The burning feel of his skin against hers, hands pressed against her back, pushing further into her...
Amanda stared into the mirror, trying to remember what he’d been attracted to that night, that confusing mess of sweat and heat that she could hardly remember. She could only see the disarray of hair left not styled, eyes rubbed until her make-up made her look even worse than she felt, mascara trailing down with her tears, clothes unwashed, worn again and again throughout that week. A fucking mess.
Another glance at the calendar. Another check as to whether her life was really ruined. Another running of her hands through her hair. Another collection of tears to be shed as she thought of the thing inside of her, in her mind eating away at her, demanding her to look after it, a different kind of cancer foisted upon her without warning.
“Why?” she whispered to herself, as she crossed off another day, another day to confirm what Amanda had dreaded ever since the lack of her monthly blood became clear to her. She stepped back, staring at the four ‘X’s, seemingly taunting her, giving her the hope that she was just late, that she’d find her panties stained the next day, even though she knew it wasn’t going to happen.
She could remember how it started, a night she was free to do anything but leave the confines of the building, a moist kiss on the side of her neck as he approached her from behind. She had whimpered as his hands cupped around her breasts, thumbs circling her until satisfied with the hardness of her nipples, until he turned her around to look at him.
She let out a mix between a sob and a breath as she sank to the ground, cheeks scraping against the concrete as she curled into a ball, hiding her face with an arm. It was too much effort to stand, too much to talk, too much to think; all she felt she had enough energy for was sleep, stirring restless slumber, full of dreams of him, every physical aspect of him as she could remember it, how he had looked at her before, how he’d looked at her after he was finished.
She was surprised how open she’d been to him, how she’d welcomed sex after months without, how she’d been the one to kiss those lips, how she’d unbuttoned his shirt as he lifted her, how she’d loved the feeling of him strain to carry her to the workshop, her failed attempts of traps seemingly watching her as she slipped her top over her head, unclipping her bra, tossing it onto the floor as the two clambered onto the worktable.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” she’d asked after another kiss, as he took his own shirt off, albeit faster, with more urgency. He smirked as he pulled her slacks and panties down, leaving the answer hanging in the air with her whimpers and moans as his fingertips circled her already swelling centre.
She’d begun to beg for him as he took his hand away to drag the remnants of his clothing down his thighs. He’d hung over her for a moment that felt like a century to her, staring at her with a mix of lust and fascination, clearly not expecting this to be as easy as it had been, a slight hint of disappointment clouding the blue, disappointment that she hadn’t put up the fight he’d thought she’d give him.
She’d arched her back to him as he plunged into her, slipping his hands around her to further push her toward him, burying her moans in his chest. She closed her eyes, only hearing his pants and grunts mixed with her own animalistic sounds, only feeling his skin, so unbearably hot against hers, the cold metal of the worktable, her nerve endings exploding into harsh ecstasy as he thrust deeper, faster. The sheer force of his hips made her half-wonder how badly she’d ache afterward, although those thoughts were washed away, as she dug her nails into him, as she cried out with pure pleasure, the feeling of his hot seed bursting into her adding to the sensation of her orgasm. Another scream, muffled by his hand, a feeble attempt to keep the entire event secret...
All she could remember after that was the way he’d looked at her after he was done, after he pulled out of her exhausted, numb flesh. Disinterest, complete disinterest, no hint of the pleasure she was sure she’d given him. Those blue eyes, staring at her the same way he looked at her as she worked on a new design, the same bored, cold expression. A month after that night, she tensed, tightening her protective curl into herself at the thought of those cool, emotionless eyes.
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