Page 54 of Rebound

There’s a slight catch in her voice. She’s still nervous about it—nervous, but willing to try. Fuck, she is incredible. I make a vow that I will make it as pleasurable as it possibly can be for her when I take her ass. I will show her a whole new way to fuck.

I lean down and plant two smacking kisses on her backside—one for each cheek—and she giggles. For now, I’m more than happy to fuck her pretty pink pussy. I hold her hips and dip my rock-hard cock inside her. With all the buildup, she expects me to take her hard and fast, so I take it slow instead, enjoying the look of confusion on her face. It’s torture for me as well, but I ease myself in inch by leisurely inch. She grips the barre, her knuckles going white as I fill her, and I watch her face in the mirror. Her eyes close, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. Yeah, she’s enjoying this. She’s going to come again, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

I run my hand over her hips and slide it around to her clit. My dick is all the way inside her now, completely buried in the soft velvet of her pussy, and I keep it there while I stroke her swollen bud. She doesn’t protest about being too sore anymore. She knows that won’t stop me, and she’s learned that she’s capable of tolerating the sensitivity until she climaxes again. “I think we should do an experiment.” I watch her face change in the mirror as she gets closer. “We should see how many times in a row I can make you come. How many times I can build you up and break you apart.”

“Mmmm… okay…”

I smile at her mumbled reply. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if she were capable of coherent speech. “Open your eyes, Amber. Look at me while you come.”

She does as she’s told, and it melts me. She looks so beautiful, so trusting. So completely at my mercy. “Good girl.” I speed up my fingers. It’s killing me to not slam my dick in and out of her, but it’s worth it. The feeling is fucking spectacular. She keeps her eyes on mine in the mirror, and I see and feel the moment her climax starts. Her full lips part, she calls out my name. The contractions of her inner muscles around me are so strong it’s like she’s jerking me off. Unfuckingbelievable. I wait until her orgasm runs its course, and then I put my arms around her, pulling her upright. She leans into me, the back of her head resting against my shoulder as our eyes meet in the glass. We’re still and silent for a moment.

“Fuck me, Elijah,” she demands.

I don’t need to be told twice. Keeping one arm wrapped around the front of her body, I put the other on the wooden barre and rail into her like there’s no tomorrow, listening to her cries and moans and watching her tits bounce in the reflection. Her thighs glisten with cum, her nipples stand at attention. The necklace jiggles between her breasts. She’s trapped between my thrusting body and the barre, leaning into me. Strands of her hair stick to my chest and back, and her huge eyes never leave mine. I slam into her two, three more times, then fall apart. My climax rockets through me, and the pleasure is so fucking powerful that I see stars. I groan her name, my mouth falling to her shoulder as I come. She reaches back and places her hand on my neck.

“I fucking love you, Amber,” I murmur.

“I know. And I love you too, Elijah.”

I look up again, and her reflection gives me a small smile. One moment of pure, perfect connection. In its own way, that shared look is more intense than the orgasms.

Then she slips out of my grasp and starts to get dressed. The moment is gone, our connection shattered. She moves around the room, hiding behind her hair, her shoulders shaking.

I want to go to her, to drag her face out from behind that curtain of hair. I want to force her to look at me and tell her again that I love her. These emotions are so strong, so powerful, they threaten to overwhelm us. This isn’t just sex, and we both know it. I should scoop her up, carry her home with me. Tell her I won’t ever let her out of my sight again.

Instead, I do exactly what she’s doing. Burying my emotions deep, I gather up my clothes and get dressed. I hear her on the phone asking Sanjay to come get her, and when she finally turns around, she’s managed to compose herself. She tidies her hair, refusing to look at herself in the wall of mirrors. “He was visiting his sister in Hoboken while he waited,” she explains. “He’ll be here in five. Do you… Uh, do you want a ride?”

The situation is so awkward, but she is polite and calm, not at all aggressive, and that only makes it hurt all the more. Her shutters are down. Playful, passionate Amber has left the building. The woman I unraveled with my tongue and fingers is gone to hide behind her impenetrable walls.

“No, that’s okay,” I answer. “I’ll get myself home. Before you leave, though, I have a gift for you.”

I’m not sure it’s the right move now, but what the fuck—I arranged for it to be left here, so I might as well give it to her. “Oh?” She attempts a grin. “Is it a pony?” The effort she puts into her attempt to restore the lightheartedness from earlier seems to drain her completely. Shoulders slumped, she looks like a breeze could knock her off her feet.

I go to the corner of the room, find the box, and pass it over. New life comes into her when she sees what’s inside, and she lifts the white satin ballet shoes to her face. With eyes squeezed tightly shut, she rasps, “Thank you,” then clears her throat. “They’re beautiful. I need to build up my strength before I’m back en pointe though.”

“Well, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s building up your strength. And you’re welcome.”

She kisses me on the cheek, thanks me again, and turns to leave. After switching off the lights, I follow her out and wait in the doorway until she’s safely in Sanjay’s cab before calling an Uber.

The journey back to Manhattan passes in a blur, the Uber driver playing loud music and singing along the whole time. It all feels surreal, like it’s happening to a different person.

On autopilot, I enter our home—the townhouse we moved into together when we were full of youthful optimism. Over the years, it became less of a home and more of a battlefield. Our optimism was replaced by cynicism, our hope wiped out by mutual frustration. I fucking hate it here now. She had the right idea when she got out. I imagine her in Brooklyn, safe and warm in Amelia’s little house. Maybe she’s trying on those ballet shoes. Or maybe she’s curled up in a ball, crying, which is exactly what I feel like doing.

I pour myself a large Scotch and head up to the rooftop garden. It’s a cold, beautiful night, and I sink into one of the chairs and gaze out at the incredible view. Central Park is spread out below, and the curves and spikes of the iconic Manhattan skyline are as familiar and as stunning as they’ve ever been.

I don’t care about any of it. I don’t care what I can see or how stunning it is. All I care about is what I can’t see. Her. Amber. My wife. What the fuck are we doing? Our marriage isn’t over. A divorce? I don’t want a divorce. I want to start again. I want her at my side, in my bed, in my home. She’s already in my heart, and I realize now that she always will be.

Tonight might have ended abruptly, but it showed the depths of emotion still running between us. It showed me that our love story is still being written. We can’t give up on it now. I love her too much, and I know she feels the same.

The way we chatted over dinner, the way we held hands as we walked along the river. It was perfect. Everything I am is alive and radiant when I’m around her—mind, body, and soul. Everything about her calls to me. She is the person who completes me. Who completes my life.

Our relationship won’t be easy to rebuild, but we are worth the effort. Few people are lucky enough to meet someone who makes them feel like this, and it would be criminal to throw it away.

I sip my Scotch and gaze at the city lights. I love my wife. I love her, and I want her back. I don’t care what compromises I have to agree to or how many changes I have to make. Amber is mine, and I’m determined to keep her.

Tension flees my body once I’ve made that decision, and I smile to myself. I have a goal, and I am not the kind of man who fails to achieve his goals.

I pull the burner phone from my pocket and type out a message to the only contact in there.

---