Page 120 of Mario
I walk back into the bedroom.
She is exactly as I left her, sprawled on her stomach, her face turned towards the empty space I just vacated. Her dark hair is fanned across the white pillowcase, a striking, beautiful contrast. The sheet is pooled around her waist, leaving her back exposed.
I pause for a moment, just looking at her.
The smooth, elegant line of her spine. The gentle curve of her hips. That full ass I filled my hands with as I thrusted into her over and over.
My cock twitches again. I ignore it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with my weight. She stirs, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she doesn't wake.
I gently, carefully, begin to wipe her clean.
She is still slick with the messy evidence of our fucking. As I clean her, my touch is light, almost reverent.
No one would call me a gentle man.
I am demanding, aggressive, and possessive. I take what I want, when I want it.
But here, in the darkness of her bedroom, I feel a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.
A need to care for her.
It’s an unsettling feeling.
It is the kind of feeling that leads to attachments. The kind of feeling that can be used against you.
The kind of feeling that can get you killed.
The kind of feeling that can get her killed...
I push the thought aside.
No, not here. Not now.
Determined, I finish my task. She is clean now, her skin smooth and warm beneath my touch.
I toss the washcloth on the floor, turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I slide back under the covers, pulling her into my arms.
As if on instinct, she snuggles closer, her head finding its place in the crook of my shoulder, her arm draping over my waist.
Her breath is a soft, warm puff against my skin.
And for the first time in a very long time, I feel a sense of... peace.
A quiet stillness that settles in my chest, a calm that I haven't felt for... about a decade. Not since before.
A dark, unwelcome memory tries to surface. A flash of red and blue lights, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the sound of a woman's scream...
No.
I shut it down, locking it away in the deep, dark corner of my mind where I keep all the things I refuse to feel.
I focus on the present.
On the woman in my arms.
On the steady rhythm of her breathing.
