Page 69 of Just Like You
Oh! Lube. A nice drizzle as his hand smothered it in warmth. Glide. Movement. Friction.
My mouth was roaring, and he was just simply jerking his hips. Small pushes and pulls.
“You’re everything,” he whispered, pushing my legs up, until my knees were squashed against my chest, my feet somewhere else. I had no control anymore. My eyes were closed, and he was just…in charge. Doing all those things. Holding me down as he adjusted his stance and got a better angle. Slammed into me with such force that I was shifting off the bed. Pillows tumbling off the mattress somewhere at the side of my vision. Movement. Him.
All I could see was him.
His eyes pinned on me as he moved, every muscle in his chest bulging with effort. Like this was…
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t function. His hand was jerking me off and at the same time? He was holding me in place. His grip on my leg almost too hard, but I needed it. I wanted this.
And he’d been right earlier, because his words were ringing in my ears. Muffled yet sharp.
I’d always wanted someone, just like him. Someone I weirdly had come to trust. I hardly knew him, but what I knew? He did loveme. And would love me, the good, the bad and the ugly. He’d seen me at my best. At my worst. Snotty and crying over the phone, angry and frustrated with him. He’d seen me shout at him, hurl abuse at him. Call him out for what he was. He was still here.
Me and my skinny body that had never seen a gym in its life. Me and my weird job. Me and my frizzy hair that would never win any prizes for texture and looks.
He loved me. How I knew that? I had no idea, but I could feel it in my bones.
Maybe this was actually it. The moment when things fell into place.
“I love you,” I roared out, as my orgasm completely took me by surprise. His body was still moving in stilted jerks. His mouth hanging slack.
“Fuck,” he huffed out. “Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”
It wasn’t any kind of elegant, the way he fell on top of me. Where his face went straight for my neck and where my legs were still squashed in some kind of impossible gymnastic position, my arms grabbing him and holding him tight.
Impossibly tight.
“I held on,” he said. “I managed to hold on. I wanted you to come, properly this time.”
“Good job,” I squeaked out. I was kind of…squashed. My brain a little foggy, and my mouth still running with zero control.
Perhaps that was just me. The adrenaline making me crazy.
“I want to marry you in Vegas.”
He said nothing. Absolutely nothing, and the fear in my stomach just built. Built and built.
What the fuck was wrong with me? A couple of good shags and I was proposing?
“Julian,” he said sternly.
Fuck. Me and my big mouth. Easily led, my primary school teacher had written on my school report. Still true, decades later.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Julian.” He adjusted himself. Lowered my legs and curled up around me. Pulled me into his chest and held me. “Julian, I’ve already googled chapels. Looked up how to organise it from theUK, when you were talking to that girl on your crew in the lobby.”
“Oh,” I said. Shit.
“It’s probably the most irresponsible thing I have ever even considered, but when it feels right? Do we really have to play by the rules?”
“Do we?”
Did we? I was thinking with my dick here. Smiling as I combed my fingers through his hair. He was still breathing too fast. Holding on to me like he was drowning and I was his lifebuoy.
He did that. Another little trait of his that I absolutely adored.
