Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Much

My heart opens and lets him in, and suddenly, I need him inside me in every way.

I find a condom in the egg crate that passes for my nightstand, and he shudders as I roll it on. He lies back and I lift my hips and sigh as I sink onto him, taking him inside me to the root. He’s everything I need—the only one who’s ever been able to make me feel. And I want to feel this forever.

My heart swells to absorb the converging flood of physical and emotional sensations, and it’s almost too much. It trickles out of me in tears that course over my cheeks and drop onto his chest.

He flips us so I’m under him and kisses them off my face. “I love you,” he whispers.

I pull him tighter to me, needing to find a way to become part of the same being.

His movements become long, slow strokes as he kisses me, his tongue mingling with mine and bringing us that much closer.

“Don’t stop,” I whimper when his lips move to my jawline.

He props himself on his elbows above me. “I have no intention of stopping,” he says, his voice rough and thick with emotion. “If this lasts forever, it will still be over too soon.”

He kneels between my legs and lifts me off the mattress, lowering me slowly onto his length, until he’s so deep inside me I can feel him in my soul. He guides my hips up and down to his agonizing rhythm, and I feel myself spiraling out of control again. His thickness filling me is the center of my universe, and my whole body pulses with the throbbing ache in my heart and between my legs.

A low groan rolls up from his chest and becomes a growl with his last few thrusts. I gasp for breath and his name escapes on a sob as the most intense climax I’ve ever experiences shakes me from the inside out.

He lays us back on the mattress and holds me until my tears slow. Goose bumps skate over me as he traces the lines of my face with the tip of his index finger.

“You are amazing,” I say when I can breathe.

He kisses me. “It’s all in who your teacher is.”

I smile as another shuddering aftershock pulses through me. “Then you must have had some incredible teachers.”

His fingertips moves down the hollow of my throat and trace the lines of my ribs, finding my nipple and teasing it to a hard nub. “Only you.”

I freeze. I can’t have heard him right. “What do you mean, only me?”

“I’ve never been with anyone else.”

He’s lying. He has to be. He’s twenty-five years old. How can there only have been me? “I don’t believe you.”

He shifts off my body and lies on the bed next to me, propping himself over me on an elbow. “Hilary, I almost became a priest.”

“But after that?” When I think of the girl he loved—the one he left the priesthood for—I see someone smart and confident and strong and funny. All the things I’ve been pretending to be, but am not.

“You loved her.” The thought sits like a stone in my gut.

His expression grows wary. “Who are we talking about?”

“The girl . . . the woman you gave the priesthood up for.”

“I did,” he says, pensively, catching the corner of his lower lip between his teeth. “She made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a very long time . . . things I never thought I’d feel again.”

“But you never slept with her,” I say, still trying to absorb what he said.

He shakes his head slowly, keeping his gaze locked with mine. “No.”

“Do you still love her?”

“She holds a special place in my heart.” When I lower my gaze, he trails his fingers, which had been playing with my nipple, up my throat to my chin, lifting it so I’m looking at him. “As a friend, Hilary. She’ll always be a friend.”

“A friend?”

“A friend,” he confirms, his fingertips trailing down my body. A smile tugs at his lips and there’s a wicked glimmer in his eyes that sends electricity crackling under my skin. “You’d tell me if there was something else I could to do please you?”

I glide a hand down his pecs and abs. “Being with you is . . . it’s never been like this for me.”

His eyes tighten a little. “Been like what?”

I nip his upper lip, then kiss the corner of his mouth. “I mean, it’s never been this easy for me to come. I’ve needed . . . more.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “More?”

“Pain. I’ve always needed it rough.” There’s a tortured look in his eyes as he gazes at me and I realize how that sounded. “I’m not a masochist. I don’t mean it like that, it’s just . . . I thought the pain grounded me—made me exist—but maybe it just connected me with my body so I could feel.” I run a hand over his strong shoulder. “It’s always been different with us. With you, everything is so much more intense, I don’t need the . . . extra stimulation. I mean, hell, just thinking about sex with you takes me halfway there.” My fingers trace over his happy trail to his tuft of hair. I slip off his condom and drop it over the edge of the bed behind me, then grasp him. “As a matter of fact, whenever you’re ready . . .”

His eyes flash and one corner of his mouth pulls into a sexy smile as I feel him stir in my hand. “I am your enthusiastic pupil. Putty in your capable hands.”

“Is it weird?” I ask, squeezing him.

He tips his head at me in a question.

“You were almost a priest and now . . .” I trail off, stroking his growing erection. “Though you make sex a religious experience for me, what we’re doing is very un priestly.”

He rolls on top of me and reaches across for a condom in my egg crate. “Which is why I didn’t become a priest.”

I push him back a little. “But still, to go from nothing to all this . . .” I say, flipping my hand at the bed.

“Being with you makes me very happy. Obviously,” he adds, glancing down at his erection. “If you’re asking me if what we’re doing is against the teachings of the Church, the answer is yes. If you’re asking me if I regret it, the answer is no.”

I slip the condom from his fingers and tear it open. “Are you going to hell?” I ask as I roll it over him.

His smile is a little wicked and it makes the sensitive point between my legs pulse. “Probably.”

I spread wide and roll my hips under him, taking him deep inside. “Good. Take me with you.”

WHEN I WAKE up, it’s dark, and the other side of the bed is empty. The cool night air prickles my skin into goose bumps as I sit up and scan the room, my heart skipping at the thought that Alessandro in my bed was just another of my fantasies. But then I see the moonlight reflecting off the long, lean curves of his naked body as he stands at the window, looking out into the New York night.

“Alessandro?” I croak.

He doesn’t turn, but I see him stiffen.

I slip out of bed and move slowly toward him, and when I reach him, I skim my fingertips down his back. He shudders under me.

“I don’t deserve to be this happy. Not when I’ve hurt so many people. I don’t even have names or faces for most of them. There’s nothing I can do to atone for my sins. So they sit right here,” he says, lifting a fist to his chest over his heart, “and they feed on my soul.”

I slip my arms around his chest and press myself against his back. This is it. He’s giving me what I asked for, a look into his soul. The honest truth is, I’m a little scared of what I’m going to see there, but I have to step up to the plate and be strong for him. I told him nothing I saw would scare me away, and I’m not going to let him down. “Who are these people, Alessandro? And if you say me, I’m throwing you out this window.”

He turns in my arms and rests his forehead on the crown of my head. “Then, I won’t say it. But it’s not just you. Every kid in school who I dealt drugs to, every person I let Lorenzo beat and rob, every kid I let him force into the gang, every rival gang member I let him stab.” He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “And, even if he didn’t rape you , there were others.”