It's Like This Read Online Free PDF Page B

said…What if he said that—Jesus. That he was just in it for the sex. He can’t just be in it for the sex. It would end me if he said that. Because. I fucking love him. I don’t ever ever admit it, but I do. And I’d forgive him anything if he’d just fucking show up and…I don’t know. Everything’s so fucked up. Usually, I am composed, honest to God, I have control over myself. I can watch my drinking, and what I eat, and I make sure that I get off my ass on a semi-regular basis. But when it comes to him, I’m an absolute idiot, and I don’t think, and I just give in even if I promise I won’t. Which I’ve given up promising because I know I’ll just give in anyway. Fuck.
    I don’t know how, but I somehow fall asleep. I only know I was asleep and not still tormenting myself because now I am definitely awake and Rylan is standing in my doorway. He smells drunk. He walks towards my bed, not really staggering, but not close to sober, either. And he pulls off his shirt and he unbuckles his pants and lets them fall and he scoops off my blanket and I’m just lying there, in my boxers. And he licks his lips and straddles me and brings his face in close to mine and even though I feel like I hate him I let him because I’m just so fucking thankful he’s here.
    He leaves dark, bruising hickeys all over my chest before stripping me of my boxers and bending up my knees and quickly preparing me and then going for it. It hurts a bit and I grit my teeth, but that fades in a second and he’s leaning over me, kissing me hard, and fucking me harder. He jacks me quickly, and of course I get hard. And he looks at me like he’s thinking something that he considers saying, but he doesn’t. He just tightens his fingers around my dick, which hurts but it’s me, so I like it, and we’re both getting closer, everything’s speeding up, and then the next thing I know, he’s got his free hand up at my face, forcing my nostrils closed and I’m gasping for air in surprise, but he keeps his mouth tight over mine.
    It hits me that he’s suffocating me. My lungs and my throat burn and I panic, but he keeps on fucking me—deep, rapid jabs, and jacking me and my body somehow keeps on responding, and I swear it’s even more sensitive than it usually is because all I can pay attention to is that I need air and I need to come, and it’s like these are the only two needs I’ll ever have and one’s approaching, but if I don’t get the other soon, I’ll die. Literally, I’ll die. And he grips me impossibly harder and I need to breathe, and I toss my head violently in an effort to get away, but he keeps kissing me, blocking out my chance for air with his tongue, and then he’s coming and I’m coming, more than coming, I’m igniting, pouring out harder than I ever knew I could, like it’s the last thing I’m ever going to do. And then he’s breathing into my mouth and I’m drinking in the oxygen, which isn’t enough, but will have to be enough, and he pulls out, leaving me sweaty and vacant with lungs aching until finally, sweetly, he moves his mouth away and I draw my own breath, and the air blisters the whole way down.
    We’re collapsed. Even if he’s smaller than me, I feel like he’s crushing me, I’m so weak. He presses kisses to my sweaty forehead, nuzzles my cheek, and suckles at my ear until I’m not awake anymore.
    * * *
    He’s still here. When I wake up next morning, Rylan’s still lying on top of me, head curled awkwardly into my shoulder and neck. I shift slightly and that wakes him and he looks down at me. A few hours must have passed because he doesn’t seem drunk anymore. He smiles contentedly at me, and rolls off me, propping himself up on one elbow. He keeps his other hand on my stomach. It drifts casually over my ribs and up to my chest.
    I do believe this is the closest we’ve ever come to pillow talk. He licks his lips. Swallows. Doesn’t speak.
    Am I supposed to say something? Is that what