I pull in a deep breath because just his words are enough to send convulsions of pleasure through my body.
I nod, unsure if I’ll actually be able to stop myself. He pulls out and I exhale.
“Relax your body,” he says. “It will be so much more intense when you do come.”
I don’t think I can take more intensity. Being with Fisher is already the most intense sex I’ve ever had. I’m not sure I can survive more.
I do my best to unlock my shoulders and release my tightened muscles, and then he slams into me and it pushes the breath from my lungs and my orgasm flicks her tail like she’s lying in wait, ready to be unleashed.
“Fisher!” I cry.
“Don’t you dare come,” he says, slamming into me again. He pushes so hard, I almost lose my grip. He pulls me up, his arm around my waist. My muscles are weak now. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hang on.
“I’m going to make you come so hard, you’re never going to forget it.”
For a fleeting second, I wonder if he’s trying to fuck me so I don’t forgethim. He doesn’t realize that I could never forget him.
“Now come,” he says, and his fingers find my clit. It’s like he’s pressed a release button and I’m exploding around him. My body quivers as he holds me, still fucking me relentlessly and without mercy. My orgasm stretches on and on and on, and it’s like roses are blooming over and over in my body. As I float back down, Fisher’s arms are around me and he’s fucking me still. It’s like he thinks I might disappear if he stops.
My entire body is limp and lifeless, and finally he explodes behind me, calling my name. He pulls me back onto his lap and I tip my head back so it’s resting on his shoulder.
His chest is heaving. My stomach is still rippling. I’m raw and exhausted and happy.
Fisher’s made sure I will never forget him.
TWENTY-SIX
Fisher
Vivian’s already at her usual table when I arrive to meet her for breakfast. I check my watch. I’m ten minutes earlier than our agreed time. She’s not usually late. But she’s not usually early, either. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up. Something’s wrong.
“Hey,” I say, sliding into the chair opposite her.
“Hi, Fisher.” She looks a little surprised to see me.
“Were you not expecting me?”
She shrugs. “Of course.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah. Rough night with the little one. And… you know, I think we’re coming to the end of the album. Things will shift again.”
The end of the album. That’s a good thing for Right Records. But it means I’ll have no reason to be in Colorado.
“It’s sounding spectacular.”
Finally, she smiles. “Yeah, I’m really happy with it. I really worried about recording after the baby. You change inso many ways after a child. I thought maybe I’d be so focused on motherhood that I wouldn’t be able to be a musician anymore.”
“You’ve proved yourself wrong.”
She nods. “Yeah, I think I have. I really want to finish off ‘Dear Husband’ today. We’re so close. There’s something missing though. You want to come into the studio? You’ve already earned a producer credit on this album. You may as well.”
She didn’t have to mention the producer credit, but I appreciate it. I’ve enjoyed working with her. “It would be a pleasure. I’ve really loved this time in the studio.”
“I thought I’d better put you to work, seeing as you insisted on coming out to babysit me.”
“Not babysit,” I say. “Just to make sure you’re happy. And anyway, I’ve enjoyed it. The break from New York has been…”