Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Elizabeth

I guess I'm a pretty fucking stupid person because it's just as his cock slides into my pussy that I stop to think about what I've done.

That's a bad way to put it.

I do think about what I've done but I don't stop. I most definitely do not stop.

My orgasm rages dramatically, and I wrap my legs around him. I force myself to stop screaming and throw the pillow to the side so I can take hold of Preston's head, pull him down to me, and kiss him. The point is that I don't stop to think. I keep doing it to keep from thinking.

But I think.

I think about how I've very likely ruined a friendship. Or, at the least, I've added a level of awkwardness to the friendship that isn't ever going to go away. There's no going back. That's what Preston said, and he's right.But the kiss is perfect and beautiful, and it makes me think that the awkward and hollow thing is the friendship without the romance.

But it's easy to think that when I've ruined it and there's no choice but to accept whatever there is now, right?

And then, I realize that I taste myself. I taste my pussy on Preston's lips and tongue because of where his lips and tongue have just been.

All I can say is this: When I taste myself, all thoughts about the consequences of this situation disappear. If this is stupid, so be it. If this is something I'm absolutely going to regret, so be it. Nothing matters right now except the moment.

The perfect, purely sexual moment.

No. Not true. It's not purely sexual.

There's a whole lot more to it. There's a ton of emotion. I don't know that I ever really considered before the difference between making love and fucking . I guess I always thought of it as a kind of bullshit sort of thing, as a silly distinction made by women with an overactive sense of melodramatic idiocy.

Well, I owe all women with an overactive sense of melodramatic idiocy a big apology.

What's happening with Preston right now goes well beyond anything I could describe just as fucking . I mean, frat boys fuck sorority sisters at parties just for the orgasms, right? This is so much more than that sort of thing.

I don't want to belabor the point but I think I can illustrate it for you. I watched an old movie once. I was sitting for Preston, and Joel was asleep. It was a late-night movie on cable. I guess in the late eighties and early nineties, there was a pretty big market in soft porn romance movies. I don't know. Preston and I still have cable. Bundled with internet so I guess I watch more late-night crap than most people. Anyway, I would have just flipped to the next channel but the scene was interesting.

There is a woman leaning against the wall of a bar watching the patrons. She's holding a drink and a guy walks up to her and says, "You came to this bar to get fucked." Well, that's an interesting thing, right? It's back before saying something so overt got you views on a video tube.

The camera makes it clear that the woman is wearing a wedding ring. The guy points out that he can tell she's here to get fucked. She doesn't protest that she's married. She just looks down toward her hand.

And here's the crazy thing he says that sticks with me. The guy says, "Yeah, you're married and you make love to your husband."

Uh, I'm not going to get the exact words right but you'll get the point here. "You're married and when your husband makes you cum, you're cumming minivans and picket fences. You're cumming summer vacation with the kids. You're cumming twenty-fifth anniversaries and PTA meetings."

Then, the guy says, "But you're not here for that. You're here to get fucked, and you're here because you want a man to reach inside of you and rip an orgasm out of you. You want to cum because a man tells you to, because a man demands it of you." I gotta admit that would probably get me in the sack.

If I manage to keep from laughing uproariously.

"You don't want to cum houses and kids and paper bag lunches tonight. You want to cum with your pussy because a man has his cock inside of it. That's what you want tonight."

Okay, it's a hokey, soft porn moment. I get that. But at one or two in the morning, it's pretty impactful, you know.

But I think about it right now because I'm doing both. Preston has fucked me so thoroughly that he's definitely reached inside of me and ripped the damned orgasm out of me with no real choice on my part but to have it. I can't deny that at all. I have no choice but to cum and to cum desperately hard.

But I'm also cumming houses and kids and paper bag lunches and picket fences and minivans and twenty-fifth anniversary parties and PTA meetings and all of that, too.I'm cumming picnics and backyard barbecues.

We're making love.

Call me a silly, melodramatic fool if you want but we're making love.

His mouth pulls away and he stares down at me with a damned… well, I can't describe it. I look up and can't believe this is Preston I'm with. He stares down at me and his gaze is blurred with lust, but it's also something more, and it's that something more, something deeper that makes this whole thing, well, deeper.

Of course, that doesn't mean that my body isn't feeling pretty out of control and wildly wonderful. As Preston increases his speed, I feel my orgasm picking up steam again. I think about grabbing the pillow. Instead, I move with him and grip the sides of the bed with one hand and the headboard with the other so I can have more leverage to lift my hips and meet each of his thrusts.

I'll just need to focus on not screaming.

I start repeating that in my head, sort of. I start screaming inside my mind what I might scream in reality. I start a mantra in my head with each thrust. Give me more, give me more. Okay, so I would never scream it like that. Then, as he starts to thrust faster and deeper, I lose my inside voice and go completely for the outside scream. "Oh fuck, yes, Preston! More! Give me more!"

I only get out, "Oh, Fuck!" before my face is covered with the pillow. He doesn't do that. I do. If I'm so quick to grab the pillow, that means we're meant to be together, right? I mean, it shows that I'm naturally able to handle keeping his son asleep right?

Yeah, that's a stretch. Any sexually active teenage girl who doesn't want her parents to hear her knows how to do what I just did.

Sorry.

The important thing, though, is that even if I cover up my scream, Preston gets the hint. He puts a hand beneath my ass and lifts me to him. I reach up and pull him down to me. We press closely to each other and then, he rolls us so I'm on top. He's covered by the pillow so I snatch it up and throw it away from us. His hands grip my hips and I sit up and start to rock my body on top of him.

Then, he pulls me down hard as he thrusts up into me and I feel his cock throb as his body shakes. He tries to keep hold of me, so his fingers dig into me, but I hardly notice as my own orgasm crashes over me again. Every bit of me becomes hypersensitive as this second wave of pleasure makes me bite my lip to keep from yelling.

I move like crazy.

Like… what's that thing people always say? Possessed. That's it. I move like a woman possessed. I move like crazy and I have my lips pressed so tightly together to keep from making noise. I can't help but let out a long, buzzing sort of whine while we stare at each other.

I don't slow down or anything. I just stop. I mean, it's like my body gives out and I just go limp, falling over his body. I just stop altogether. Well, the part of me I can control does, anyway. I can feel my pussy clenching and unclenching repeatedly. I don't know how long it lasts but I know I want to scream and moan more than I can ever recall before.

I think Preston resists his need to make noise with matched intensity as we let our climaxes or the aftereffects run through our bodies without waking Joel. In some ways, it's that tremulously held silence that makes things a thousand times more incredible than they might otherwise be.

My whole body rises and falls with his ragged breathing. It's strangely romantic and I come back to the idea of making love versus fucking in my mind. Does one have to exclude the other?

As I rest my head on his shoulder and settle my body against his, I drift away thinking I know the answer.

No. They are not exclusive of each other. Not when you're with the right person.

And I think, in this instance, I'm definitely with the right person. I'm with the one person who can make me feel loved and cared for, the person who can always make me feel safe.

But I'm also with the one person who can fuck me so hard I can barely see straight.

Really, I don't know if there needs to be one or the other. I'm feeling incredibly lucky to have had both just now.

And I'm working very, very hard to ignore the real possibility that tomorrow I'll have neither. To be honest, I'm terrified I'll wake up in the morning alone in this bed.