Still hungry for me, desiring me.
He climbs on top and thrusts into me, my bloodlubricating us as he slides fully out and then back in, stretching my pussy which is still throbbing from my orgasm.
He’s tender as he grinds into me, his eyes locked on me. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, bringing his lips to mine.
“Even now?” I ask, my eyes half-closed as I take in the sensations coursing through my body, tasting myself on him, slightly metallic.
“Especially now.” He thrusts faster, as if energized by my words, and I moan at the way his cock fills me, rubbing against me in a way that makes every nerve ending respond with a twitch.
Then his body tenses, and he erupts in an orgasm. He grunts as he comes inside me, the pressure of his cum spurting against my walls.
“I wanted you so fucking bad,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
“That was just perfect,” I reply.
And as we lie tangled once again in each others arms, our breath regulating, I realize I’ve found something I’ve never dared dream of.
Later, I’m feeling a hell of a lot better. Maybe even a bit sassy. I don’t know if it was the orgasm, or if my period is just running its course, but I’m almost a different woman.
For me, at this point, it means the pain is a five or six out of ten rather than a fifteen. But in relative terms, I’ll still take it.
And then Soren decides to really grind my gears. “Now that you’re feeling better, I want to talk about what you wore to Pilates the other day. That you then wore to go down to the store on the corner.”
I squint at him. “What the fuck?” I ask. “What are you even talking about?”
“It was impractical,” he frowns. “I don’t like the way it inhibitedyour movements. You need to wear something different next time.”
I rack my brain, trying to recall what I was even wearing. “The purple outfit? Is that the one you mean?”
“Yes, the purple with the teal details.”
Oddly specific, but okay.
“You are worried that it… ‘inhibited my movements’?”
He nods. “Well, that and the three guys that ogled you when you walked to the corner store and back.”
“Why are you even thinking about that?!” The fact he’s gone from tender care about my pain to criticizing my choice of athleisure has me so off kilter I don’t know which way is up.
My pain level may be improving, but I’m still as cranky as hell.
“They’re lucky I didn’t poke their eyes out, skewer them clean from their body and force them to eat them,” he says. “But this all could have been avoided if you chose a more appropriate outfit or just stayed home.”
I lose it then. Completely lose it.
It must be the combination of the ibuprofen which always makes me feel a little loopy in high quantities, mixed with fatigue from the pain and the general aches that run through my bones. Plus the ludicrous audacity of what he just said.
Policing my outfits. Telling me I should stay captive in his apartment and not walk to the store to buy a fucking kombucha after a workout.
Not to mention blaming random men’s actions on a woman’s choice of what to wear.
It’s that last part that’s the last fucking straw for me.
“I don’t understand you, Soren!” I yell, furious. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m all for spontaneity, but you’re fucking confusing. One moment you’re—what—buying me heating pads and weird little machines for my cramps, eating my pussy even though it’s dripping with blood. And the next minute you act like you might kill me and any man who dares look at me when I walkpast to go to the fucking store? I never know what version of you I’m going to get!”
The realization rings true as the words exit my mouth.
I do truly never know with Soren—is he going to be the volatile, intense psycho who controls everything I do, who wants to consume all of me? Or the tender guy who looks at me with a softness in his eyes that tugs at my heart—who pre-empts every need I might ever have, long before I have it. Who researches fucking period pain, for god’s sake.