Falling Away (15 page)

“I don’t think so, Benji. I like it like this.” She rolls her hips and the head of my cock moves shallowly in and out of her opening, a maddening tease of what I need.

“Jesus, Echo,” I growl.

“What?” she asks, her face and voice the essence of innocence.

I thrust, and yet again she moves with me so I fail to get any deeper. Frustrated, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and roll so she’s beneath me. I take her wrists and pinion them in one hand above her head, and with my other hand I clutch one of her thighs and press her knee upward, leaning into it to alleviate some of the pressure on my game knee. Her eyes are wide and her chest heaves as she sucks in deep breaths.

I fix my eyes on hers, holding still for a moment with just the tip of my dick nestled between the plump lips of her pussy. And then, grunting with relief, I thrust deep, hard and fast.

“Fuck!” Echo shrieks, and her entire body writhes in shock and—judging by her wide-eyed gasping—pleasure.

“Exactly,” I tell her, my voice low, pulling out slowly and then driving deep again. “Fuck.”

Her mouth falls open and her eyes go wild, her head tipping back. She fights against my grip on her wrists, but her hips rise and her pussy slides to envelop my aching cock, and she whimpers. Her thigh is a thick soft weight in my hand, and I tighten my grip on the expanse of muscle and flesh as I drive in yet again. My knee hurts, but in this moment I couldn’t care less.
 

I still don’t feel like I’m deep enough, like I’m where I need to be. So I shift forward, closer to her, and Echo seems to read my thoughts or to know what I need. She lifts her other leg and nudges me upright. My knee protests, but I ignore it, because now the silky backs of her thighs are flush against my chest, her feet are hanging over my shoulders and I’m so deep inside her hot wet pussy that I feel swallowed by her.
 

I thrust slowly, and her brows draw down and her eyes go wide. “Yeah, Ben, that feels
so
good,” she groans. “Harder.”
 

So I fuck harder, curling my hands around her thighs and pumping into her so my hips meet her ass with a loud slap. “Like that?”

In the moment that I’m deepest, she lets out a throaty groan. “Oh yeah…just like that. Again, Benji. Fuck me again.”
 

She scrapes her hands through her hair, clutching it at the scalp and arches her back off the mattress. She’s gasping as I drive into her. Again and again I thrust hard and deep and slow until I’m lost in the rhythm, drowning in the way my cock pounds into her and the primal way she groans at each resounding
slap
of flesh on flesh.

“Holy shit…” I moan, feeling my balls tighten and my cock begin to ache and my muscle shake, “I’m close.”

“Don’t stop, Benji, don’t you dare stop,” she growls though gritted teeth. “Keep fucking me until you come.”

“What about you?” I ask, knowing somehow that she’s not anywhere close.

“Oh…I’ll get mine,” she says, her eyes dark and gleaming with promise. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll get mine.”

“Get it now, then,” I tell her, not slowing my rhythm. “Touch your pussy, Echo. Come with me.”
 

Her fingers dive down between her thighs and I feel her swiping at her clit, and now her growls grow louder and higher-pitched second by second, and her hips start to circle, meeting me thrust for thrust now, where before I think she was just taking it from me. I feel a distant throbbing in my knee, but it’s nothing in comparison to the aching pressure in my balls. I start to lose my rhythm right as I feel her pussy clamp and pulse around my cock, and now her fingers are flying madly around her clit and she’s groaning non-stop, eyes squeezed closed, spine arched off the bed, and her legs close around me, clenched in the throes of her building climax.
 

“I’m coming, Ben!” she shrieks, breathless, “oh fuck, oh fuck, right now Benji, I’m coming right now…”

The way she says that name, that nickname I never thought I’d be able to hear without hurting, but the way she says it feels good, feels like it belongs to her now.
 

She screams loud and her feet come off my shoulders and plant in the mattress, pressing her upward, and then she’s locking her heels around my back and I’m falling forward, all my weight on my one good knee, the other leg extended. I have to be crushing her with so much of my weight on her like this, but her hands clutch and scrabble at me, pull me closer, scratch at my ass to get me moving harder and faster and she’s thrusting up into me wildly, and all can do is try to keep up with her. I’m grunting like an animal as I feel my sac tighten and explode, and then I’m pouring myself into her, emptying my balls into her tight pussy, and she’s biting at my ear and my shoulder, her nails clawing down my back, and my cock is pounding into her crazily—
slapslapslapslap—
wet squishing sucking heat and clenching muscles and sweat and the smell of sex and her breath on me and I’m biting her nipple until she shrieks in equal parts pleasure and pain.

I have a realization right then, at the climax of my orgasm: she likes it kind of rough, and she likes it when I take control.
 

I file that away for later, and we move together, finding a synchronized rhythm as our mutual orgasm shudders and begins to fade.
 

Finally, she’s still and gasping raggedly for breath, and I’m collapsed on her, limp and empty and sated and amazed. My knee fucking kills so bad it’s hard to breathe, but I don’t care. The pain is worth the pleasure.
 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Benji,” she pants, her hands resting proprietarily on my ass in a way that does something shuddery to my heart.

“That was…” I start, but I don’t even have the right words for what that was.

“Intense,” she finishes for me.

“Yeah,” I agree. I start to move off her. “I’ve got to be crushing the actual life out of you.”

She tightens her grip on my ass. “Uh-uh. I kind of like it.”
 

“Being crushed?”

She laughs. “Yeah. Call me crazy.”

I grin, my mouth curving against the soft flesh of her breasts. “Crazy girl.”
 

I don’t know how much time passes with us lying like that, her buried beneath me, her hands roaming up my back and always returning to my ass.
 

Eventually she fakes a pained groan and pushes at me. “All right, you big lunk. Get off me so I can go pee.”

I roll to my back, gasping a groan and flexing my knee, but keeping my eyes on Echo as she shimmies off the bed. I watch her fine round ass sway, and then I hear her pee and wash her hands, and she’s coming back toward me, big tits trembling and rocking side to side as she strides toward me. God, even the way she walks is seductive and sexy and mesmerizing, like there’s music I don’t hear and she’s dancing to it.
 

She lies down beside me, tucking a hand under her head, resting her other palm on her diaphragm. She stares at the ceiling, and I just watch her breathe—or more truthfully, watch the way her chest swells and her breasts shift with each breath. I just can’t get enough of looking at her, and that does something to my heart, to my gut, to my instincts and my head, to my everything.
 

I grew up with Kylie, I was in love with her for six, almost seven years and there wasn’t this intense attraction, even to her. It honestly scares me, because I don’t know this girl
at all
. I don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, and she’s hard to read. She doesn’t wear her thoughts or emotions on her face, so all I have to go by are her words and actions, and we all know how misleading those can be in regards to a person’s real feelings. I feel this starvation when it comes to Echo, like I’ve been hungry my whole life, living on an empty stomach, wasting away and living off my own insides, and Echo is a plate of food set in front of me. I want to gorge myself. I feel ravenous and wild. The intensity, the potency of my physical attraction alone is…frightening. And I want to
know
her, want to be able to read her emotions on her face and know her physical cues and know what she’s scared of, and what she wants and needs, I want to know, I want to know. But I don’t know how to ask, how to tell her what I’m feeling, because I’m feeling so many powerful things and they’re all just too much.
 

“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.

She pivots her head to look at me. Her face is blank at first, as if she’s only just now registering that I even spoke, and then she smiles faintly. “Just that I like it here, in your room. In this bubble of you and me. I don’t want to leave it.”
 

“Me either.”
 

She returns her gaze to the ceiling. “You don’t have to. But I do.”
 

“Why?”

She lets out a sigh. “Well, aside from the fact that I have a life outside not just this room, but this city…I have to sort out Mom’s stuff.” She swallows hard. “I have to figure out what to do with it all. I have to get her house sold, and…her car, and…” She’s blinking hard, swallowing, and then she’s pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “And I don’t even know where to start. So I’m kind of using you, Ben. I don’t want to go through her shit. I don’t want to feel all that. Here, with you…I can pretend like none of it exists, like this is all there is. You and me, fucking and drinking and going out for food. But…I can’t keep pretending. I’m running out of time.”

I feel the bubble pop, pierced by her words. She feels it, and so do I. I move off the bed, tug on clean underwear and jeans and T-shirt, and then I find her clothes and hand them to her. She sits up, eyes wary, takes her underwear and swings her feet off the bed, slides the thong on without standing up. Next is the bra, and then she’s doing that sexy jump-wiggle-shimmy to get her ass stuffed into her jeans.
 

As she shrugs into her shirt, she glances at me. “So that’s it, huh?” There’s a note of coldness in her voice.

I just smile at her softly, knowing what she’s assuming. “Yep. That’s it.” I let her think it for a moment longer.
 

I pull on socks and my cross-trainers while she finds her own shoes, and then she’s hiking her purse over her shoulder, and I find my keys. There’s a strange familiarity to the rhythm of us getting ready like this. I watch as she pauses by the front door, pulling her hair back into a neat, low ponytail.
 

Her hand on the knob, she glances back at me in confusion as I stuff my wallet into my front pocket and join her at the door. “Where are you going?”
 

“
We
are going to your mom’s house. I’m helping you sort her things.”

Echo blinks several times, as if processing. And then she shakes her head. “No, Ben. No. I have to—”

I slide my arm around her waist and pull her back toward me. “What, did you think I was kicking you out, just like that? Like, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?”

She ducks her head and stares at her feet. “Yeah, kind of.” Her voice goes to a barely audible whisper. “That’s how it usually works.”

I don’t know how to process that. Usually works? She’s used to being…what? Fucked and sent home? There’s a
usually
to this, for her? It makes me sad and angry and bizarrely jealous and insecure and sick to my stomach.
 

“Echo…god, you think I’d just—get what I wanted and send you on your way?” I look down at her, try to nudge her chin up, but she resists. “Do I seem like that type of guy? Like that’s all I wanted, was sex?”

She won’t look at me. She pulls away from me and jerks the door open, fleeing. “I’m just gonna catch the bus. I’ll see you later.”
 

I follow her out the door, pause to lock it behind me, but by now she’s far enough away that I’d have to run to catch her, and running is out of the question. My knee is stiff and locked and throbbing from overusing it already, so I can barely walk, and I forgot my cane inside. She’s running, actually jogging away from me. I have to catch her. I know if I let her go like this, it’s over.
 

And I don’t want it to be over.

So I hobble to my truck and climb in, start it, and reverse out. My knee screams in protest at even the slight flexing of using the pedals, but there’s no choice for me. Not in this, not with her. I peel out of the parking lot and down the street after Echo. She’s almost to the bus stop; so I floor it and swerve around the bus, squeal to a halt at the curb.
 

I roll down the passenger window. “Get in, Echo.”
 

She ignores me, stands at the bus stop sign, clinging to the pole like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. I slam on my flashers and put it in park, hop out and limp around the hood. I jerk open the passenger door and grab Echo’s hand.

“Let go. Leave me alone. I’m not doing this with you, Ben.” Her voice is flat, cold.

“Yes. You are.” I sweep my arms under her knees and around her shoulders, lift her clean off the ground. I deposit her in the passenger seat, teeth clenched at the pain of walking, of carrying her, and determined to not let her see. But she sees anyway.

“Goddamn it, Ben.” She glares at me as I struggle into the driver’s seat. “You’re gonna fuck up your knee even worse.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agree.

“You can’t just kidnap me like this.”
 

“Yes, I can. And I just did.” I ignore the middle fingers from the traffic skirling around my truck, the blaring horns, the questioning stares. I pull out into traffic and head in the direction of Cheyenne’s studio, knowing she lived near it.

“Fuck, you’re impossible.” She leans her head back against the headrest, eyes closed.
 

“True enough.”

“What do you want from me?”
 

“Why are you shutting down like this?” I turn off the radio and glance at her as I stop at a traffic light.

“You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We had some good sex, and now it’s over. Drop me off and go home.” She delivers this monotone, staccato.