An I-beam felt as if it were being driven inside me, pulled out, inside again, repeatedly. I ground my teeth together, gripped the back of the sofa, and felt my throat go dry. Tears actually came to the corners of my eyes.
I couldn’t remember him coming, exploding his load inside the condom that separated us. Nor could I recall him spinning me around after he came and jacking me off, whispering to me again and again, “Come on my chest. Let me feel your sticky shit all over me. Let me wear it. I want to.”
I couldn’t remember becoming spent, numb with him, exhausted, and heaving for breath. I couldn’t. Even if I had wanted to. 38: Faye, Talking
May 30