Coming Home

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*Author’s Note: After a painful break-up with my long term boyfriend a few months ago, I’ve been particularly frustrated that there are so many things I can’t tell him–that I’ll never get to share with him. But “knowing” it’s over doesn’t change anything. So this is for JWDS


We broke up months ago.

It hasn’t gotten any easier on me. It should have by now, or so I’m told. But it hasn’t.

Every time the phone rings, I hope to hear your voice. Every time I step foot outside my building, I expect to see you standing out there, waiting for me. I leave the curtains open at night, pretending you’re out there watching me.

I’m coming home from work late one evening. My roommate isn’t home so I’m looking forward to another night alone. Another night missing you.

My key slides into the security lock at the lobby door. It doesn’t turn. It’s late, I’m tired. I try again, but it won’t budge. Just as I’m about to swear in frustration, the young guy from the floor above me opens the door on his way out. With a smile, he lets me inside. I smile back, weakly. I feel ugly. Repulsive. I’ve lost a couple dress sizes in the months since we split up–I was unable to eat after that time I dropped by, while you were at work, a week after you asked me to leave. That night I saw her nightgown on my side of the bed. So I’m skinnier now. Doesn’t make me feel any prettier. Doesn’t mean you notice me.

I think my neighbour may want to talk to me. I avoid his eyes and keep walking. I wish, sometimes, that I was more like her. Like your new girlfriend. That I could fuck random men and pursue other people’s lovers. Maybe then you’d want me again; apparently everyone likes a skank.

I go through the second set of doors. The hallway beyond it leads to my apartment.

My eyes are focused on the house keys in my hand. It’s strange–they don’t look like my keys. It’s been almost five months, but I can’t get used to this new “home.” Not when you’re my home. I look at the keys and I expect to see my old ones. The ones that opened our front door, before you changed the locks.

Tears burn in my eyes. I take a deep breath and will them back. Nope, still not any easier.

Halfway down the hall, I glance up at last.

You’re there. Just…there. Standing at my door. Waiting for me.

I blink a few times; it doesn’t seem real. You. There. That’s not something you would do–not ever. We spent years together, and it was always me who made the first move. I kissed you first. I touched you first. I wanted to make love first. I wanted to live together. You’d never pursue me–never risk yourself. That isn’t you; you wait for things to come to you.

But here you are. At my door. Your eyes lock with mine. So intense. So blue. God, I’ve missed just looking at you.

I don’t know who let you in the security door. I don’t know how long you’ve been there. I don’t know why you showed up and I’m scared of what this will turn into. A shouting match? Me crying again and you storming off?

As surprised as I am, my step doesn’t slow until I reach you. The house key is clutched so tightly in my hand that the metal digs into my flesh. It almost feels as though I’m bleeding.

I take a deep breath. “Why are you–“

You reach for me. That alone is unexpected–in the final weeks before I moved out, just after our break-up, I had to beg you to touch me. But now your fingers slide around the back of my head, you draw me forward, and kiss me. And this isn’t a typical kiss from you. Your lips push mine open, your tongue is in my mouth in moments. It’s ravenous. It’s rough. Your clipped beard is chaffing my chin, and it occurs to me how much I missed that feeling.

My back hits the door. You’re crushing me and I love it. I breathe in deeply; you smell like…you. That mix of soap and men’s deodorant. Your hand catches a fistful of my hair and it tugs on my scalp. I love that too and I think my panties are already soaked.

I don’t say anything as I break away. You don’t say anything either; you just wait while I unlock the door, and then follow me inside.

The door slams shut. Your mouth is on mine in seconds. The keys hit the floor and I don’t give them another thought. I wrap my arms around your neck and clasp your t-shirt, digging my nails into the cloth.

You’re real. You’re actually, physically there.

You shed your jacket. I slip off mine. You return to pushing me against the door, hands roaming over my body. I shiver as your lips trail my throat, licking and sucking the flesh. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but my own touch, and now this. The ataköy masöz escort rush, the heat, the dizziness…it’s like a welcomed hit after months of sobriety. You. My lover, my addiction.

Your hands run up my sides and around to my breasts, and you lean heavily into me. You’re hard–incredibly so. As your hips grind forward, I lift my own to meet them. I groan against your lips. It’s been too long.

My shirt is pushed up, over my tits. One hand scoops my breast out of the bra and you squeeze and maul me. My nipples harden under your touch and I shudder as your thumb flicks over the brown bud.

Strong fingers grasp my wrists suddenly and yank them from your neck. I open my eyes as you break our kiss. Fear tightens my throat as you squeeze my arms and I wait, breathless, to see what you’ll do next.

You drag my arms upward and pin them to the door above my head. Your grip is forceful. Fierce. I fight you, trying to wrench my arms free, but I hope you won’t let go. And you don’t–you squeeze them harder until I give up. You grasp both wrists in one hand and hold them there, pressed firmly against the wood, while your other one travels over my body, between us.

It’s like you read my mind. All those years, and never this. Always gentle. Always thoughtful. Always nice. Me, too scared to tell you what I wanted–too scared to face what you might think of me. Too scared that you’d reject me for not wanting gentle, not wanting thoughtful. Not wanting nice.

I meet your eyes. You stare at me, into me–through me. You know.

My eyes roll back and I gasp as I feel your fingers move over my bare stomach. They pause only briefly at my jeans to tug loose the button and drag down the zipper. Fuck, I need you to touch me. Your hand slides over my panties and down, pushing the fabric into my damp heat.

Lips part and I breathe out deeply, half sigh, half whimper. Your fingers move over my cunt, drawing faint circles and pressing down every few seconds to massage my clit. Your body is inches from mine now, leaving me exposed to the cool air of the apartment. I arch my back, thrusting my tits outward.

“Open your eyes,” you say in a low voice. “Look at me.”

You never talked when we made love. Not ever. God, how I wanted you to.

“Watch me,” you continue when I don’t follow your instructions.

I open my eyes. You’re studying my face as I’m panting, reading me. A faint smile plays on your lips as you as you push my underwear aside and thrust your fingers against my bare flesh. I’m so wet–I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet in my life.

My gaze moves down my body, looking between us, watching your fingers buried between my legs. My arms ache and I struggle to move them, but you hold me there. Firm. I’m rolling my hips forward, grinding against you. It seems so lewd, but I can’t help it. Being held there–pinned against a door. Finger fucked. Watched. It’s too much.

First one, then two fingers slid into my hole, and they pump in and out. Your thumb moves to my clit, rubbing in circles, and it’s almost like sensory overload–I swear I see stars.

“Does that feel good?” you whisper.

I meet your eyes and barely manage a, “Fuck yeah.”

“I want you to come.”

For the first time post break-up, we actually seem to be in agreement.

I’m shamelessly humping your hand. Your fingers move faster. I feel the heat building; my body is trembling in anticipation, my breathing is irregular. I glance down again to see your hand working down there, to see my one tit hanging out of my bra and my shirt pushed up. I’m trapped there, between you and the door. You push harder on my wrists. I meet your eyes again.

Your whisper is like a command this time. “Come for me.” You push your fingers in and out while you work my clit.

I can’t catch my breath. I can’t breathe at all–my mouth is wide open and the only thing I’m focused on is the orgasm building between my legs. I shudder. I groan. I think my knees might give out–everything’s aching, but I don’t care. I’m so close that I’m delirious at this point–I’m muttering something, I’m crying out, I’m not even aware of what I’m saying. Your head leans closer, eyes focused on me, lips set in a straight line of concentration. I can’t look away, can’t close my eyes–I can’t do anything but cry out and shudder as I come. My legs shake, my fingers ball into fists, and I feel the orgasm straight to my toes. Wave after wave of pleasure flows over me. I collapse against you. You hold me there, taking it all until the slightest touch on my clit makes ataköy otele gelen escort me shake.

My arms feel like rubber as you release my wrists and they drop to my sides. One hand moves to my face, pushing sweat-soaked hair from my brow. I swear you can hear my heart thudding in my chest, and I still can’t catch my breath.

I’m only vaguely aware of your movements now. I feel cold air touch my legs as you strip my pants down. My shoes are lost at some point as well. My panties remain, but not for long as you stand once more, grasp the cotton crotch, and tear them from my body. The sound of fabric ripping tears through me, and I shiver from fresh arousal. You meet my eyes and kiss me again. I try to get my hands between us, to unzip your pants, but I find you already there. Your jeans slid down, and a moment later you’re raising one of my legs and throwing my knee over your forearm, angling my hips where you want them.

One hard thrust and you’re inside me, balls deep. God it hurts. It’s wonderful. You groan against my lips and hold your cock there, buried deep in my cunt. Feeling it. Savouring it.

For the first time that night–in months, in fact–I feel some small measure of my power. I smile. “I bet I’m tighter than her.”

“Fuck yeah,” you whisper. You pull out only to pump into me again, driving my one foot still planted on the floor onto its toes.

I brace a hand against the wall to steady me while I grasp your neck with the other. My bare nipple drags against your t-shirt as you fuck me hard.

“Tell me you want me,” I say. I need to hear it.

“I want you.”

“Tell me you missed me.”

“God…” You groan against my lips. “I missed you.”

I feel like you’re tearing my cunt apart–splitting me in two. It’s been months since I’ve had a anything in me. I’m moaning, I’m crying, I’m lost once again.

I’ve lain in bed every night for months now touching myself, thinking about this. I wonder if you did too. I wonder if you thought of me while fucking her, or while jerking off in the shower. I wonder how often, even before we broke up, you thought of this–of holding me down and savagely fucking me.

In the public hallway beyond the apartment, I hear a door close and footsteps sound on the carpet. Your hand moves over my face, fingers clasping my mouth shut, but still you ream me brutally. I hold my breath, hold my cries, as the footsteps pass the door. Someone that close could hear us, if they were listening. But you don’t stop. I’d be pissed off if you did. This turns me on–knowing we could be heard. Knowing rumours would swirl around the building.

I meet your eyes. You double up your efforts and thrust into me faster. You hand is still over my mouth and you put more pressure on it, keeping my head pinned to the door. It terrifies me, being held there. Being dominated. And I’ve never felt so hot in my entire life.

The hand over my mouth moves away from my lips and to the back of my neck. You yank my head to you and kiss me hard, bruising my lips.

“I want you from behind,” you say as you release my leg.

I nod my consent. We never did that often, but god, it felt good when we did. Legs unsteady still, I move past you toward the spare cast-iron daybed where I sleep. The apartment is small, cramped. I miss our old bed. For a moment I wish we were there again, fucking in luxury on that king size mattress you spent two grand on. But then I get a flash of her nightgown on my side of it and I feel sick to my stomach again. Just like that, the arousal is gone. I want to cry. I want to die. I want things to be the way they used to be.

Your arms go around me from behind. I feel your body against my back, your hard cock sliding between the cheeks of my bare ass. Fingers grasp the bottom of my shirt and drag it upward, over my arms and my head, and you cast it aside. My bra goes next.

I still don’t feel into it. I’m still hurt. God, I never thought it could hurt this much.

And then your hands slide over my tits. You squeeze them, knead them, tweaking my nipples. The contact leaves me gasping, shuddering, and aching to feel you back inside me. I lean back into you and close my eyes.

“I want you,” you repeat.

And I don’t care where her nightgown is. I don’t care where she is. I don’t care what you’ve done or whether or not you leave me after you come and never return. I want to feel this. I want this one more time.

You guide me forward until my knees bump the edge of the bed. I crawl forward onto the bed, my ass in the air. Your hand moves ataköy rus escort to my hip. I glance over my shoulder to see your other one on your cock, directing it to my hot, wet opening. Your eyes are fixed on my cunt as you push forward. I start to watch your eyes roll back in your head, but then I feel it in me, stretching me, and I close my eyes as well. I grip the back of the daybed and hold on as you start pumping into me. My heavy tits swing back and forth from the force.

You grab my hips, fingers splayed and digging into my flesh. I feel your balls slapping my sensitive clit as you slam into me and I groan with every bit of contact. My grip tightens on the bed.

Solid flesh comes into contact with my back as I feel you lean over me. You reach around and grab one breast, while your other hand rakes through my hair.

“Fuck me harder,” I whisper. “Faster.”

There are no complaints from you as you pick up the pace. I feel your hot, moist breath on my ear, panting and grunting. Your thrusts become irregular now and your breathing all but stops. You’re close. I don’t want it to end.

“Wait,” I say. I look over my shoulder again and meet your eyes. “I want you to finish facing me.”

Once again, you don’t argue; you stop suddenly, pulling away from me. I feel your hands on my body again and you flip me over, pushing me down onto my back. I can’t take my eyes off of your sweat-soaked flesh. Here you are, still the same. I know every freckle, every scar, every hair.

You fall atop of me and thrust into my cunt in one swift movement. Taking my wrists in your hands once more, you pin my arms above my head. I wrap my legs around you and raise my hips to meet yours. You fuck me with long strokes, sliding in and out, moving in deep then pulling out again ’til only the tip remains. This isn’t fucking to get you off yet–this is fucking for the feel of it. This is prolonging it, enjoying it.

Releasing my wrists, you sit up and raise my legs so my knees are slung over your shoulders. Your head rolls back and you groan. You like this angle. God, so do I. I’m bucking my hips to meet yours.

You reach down to grasp my tit, tugging my nipple until I can’t tell if I feel pleasure or pain.

“Play with yourself,” you say as you look down at me.

You’ve asked me to masturbate in front of you before, and I never would. I was embarrassed. Still am, at the thought.

“Play with yourself,” you say again, more forceful this time when I don’t respond.

I like that you’re not asking anymore. You’re commanding. You’re taking.

I reach down and cup my mound. God, I’m soaking wet. I slide my finger over my clit, thrumming that sensitive little bud. My face heats up with embarrassment–part of me can’t believe I’m doing this. Your gaze is fixed on where my hand is working, so I play it up for you. I get right into it. My other hand grabs my breast, rolling the flesh around. I think of how many times I’ve laid on this bed touching myself, dreaming you were here with me. I feel orgasm closing in fast and I’m bucking my hips under you, rubbing my clit, getting closer and closer…

I cry out as I come again. My cunt spasms around your cock. Your body collides with mine as I recover, pounding me faster and harder.

I promised myself I wouldn’t act stupid around you anymore–I swore I’d stop seeming so desperate. But I can’t help it. I open my mouth and the words are coming out before I can stop them.

“Tell me you still love me,” I whisper.

Your eyes are closed, but mine lock on yours anyway. Waiting. And then you look at me and the words leave your lips.

“I love you.”

Hearing that feels even better than either of my orgasms moments ago and I can’t help it–I continue.

“Tell me you want me to come home.”

You confirm my worst fears by not answering. Later, I know I’ll cry. I’ll hate myself for even asking. I’ll play over and over again in my head all the things I should have done differently so that we wouldn’t have reached this point…

But for now, I savour it. For this moment, it doesn’t matter what happens. You’re moving in me, panting hard, and I feel you jerk suddenly and cry out. You pump into me three more times, jets of heat shooting inside me.

Soaked in sweat, you drop down on top of me. My arms go around and I kiss your brow, then close my eyes. I don’t want this feeling to ever go away.

All too soon, you seem to catch your breath and shift in my arms. I expect you to get up and leave, but instead you move to my side and drape an arm over me. Your fingers travel up and down my side. I shiver.

“I want you to come home.”

My lip trembles and I feel tears in my eyes. I still don’t open them. “We have a lot to talk about,” I say softly.

I feel your head next to mine move as you nod. “I know.”

I turn so I’m facing you and hug you tightly. You hug me back and I know the truth…

I already am home.

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