Page 69 of False Start
She presses her forehead to mine, her body enveloping me in the little corner of the booth as she forgoes any sort of shame or decency. Neither of us have looked away fromeach other, the scrunch of her eyebrows mirroring the angry expression she used to dish my way that I now see clearly as focus.
Fucking me fast and curling her fingers into a hook that hits my g-spot, she destroys me. Every pull is shallow, barely moving out of me, moving only deeper and further to stroke that spot that has me squirming and biting my tongue to stay silent in the booth.
Her thumb presses against my clit just as she asks, “Can you come for me wherever I want, princess?”
My jaw goes slack, and I rest my head back against the booth.
My body tightens with the urge of the release, my nails digging into her arm, and soon, I’m shaking under her, fighting to keep my breathing silent and my whines contained with every quake of a climax that refuses to dim. I open my eyes, a pleased look on Harvey’s face as she wets her bottom lip with her tongue, pulling her hand from my shorts and leaning back against the booth regularly again.
I can barely catch my breath, but once my thoughts are no longer muddled by the loud beating of my own pulse, I’m able to look around and see that the customers seem to be none the wiser.
Harvey casually runs her tongue along the back of both fingers that had just been inside of me before shoving them in her mouth. Pulling them out with a loud pop, she then wraps her arm over my shoulder and pulls me in. My chest is still rising and falling hard, and I’m still processing the comedown of it all.
Almost every moment with Cat is like that, like jumping off a bridge and still somehow getting caught before the splash. It almost sours the euphoria when my brain likens the feeling to a high. She’s beginning to feellike that, and it almost seems like she's trying to compete with the drugs for my attention.
I lean my head against her shoulder, and with her free hand, she brushes my hair out of my face. I’m sweaty, a mixture of the amped up heating system in this tiny diner and the blissful orgasm cocktail delivered straight to my brain.
She sips at her coffee slowly, and the minutes go by until it no longer feels like my own brain is too loud for my head. Then, the food comes.
It’s torture.
The pancakes overwhelm me, the sweet stench far too heavy for my empty stomach this early.
This late?
Thissober.
The agony starts when the sweet, gray-haired server drops the sausage and bacon in front of me. I take deep breaths through my mouth and fight through the nausea, but it’s too much to handle.
“Can you let me out?” I try to keep my cool, but she can see it on my face that I’m not okay.
I run to the bathroom just in time to get all my vomit in the right place. The cold sweat runs down my back, and I know soon is when hell begins. I need to be as far away from Harvey before that happens. I gag once more just from the memory of the greasy smell, but once it’s out, I feel a lot better.
Splashing some water on my face does nothing for me. I look exactly like I feel.
Withdrawing.
I walk back to the booth anyway, attempting to avoid her eyes, but I know she sees it on me. “Should we go?” Harvey asks, always so fuckingthoughtful.
I shake my head. She just ordered food; I can sit through this.
She gets up from the booth anyway, walking up to the checkout and talking to the hostess for a bit before she comes back my way, holding her keys out to me. “Do you want to sit in my car?”
Nodding, I take them from her and walk outside. I wrap my arms around myself once the chill of the wind hits me, but she’s parked close by. I don’t bother trying with the passenger side. I don’t want to fight with it tonight.
This morning.
Whatever the fuck time it is. I open the back seat and crawl inside. It’s somehow colder in the car. My teeth are chattering, I’m sweating my metaphorical balls off, and if I pull a mirror out, I bet my complexion would be reminiscent of a Victorian child suffering from plague.
I cry out in frustration, uncomfortable in this fucking prison cell of a body and desperate for release, desperate to be free from it.
I hate most that she’s going to see me like this.
Once she gets in the car, I hand her the keys,biting my cheek and curling into a ball until we’ve arrived back at her apartment. The drive is moments between discomfort disguised as blinks. She wants to draw me a bath, sees how visibly sweaty I am, and I’m sure I don’t smell amazing.
The thought of sitting in hot water makes me want to peel my skin off.
“Just turn the shower on for me?” I ask, no longer having the strength to pretend like I’m okay. She’s already done all the work of getting me undressed and putting my hair up.
