E i g h t-2

"Well, you should have had me sign the contract then I suppose..." To punish her, I angle my hips up whilst moving my hands to grip her hips to push myself deeper. "Oh god, Christian." She gasps, her eyes widening. I rock her deeper onto me. It multiplies my own pleasure and she moans louder. Instead of putting her hands on my chest, she leans back again, placing them behind her, flat on my thighs. The position gives me a perfect view of her breasts - nipples pink and hard against her smooth pale perfect skin. I need to taste them. I sit up. "Christian...." She gasps as I capture one around my mouth to suck hard. The scent of her skin floods my nose, as I taste her. I wonder if I'll ever get the mouthwatering feminine scent of her skin out of my head. I doubted it. She rocks faster and I grip her waist tighter, thrusting upward, tilting my hips off the bed. Charlie drops her forehead onto mine and begins crying out softly against my skin. "How do you feel?" I whisper in her ear, as I kiss her neck and then her face, the sweat beading on her skin sweet against my tongue. "Tell me how this feels?" "Good. You feel so good." When I feel her arms wrap around my neck I tense, desperate to pull away, yet too caught up in the moment to follow through. An instant later, I feel her entire body shudder and the familiar sound of her climax escape her throat. She jerks and grips me hard, digging her nails into my back as she clenches her thighs around me. My own orgasm comes immediately after, great pulsating waves of heat that wreck and shake my entire body. It was powerful. "Fuck Charlie," I growl, gripping her head to twist it so that her mouth meets mine. We kiss hard, our bodies matching in their movement and surrender to the other. She owned me at this moment it seemed. Did I own her? She releases my mouth and bites hard on my shoulder as her insides squeeze my cock over and over again. As I pull her to me tight, I wonder for a moment if this is what it should feel like with every woman. This... mind-shatteringly normal. This earth shatteringly perfect. She pulls back to look at me, the sweat on our bodies meaning she practically has to peel herself from me. "God..." She smiles, giggling a little. "My submissives sometimes call me that too." I grin. "Megalomaniac." "No, never that. I have some humility," I smile shaking my head. We both collapse on the bed, side by side on our backs and stare up at the ceiling, still breathing deep laboured breaths. We're silent for long moments as we enjoy the warm afterglow. She reaches out and finds my hand under the sheets and entwines her fingers in mine. The simple gesture does something to my insides. "How do you feel about tomorrow?" I ask turning to look at her. She turns her head. "That depends..." She bites her lip. "What's going to happen?" "You're going to be a husband lighter," I state. "The tape and all copies he has of it are going to disappear, and all three of us can go back to living our lives." Her expression flickers, like a shadow passing over but then it's gone. "And Matt? What happens to him?" "Do you care?" I ask coldly, frowning. "He hurt you. He threatened to humiliate and ruin you. All of us." She lowers her eyes. "He's my husband, Christian." "No, he's a detestable human being who never deserved your love," I snap. I'm completely surprised by my own anger. Where the fuck did that come from? She says nothing and I immediately regret my tone and my words. No. Just my tone. "I'm far from perfect myself." She says in a soft whisper. Her head is turned away from me, so I can't see her expression, but she sounds sad. As she gazes out the large west facing windows over central park I feel like disagreeing with her. As far as people went she was as close to perfect as I'd ever come across. "I never loved him like I should have. I married him on a whim. My father hated him, and I wanted to exert my independence. Show him that he may control the state but he didn't control me. I wanted to show him I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I married Matt to prove a point." She sounds deeply regretful. "None of that excuses his behaviour, Charlie. Even if you had been fucking Gideon it does not excuse what he did to you." My voice is firm, my point solid. "I know that." "Then know that you deserve better." She turns to face me then. "Are you better?" Her words take me utterly by surprise. What sort of question is that? How can I even begin to answer it? Am I better? The answer is clear and obvious to me. Of course, I'm not. Most likely I'm worse. He's just a suspicious greedy bastard with a temper. I'm fifty shades of fucked up. "Charlie," I start. She slides closer so that I can see the tiny freckle she has on the innermost corner of her right eyebrow. "I'm curious. Are you better?" she asks, eyes wide, searching. "For you? No. No, I'm not." I shake my head. "And what if I disagree? What if I tell you that to me you're everything? That even after all this time, I'm still ridiculously in love with you. That I married Matt because he reminded me a little of you. I can't even remember what it was, probably the way he smiled at me one day or the way the sun hit his hair as we walked through the park one afternoon. What if I told you that I married him because I knew I could never have the one I wanted and so why the hell did it matter who I ended up with? Because there was only one. There was only ever one. And he didn't feel the same, and he was gone." Her voice is heavy with emotion. But it's not the emotion I expect. She's angry. Whether it's at herself or me I honestly don't know. "I'm so sorry," I say. I reach out to her, but she pulls away out of my reach and gets out of the bed. "Where are you going?" I sit up. "I need to go. I can't be here right now. I can't do this again." She shakes her head and lifts something from the floor, searching around, frustrated before finding what she's looking for. "Charlie please come back to bed, talk to me," I plead. "About what Christian?" She whips around to face me. "About how you're not what I need? I get it. You've been pushing me away since the moment I walked through the door. You ran away 8 years ago too. Ok. You're not what I need." She nods. "Except how the hell do you know what I need?" I say nothing. I have nothing. Because in truth she's right. I don't know what she needs. But I do know it isn't me. She waits for me to answer, her eyes burning right through me. Then her face softens. "What about you?" She asks. I narrow my eyes, confused. "What do you need?"