, ripping it open with my teeth and sliding it on.

“Like this?” I ask as I push into her. I don’t stop until I’m buried so far into her tight heat, I don’t know where she ends and I begin. We both let out a relieved groan.

I pull almost all the way out and slam back into her.

Once. Twice. Three times, and she’s screaming.

“Luke. Fuck. I’m gonna come again.”

“Fuck, yeah. Give me another one. Come on my fucking cock, princess.”

I sense it before I see it. She tenses up in my arms, her muscles locking tight. Her shoulders rise and her hands curl into fists. When I look up, I see her eyes have a glazed-over look, but it's not from lust—it’s from fear. Her breathing becomes rapid and shallow, like she's desperate for a breath that won't come. Her face goes pale, her eyes widen, and tears well up and spill over.

Shit, shit, shit.

I immediately pull out, and she falls back, her head lolling to the side.

“Baby,” I say softly trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but she doesn’t respond.

“Baby,” I try again. “Look at me.”

Still nothing.

“Emory, please look at me.” Using her real name seems to do the trick, and her eyes flick to mine.

“L-Luke?” she stutters and looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time tonight. Her breathing is still strained.

“Shhh, baby. I’m here. Don’t try to talk. I think you’re having a panic attack. You need to regulate your breathing. Can you sit up?”

She does, but now she’s shivering, so I take the blanket and pull it up and over her, tucking the edges tight beneath her body. I once heard that someone having a panic attack benefits from being wrapped tightly. It helps ground them or something.

I take her hand and put it over my heart. “Just focus on my heartbeat, baby. Can you do that?” She concentrates, but her breathing is still erratic. “I need you to breathe with me, nice and slow, okay?”

She nods, and I take a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting out a long exhale.

I do it again, and she takes a deep breath, mimicking me.

“Good, Em. Again.”

Finally, her breathing evens out and color slowly returns to her face. She’s stopped crying, but her cheeks are still damp with tears. I wipe them lightly with my thumb.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t…” I trail off. I’m not even sure what to say. I don’t know what set her off, but I know it was something I did.

She shakes her head, unable to form words. Is she trying to tell me not to worry? Or that she doesn’t want to talk about it? Either way, I don’t want her to feel worse or start panicking again, so I drop it for now, focusing instead on making her comfortable.

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