Chapter 10: Ass to Mouth and a Facial
The silence after his words stretched, thin and tight as a wire. Tomorrow. It hung in the air between them, a verdict. The warm, languid weight of his body on hers began to feel less like an anchor and more like a counting-down clock.
Channah slid out from under him, the loss of contact a physical chill. She padded to the window, nudging the blind aside with a fingertip. The sky was deepening to a bruised purple over Times Square, the neon signs flickering on, one by one, announcing shows and shops and a world that didn’t care about hotel room reckonings.
“Look at that,” she said, her voice quiet. “All those people out there, just… moving. And in here, it feels like the world just stopped and started again on a different axis.”
Ryan watched her from the bed, the sheet pooled at his waist. The dying light caught the silver in his stubble, the dark lines of ink on his chest. “It did.”
She turned, leaning against the glass. It was cool against her bare spine. “I have to go home tonight. I told Maya I’d call.”
He didn’t protest. He just nodded, his eyes tracking the lines of her body—the full curve of her hip, the shadowed valley between her breasts, the pale skin marked faintly red from his beard, his grip. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No. I suppose it doesn’t.”
She pushed off the window and walked back to the bed, but didn’t get in. She stood beside it, looking down at him. The earlier frenzy had burned away, leaving something more deliberate, more dangerously focused. The unspoken deadline sharpened every glance, every breath.
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said.
“What do you want?”
Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing through the hair at his temple, then tracing down his cheek to his mouth. “I want you to use me. I want you to take every fucking thing you missed. I want to feel it for days after you’re gone.”
His eyes darkened. He caught her wrist, his grip firm, and pulled her onto the bed. He rolled her onto her stomach with a gentle roughness that made her heart slam against her ribs. He settled over her, not entering her, just pressing her into the mattress with his weight. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“Tell me,” he breathed, his cock hardening against the back of her thigh. “Say the filthy thing you’re thinking.”
She turned her head, her cheek against the rumpled cotton. “I want your cock in my ass again. Now. While I’m still sore from the last time. I want you to fuck my ass so hard I forget my own name.”
A low groan vibrated through him. He shifted, kneeling between her legs, his hands spreading her open. She was still wet, slick from their earlier fucking, and he slid two fingers through her folds, gathering moisture before circling her tighter, darker entrance. She pushed back against the pressure, a wordless plea.
He didn’t tease. He positioned himself, the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against that forbidden ring of muscle. He leaned over her, his mouth at her ear. “This is mine. This tight little ass is mine. You understand? Even when I’m on a plane over fucking Nebraska, this is what I’ll be thinking about.”
He pushed.
The initial breach was a sharp, stunning stretch that stole her breath. She buried a cry in the pillow, her fingers clawing at the sheets. He paused, fully sheathed, letting her body adjust to the overwhelming invasion. Every nerve ending was alive, screaming with the raw, brutal fullness.
“Okay?” His voice was strained, frayed with the effort of holding still.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed home. The sound that left her was pure, ragged need. He set a relentless pace, each deep, driving stroke forging a fire in her core that spread to her limbs. It was more than pleasure; it was a cathartic claiming, a physical rewriting of history. This was the fuck they should have had in a Berlin flat, in a college dorm, in a hundred stolen moments over two lost decades.
“You feel that,” he grunted, his hips pounding into her. “You feel how deep I am in you? Nobody else gets this. Nobody.”
“Only you,” she choked out, the words fragmented by his thrusts. “God, Ryan, only ever you…”
His rhythm began to falter, his control slipping. She could feel the tension coiling in him, the impending eruption. With a final, desperate surge, he pulled out of her ass entirely.
She knew what he needed. What she needed. She rolled onto her back before he could speak, her eyes locking on his. Her face was flushed, her lips parted. She reached down, spreading her pussy lips with her fingers, offering herself, utterly exposed. “Not there,” she panted. “On me. My face. Cover me.”
Understanding flared in his gaze, a dark, possessive heat. He knelt over her, his fist working his slick, hard cock. The first hot stripe landed across her cheek, shocking in its intimacy. The second painted her lips. She opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to catch the bitter-salty tang of him, of her, of them mixed. He groaned, jerking himself roughly, and the rest came in thick pulses across her forehead, her chin, catching in her eyelashes.
She lay there, breathing heavily, his come cooling on her skin. She didn’t wipe it away. She gathered a bit from her cheek with two fingers and slowly, deliberately, slicked it over her parted lips as she watched him.
The raw hunger in his expression was everything.
She reached for him, pulling him down by the back of his neck. Their mouths met in a deep, messy, profoundly filthy kiss. She shared the taste, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, granting him the full, unvarnished truth of their joining.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. The neon from outside pulsed across the ceiling, red, then blue, then white. The world outside kept moving.
“I have to shower,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I have to go.”
He kissed her, softly this time. “I know.”
She didn’t move immediately. She listened to the beat of his heart, felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. The clock was ticking, louder now. But for this last, fleeting moment, they were just Channah and Ryan, tangled in the wreckage of what was and what might still be, the taste of their lost years stark and real on their tongues.