Page 102 of Strange Familiars
And then he’s moving. He’s moving in me, and he’s kissing me all over my cheeks, my jaw, my chin, the tip of my nose. I wrap my legsaround his waist and tilt my pelvis, meeting him stroke for stroke…inviting him to go even harder, even faster. He responds in kind, and with each thrust I cry out, because he’s nudging me higher and higher and closer to the precipice until suddenly…
He pulls out.
I gasp, bereft at the sudden emptiness. Is he…done? I can’t believe it would be over so quickly, and yet…
But he’s not done. He’s standing, his face flushed, his expression oddly furious, and he pulls me almostroughlyto him and then rasps in my ear. “Hands on the desk, Chan.”
“What?”
He spins me around. “Hands on the fucking desk.”
I hadn’t noticed the desk before; it’s much like Harrisford’s own desk, all sleek shiny wood and tasteful stationery and—oh god—he’s behind me again, lining himself up, positioning us in such a way that I’m forced to brace myself on the desk’s surface.
With a single movement, he buries himself inside me again, all the way, and as he begins to move he leans over, his chest nestled against my back. I let out a shivery moan from the sensation, and he grabs my chin and turns it to give me a frantic kiss, before letting my face go.
“All those times you said you were chained to the desk,” he says into my ear, his voice rough, “and all I could think about was holding you down and fucking you just like this.”
Still buried in me, he drops his hand and starts working at me between my legs. I cry out again; the pleasure is so intense, building so rapidly. Every nerve ending is on fire, my body singing with unleashed desire. He clamps a strong arm across my torso and tugs me against him so that our bodies are flush, my upper thighs sliding against the shiny wood of the table, his fingers rubbing as he starts thrusting faster. “Tell me when you’re close, Gwendolynne.”
“I—I’m close. I’m close.”
He flips me around and maneuvers me back to the bed, climbing over me and pinning both of my wrists down with one of his large, rough hands. He slides himself back into me, his thumb once again rubbing at my clit. “Come for me, Gwen. I want to see your face when you come.”
It only takes two more thrusts and then I’m falling apart, shuddering and boneless. “Harrisford!” His name explodes from my lips like a prayer. “Oh my god. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” My final curse morphs into a scream.
He speeds up, unrelenting, until he’s groaning my name into my ear and his movements have turned erratic and his hand tightens around my wrist almost hard enough to crush me.
But he doesn’t crush me. He goes motionless, so still, settling carefully against me so he doesn’t hurt me, his cock still buried deep inside. He presses a kiss against my lips, softly, like a salve for their bruising, and then another kiss right by my ear.
“Congratulations, darling Gwendolynne,” he says. “On finishing final year.”
43
Harrisford
In the half-light of the encroaching dawn, Gwendolynne’s skin glows.
She’s lying on her back, her face half-turned away from me. Our limbs are intertwined, my gaze tracing the gentle planes of her features. I can see the tiny baby hairs lining her cheeks—normally invisible but now silhouetted by the growing light.
My body stirs, reminiscing on last night. Remembering how I’d poured myself into her, both literally and figuratively, as she arched her back and cried out my name. How we’d taken a long shower together, and afterward—with the streetlights slanting through a gap in the curtain—she’d straddled me as I marveled at her, entirely under her thrall.
I’d worried, beforehand, that our physical chemistry would fall short of my (admittedly high) expectations. That things might just feel awkward and anticlimactic.
I’d been wrong.
Sex, it’s clear to me now, is just sex. It’s like candy floss, tasting sweet at the time but dissolving quickly, leaving only a faint trace of its presence on the tongue. Butsex with someone I truly care about—now that is something else altogether.
It wasn’t just the way Gwendolynne had clawed at my back, her legs wrapped around my torso, or how her body felt beneath mine as we both edged toward our climax. It’s the way that being with her gives me the sort of deep fulfillment that I haveneverpreviously experienced.
It hits me with sudden clarity: I only slept around because I was searching for something. And that something was her. It was always her.
I was just too much of an idiot to realize.
My strap buzzes, wrenching me from my musings. Holding my breath, I ease my arm from underneath her. She looks so peaceful, her breathing deep and even, and I know she’s probably exhausted. After all, we’ve just finished a grueling week of final exams, and last night we barely slept.
She murmurs and rolls over, away from me, and I take a moment to admire the view before checking who’s messaged me at such an ungodly hour.
It’s Danny.Strange, I think. He’s usually not up this early, especially not after a party. Perhaps he went hard all night and never went to bed at all.
