Athena

33. You're Just Right For Me

Around 11 pm, after the lights go out in the master bedroom, my door begins to open on its own. A faint crack of light from the hallway seeps into the room. As I lay in bed, my eyes are riveted on the familiar figure that appears in my doorway. 

Tall. 

Masculine. 

It's Cruz, of course. 

The door clicks shut behind him. It's followed by the even softer click of the lock. These nightly visits of his are fast becoming our norm. From the shadows, Cruz walks towards me. His footsteps are quiet on the hardwood. I scoot over on the mattress to give him some room. He climbs in beside me, immediately drawing my smaller body against his larger frame. We lay there together in tense silence for a few minutes.

There's so much to discuss. So much to address. It's fucking stressful. It's fucking fucked up. My mind feels like it's about to crash. I need a breather, a moment to rest, to escape reality, and I think Cruz needs it as well.

For these few, fleeting minutes, we simply say nothing. I'm the little spoon. He's the big spoon. That's it. Nothing more. We try to find comfort in each other, and, yet, it feels impossible to breathe, to rest, or to escape.

I wish I could shut down my brain as easily as Ron can turn off his rage.

I wish Cruz's body didn't feel so tense and restless behind me.

I wish stress wasn't radiating from our very core.

It's not easy to breathe or forget or escape when life tightens around your neck like a noose. All of the pent up emotional and sexual and mental strain within us needs to be unwound, somehow.

It needs... release.

Cruz's hands begin to wander up and down my waist, caressing me everywhere. My hips. My back. My stomach. I shuffle closer to him, tucking my bum into his crotch. Cruz lets out a needy grunt as he presses himself against me, rubbing, grinding, a few times before growing hard as steel.

Soon, he flips me around to face him. His arm wraps around my shoulders as he leans over to kiss me. His teeth gently tug on my lower lip. His tongue slides in to tease mine. I sigh with relief, with delight, and kiss him back with everything I've got.

This is helping me breathe, forget, escape.

His fingers trail over my belly, ghosting up to my chest. I'm not wearing a bra again. His palm hovers over my boobs. Not quite touching. His head lifts away from my mouth then. I take in a much needed breath and stare at him in the dark. Wide-eyed and wanting. He looks back at me with tenderness and desire. Heat darkens his gaze to a pure black color.

There's a question in his eyes: May I?

I nod, smiling shyly, knowing that he wants to touch me.

Cruz's hand brushes against my breast, lightly, somewhat cautiously, at first, as though he doesn't want to hurt me, then, with more confidence, massaging the rounded swells and using his palm and fingers to circle my nipples over the barrier of my tank top. My nipples harden at his touch. Pleasure flows through me.

At the same time, my hand drifts down to the hardness between his thighs. Before I can ask for permission, his other hand clasps my wrist and guides it to his cock.

"Please," Cruz pleads softly.

He doesn't need to ask twice. I start fondling him over his joggers. Tugging and twisting his shaft lightly. Gliding my fingers up and down the underside of his length. The sweats mold perfectly to the shape of his thickness and hardness, and soon a small wet spot stains the fabric near the tip of his hardon.