Page 55 of Freak
And of course all the places desire was meant to live. He caressed and kissed and licked and sucked and rubbed every inch of her body, all the while making deep, guttural animal noises that were the bassline to her own softer whimpers and gasps and cries.
He made her come with his mouth, with his fingers, inside her, on her, around her. And then he did it again. Abigail had only before orgasmed alone; her previous sexual experiences had been stunted affairs, full of self-doubt and awkwardness. This time, when Mel lifted his head from between her thighs the second time, his beard gleaming, she was utterly spent and utterly sated, and yes, a key part of her understanding of herself had been rewritten.
A new chapter: Abigail the sexual being.
Then, as she lay dazed, slick with sweat, her cheeks still fiery hot from the last burst of ecstasy, Mel grinned down at her. “I need you to gimme a little more, babe. You got it?”
She looked down between their bodies—drops of sweat slipped through his chest hair and pattered over her torso—and saw him holding himself. All this time, and he was still hard. He hadn’t had the blessed, blissful release he’d given her over and over.
Meeting his eyes, she nodded. Then, because she wanted to move more than he’d yet allowed, she spread her legs wide and raised her hips, brushing herself over the tip of his ... cock.
Now the word felt right.
Mel groaned like a man in desperate pain.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she said. “This part of you.” Her cheeks got even hotter, but she didn’t let herself look away.
With another groan, he grabbed her hip with his free hand and pushed into her. The stretch and pull was sharp, almost sharp enough to dull her pleasure, but as she confronted that surprise, Mel made a rolling, gasping, moaning whimper like a starving man finally getting a bite of steak. It was a sound of pain and pleasure and effort. A relief so great it was epiphany.
The shock of discomfort disappeared from Abigail’s notice. All she knew was power and beauty and a pleasure so intense and exciting it changed the rhythm of her heart.
When he began to move, he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with hers. She felt overwhelming clarity and connection with him; it seemed she could see through his dark irises directly to his soul. All she saw was goodness and honor. And desire for her.
And love. She saw love, too.
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~oOo~
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Abigail opened hereyes to the familiar sight of her bedroom in the watery light of near-dawn.
Though the light was familiar, several things about her waking were not. For instance, a large man was weighing down the mattress behind her. Mel had spent the night.
He’d never returned to the clubhouse, and had even ignored a few texts and a phone call from other Horde, including Badger. Abigail didn’t know much about the inner workings of an MC, so she took Mel’s word for it that it wasn’t anything as important as being with her was.
She liked that answer, of course. So they’d spent the rest of afternoon in bed, and then she’d made dinner and after the meal they’d cleaned up together, and Mel had helped her with her evening chores. They’d watchedThe Big SleepandKey Largo, and then they’d gone back to bed.
But not, for quite a while, to sleep.
It had been one of the best days of her life. She felt different, fundamentally. Not as if she were a different person, but as if ... as if an empty space somewhere inside her, a small compartment hidden behind the back wall of one of her mental closets, had been filled up.
The last little bit of need in her, finally met.
She was quite sore, but in ways she didn’t want relief from. Each twinge carried a beautiful memory.
She also felt completely rested and brim-full of energy.
Abigail was a habitual early riser, but Mel had told her that, left to his own devices, he could sleep to noon every day. So she eased his arm, weighed down with sleep, from her hip and slipped from the covers, careful to slide a pillow under his hand where her body had been. She slid her robe on, then tiptoed around the room, avoiding the loudest creaky spots in the floor, and collected a fresh set of clothes for the day. When she left, she pulled the door closed like a bomb might go off if the latch made a sound.
In the bathroom, she took care of her usual morning needs and got dressed. Mitch and Bogie stood outside the door, pushing against it occasionally and letting out a soft whine of confusion here and there. She didn’t usually close the bathroom door; there wasn’t usually another human in the house.
This was a home of routines, and the past day had broken most of them apart. The dogs didn’t know what to make of it all.
After she brushed her teeth, Abigail began to put her hair up, but she stopped with her hands on her head, ready to make the ponytail that got the whole thing started. Letting the hair fall back to her shoulders, she studied herself in the mirror above the sink.
It might well have been years since she’d last looked at herself so carefully. Even when she put her hair up, or on those few occasions she wore a little makeup, she didn’t really look at herself. She focused on the part she was working on, and barely gave the whole a glance.
