Page 49 of Bad Bunny
I push him onto his back and move over him. “It’s fine,” I tell him, my hands tracing each of his ribs, and he sucks in a breath. I hold myself over him, delicately, and then slide down, taking his shaft into me inch by slow aching inch.
“Nora.” Sorren hisses my name like it pains him, the intensity of this moment, and I feel it too. The minute he slips into me, the barrier between our minds weakens, shakes, shatters. So that now I feel him in my body but also in mysoul.
“Oh, my, I, don’t.” Words bubble out of me, meaningless because there’s no way to describe this sensation. This melding of us into one. His hands go to my hips. Sorren lifts me up and drops me back down and I can feel him in me, deliciously stretching and sliding, but I can also feel him around me.
No. Wait.
That’s me around him, but I can feel it too. How my walls close over his shaft, how they grasp him, squeeze tight, friction with each thrust. It’s like he described earlier—there’s no end and no beginning to us now. He’s me, and I’m him, and together we’re moving. We pump our hips, move toward each other. Collide. Retreat. Repeat. His hand is on my clit, rubbing and brushing. I stroke the soft skin at the base of his shaft, and he moans my name. I brace my hands on his chest to lift myself up and then slam down as hard and quick as I can. He matches the movement with sharp upward jerks of his hips.
The butterflies dance and spin, suspended in the air between us, and it builds. It burns. His mind shows me flashes of running through a field, long green grass. Wiggling into a burrow, the dirt soft and sun-warmed. There’s a ballroom with mirrors on the walls where rabbits hop between gowns studded with jewels. A band plays the most beautiful tune on instruments I’ve never seen before as dancers spin and dip.
This is his home. His world. His memories.
I give him mine back. My mom laughing on the couch while I dance in my PJs. My dad when he was alive, how he would light up when I walked into the room. The kids’ sticky hands when they hug me after recess.
We’re sharing our bodies and also our minds.
Merging to become something new.
Not two but one.
“Is it always like this?” I ask, struggling to open my eyes so I can see him.
“I don’t know,” Sorren says, pushing deeper into me. His eyes have gone feral; his lips pull back. Suddenly he pulls me off, flips me onto my stomach, and rams into my pussy from behind. I cry out because it felt amazing when I was on top of him, but this is beyond that. This is glorious, mind blowing. Sorren holds me with one hand wrapped around my chest and the other on my clit. He flicks his fingers and ruts into me wildly. He’s lost all control, and I revel in it. Meeting him with each thrust.
“I’m going—going to bite you,” he warns behind me, but I know it’s more than that.
It’s him asking for permission.
“Yes.” I slam back into him, my pulse spiking. I’m needy for it, his mouth on me. The animal in him to finally come out. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder. Not gentle. Not holding back. He rends into my flesh, and I shout in pleasure. So hard it strains my throat. He holds me to him with his bite as I come grinding and rolling beneath him, screaming his name. He still bites me as he comes too, with one last deep grunt, his legs scrambling for purchase on the hard floor so he can stay seated within me. I can feel him spasm hard as he comes.
We collapse together. Panting. A sweaty mess.
He releases my shoulder and seals his mark with a kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear as he shifts me into his arms, so that my head rests on his arm. “Did I hurt you?”
I do ache, a low throbbing, but it’s a good feeling. Satisfied.
“No, rabbit king.” I turn my head to kiss his cheek. “You didn’t hurt me.”
His mind retreats from mine, now that we aren’t joined. I can still feel him there, but it’s duller. Not merged into one like it was before.
“That was…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I can’t even describe what that was.”
“I could hear you. Feel you. In me. Around me,” he says.
I twist in his arms to better face him. His hair is tangled over his forehead. I brush it aside. “Me too.”
He searches my expression. “Did it scare you? To be so close? Here,” his hand brushing over my chest, where my heart is finally slowing down, then up to my forehead, “and here?”
I grab that hand, bring it to my lips so I can kiss the back of it, followed by his fingertips. I kiss each one, which makes him smile.
“No, I liked it.” I release his hand. “All my life I’ve felt just a little lonely. That was the first time I’ve ever felt complete.” I run my finger over his lips and sigh. “Maybe because I’ve been searching for you all along and I never knew it? Maybe I felt a little bit empty because you weren’t here to fill me up yet.”
“You were complete before me,” he says. “And you’ll be complete without me.” His voice goes rough. “No matter what happens tomorrow, you’re already perfect. Please know that.” A beat. “Promise me.”
I pause, surprised by his words. How he just phrased that, but then I remember how much danger we’re in and how it’ll all come to a head tomorrow. He’s trying to reassure me, I realize, in case it goes wrong.
