Page 51 of Love's a Script
He lightly brushed his fingers across her clit, and a tremor passed through her body. He continued with this caress and carefully watched her face to find the right pressure and her favorite spot. She grew louder, her brows knitted together, and just as her body began to tense, he withdrew all contact.
Mary gasped, reeling up to look at him. She stammered, confused, but before she could protest, he was touching her again. Massaging, circling, tapping her responsive clit. He got her back to the edge where her head fell to the mattress, and she was pinching her nipples.
“Right there, don’t stop,” she said, but like before, he didn’t let pleasure engulf her.
“You’re doing this on purpose!” she said, outraged, her eyes wild and her breathing heavy. “You can’t.”
He smiled. “Okay,” he said as he kissed the thickest part of her inner thigh and gave his dick a placating stroke. Her building frustration would make the end more blissful.
“Ruben, I’m serious. I want…”
Her words died as he returned his attention to her pussy, sliding his middle finger inside of her and using his thumb to care for her clit. She watched him where he stoked her arousal, and sweet sounds spilled from her lips. Seeing her this uninhibited and enraptured in desire was breathtaking. But again, as soon as she was close, he denied her a climax.
“Ruben,” she cried. “Please, please, just…”
“What, love? What do you want? Tell me.”
“Let me come. Make me come.”
Part of him wanted them to remain suspended in this lust purgatory. It felt safe, predictable, and unburdened by the emotions that surely would follow a release. But he also needed to see and feel Mary reach her peak. He needed her satiated. With driving fingers and a tongue that now craved her, Ruben let pleasure grow. He didn’t let up. She writhed under him, and her hands dug into his forearm.
“There you go, beautiful,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
Mary’s moans escalated until she came completely undone with his name on her lips.
When Ruben told Mary he needed to get a condom from his medicine cabinet, she expected him to leave and quickly return. Instead, without breaking their kiss, he hauled her into his arms as he got up from the bed and took her along. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he carried her, and she pressed kisses to his face and neck, making a game of trying to find every freckle. She breathed the scent of his crisp shower gel still detectable on his skin.
“I’m ready to feel you around me,” Ruben said when they’d reached the bathroom and procured the sought item. Even with her recent orgasm, Mary was delirious with anticipation too. The weight of his erection pushed up against her, and she wound her hips in a circle to temper her desire until they could reach the bed. But they never made it that far. Ruben stopped in the hallway and pinned her to a wall, and she didn’t realize he intended to fuck her right there until he was fumbling to open the foil-packaged condom with his teeth. She helped him put it on, then he took a beat, pushing her mussed hair out of the way to look at her intensely as if cataloguing the moment, her face.
“Fuck me,” she whispered more as an interjection than a command, but Ruben kissed her then brought his forehead to hers as he eased himself into her pussy. Their mouths dropped open when his dick fully settled inside of her. They were motionless for a time, clinging to each other.
“You good?” he asked, his voice strained.
She managed to nod, and he began guiding her along his length. They started slow, not to any particular rhythm. It was like they were exploring the contours of the position. His tongue swept the hollow of her throat, she gently caught his earlobe between her teeth, and their lips brushed any skin they met. Friction built and sparks flew, urging them to quicken their pace to where the sound of their flesh slapping on the downward stroke echoed in the hallway.
“Talk to me, Mary,” he said earnestly. “You like this?”
She would have laughed at a question with such an obvious answer if she weren’t in the throes of the experience, unable to do anything but feel and whimper, “You fit so good.”
He groaned while his strokes became more fervent. The cool wall against her back was of little reprieve from the heat and sweat being created between their bodies.
“Just like that,” she told him as there was an upshift toward orgasm. “Fuck me just like that.”
His dark eyes held hers as he remained steadfast with his speed and arrangement. She wanted to look away; her heart felt like it was thrashing against her ribcage, but she was too close. She held on for dear life as she turned hot and incoherent. Any sort of control she had was lost as she rode the wave to euphoria. She shut her eyes and found a kaleidoscopic display that brightened until all she saw was white.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mary was coaxed from sleep by the brush of Ruben’s lips along her fingers, palm, wrist, arm, and shoulder. Against her neck, he whispered, “Keep sleeping. It’s still early,” before quietly leaving the bed.
She buried herself in the folds of the sheets and rolled over onto the vacated spot on the mattress, still warm from Ruben’s body, and fell back asleep. The next time she awakened, it was to the smell of breakfast and faint television noise.
The night lived on in memory and body, and she stretched her arms over her head, sighing as her stiff muscles eased. She felt wonderful. Ruben had seen her, understood her, and for that, she’d had one of the best experiences of her life last night.
But as Mary stared at the textured ceiling, her glow faded. A nebulous dread replaced it, and she kicked at the duvet to relieve herself from even its pressure. It had been an unquestionably bad idea to sleep with Ruben. She wished she could teleport out of the apartment and avoid interacting with him, avoid filtering what she was feeling through nonchalance.
But if she was quick, she could be out of there in minutes. She sat up in the bed and saw that Ruben had folded her clothes neatly on his dresser, but when she got up, she realized only her sweatpants and underwear were present. Her shirt was missing, probably hiding in plain sight somewhere in the living room where she’d thrown it. Mary refused to exit the room topless, so she opened a dresser drawer and pulled out the first garment she saw, a dark hoodie with “National Broadcasting Association” printed in white on the front. The hoodie overwhelmed her short frame, and she cringed at how trite and cutesy it felt to wear.
She poked her head out of the bedroom into the hallway. The front door beckoned her, but she stopped in the bathroom to rake her hands through her hair and gargle mouthwash. She wanted to be somewhat presentable even if she was leaving right away.
