Not the Last Time

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*****

How many times had they been there? How many times had they been in that exact situation?

It didn't matter. At the end of the day it didn't matter how many times or how good or how bad. At the end of the day what mattered was that they were there now, sitting across from one another over cheap booze, trying to drown out the sounds of shitty jukebox music and belligerent drunks yelling at one another from across the bar.

"I don't think I can do this again." She spoke first. There had been silence between them, weighted and full like a pregnant woman's belly- filled with emotion and purpose that they didn't quite understand yet. Her eyes lifted up from the lip of her glass to look at him, the man that was both her prosperity and her demise.

Her voice sounded weak which not only shook her but it shook him, too, because he didn't like them repeating their pattern. He didn't like the CD skipping or that they were the definition of insanity but he loved her more than he thought he was capable of loving another human being. He loved her like the bee loved the flower, like the moon loved the sun. Without her he felt without purpose, he felt lost.

It didn't matter how bad for one another they were

"It's what we do. We can't stay away from each other." His voice was the voice of reason without any of the reason but it resonated inside of her regardless. The tips of his fingers pressed against his sweating glass, turning white with the pressure. A muscle along his jaw jumped from tension and his eyes kept shifting away to patrons around them. A stranger might not have been able to read the signs but she could, she knew him like a book she'd read a thousand times. He was uncomfortable, frustrated, and nervous. Which meant there was an opening, an opportunity to speak reason.

"We're not good for each other. We do this over and over and it's never-"

"It doesn't matter." Again his voice cut through her resolve like he was some kind of refined machete and she was the brush standing in its way and her eyes snapped back to her, burning and bright. He had that way about him. He was so passionate, so filled with fire and meaning that anything else paled in comparison, even how she felt. And before it'd been easy to brush her feelings off, to put them into a lockbox only he had the key to, but now? Now they'd reached a precipice and she was trying to be better.

She was trying not to give in to the insanity that was their relationship. They could do the same thing over and over again but it would never produce different results. The largest part of her wanted to believe that she could latch onto that concept and not give in but there was a smaller part of her, the part of her that had been large when they fell in love, that told her insanity was fun, and that no one would love her the way he did.

Even then, even with the knowledge that this was wrong and fucked up and painful, she knew that to be true. A part of her knew that the way he loved her would pale in comparison to any others. She knew that he saw the deepest, darkest parts of her soul and he embraced them. He cradled them in his arms late at night and told them it was okay to exist.

Which was why it was so hard to let go, why it was so hard to pull away.

"Come to the bathroom with me."

If God had a voice it would have been his. It was the voice you heard during lucid dreams, telling you what was right and wrong. It was the voice that made you believe in its validity. It was a voice that commanded respect, that didn't allow argument- but she was trying to be better. She was trying to do what was right, not only for her but for the both of them.

"No, we can't-"

His eyes caught hers, the amber gold of them like the simmering of a fire before it ravaged. That look froze her, cutting her voice off before she had a chance to finish her thought. It didn't matter to him. He didn't care about her rational, he didn't care about her logic or the way she told herself that they were no good. What he cared about was what was inside of her and he could see it. He could see straight through her flesh, past her bones, he could see the beating of her heart and he could see that his name was branded on that aching muscle. He could see himself pumping blood throughout her body and he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

She knew he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

A part of her hated herself for the way she stood, the uneven wooden legs of her chair scraping back against the floor. It was the sound of defeat, her lack of will manifesting itself in that sound. But she made no move to right her wrongs. What she did was lift her glass to her lips, chug down the rest of her drink, and make her way to the bathroom.

He did the same though. He took his time and watched the sway of her hips as she walked away. He watched on and soon followed, head tilted down, eyes locked onto the back of her. She was giving in to him and it excited him but more than anything there was this relief that he was going to have her again. All he'd wanted for months on end was to taste her, to feel her lofty breaths against the crook of his neck. Maybe in the morning he would be ashamed by his methods but he couldn't feel that way now. He couldn't get past the fact that his need and desire for her would finally be fulfilled.

And as she walked, as he followed, it felt like time slowed. He could see and feel every step she made, the moment her foot hit the ground shaking the earth around him. The thrum of the music, the heavy bass, narrated the way she moved and he needed it. He needed her more than he ever needed anything in his life. He would give up sustenance, he would give up shelter, he would give up security to feel her around him one more time. He was an addict and she was his drug and he would do anything it took to get himself to her.

Even if that meant betraying himself.

The walk to the bathrooms felt far longer than it was. Before long she found herself in front of a door asking herself if this was what she really wanted but she knew well enough that there was no choice, there was no option outside of him. So she placed one hand on the thick metal handle, the other planting on the worn wood.

Turn. Push. Step.

It took exactly ten seconds for him to follow. It took exactly ten seconds for the door to be pushed open again behind her, for his body to fill the space of the worn, shitty frame.

She watched as he entered the bathroom, the presence of him filling up everything else, making it feel invalid. In that moment, despite herself, he was her reality and no matter how hard she tried to fight it she couldn't. She knew she could still leave, she knew she could come to her senses and pull away and leave but he stepped inside and let the door fall shut, clicking the lock into place.

That click sealed her fate. That click reiterated what she had already accepted.

He owned her soul as she owned his and no matter how hard she fought the waves of him would eventually consume her. It was easier to rationalize it that way- that this was inevitable and she was a helpless bystander in it all but seeing it that way was easier than acknowledging the truth.

And the truth was that he was a force she couldn't resist no matter how strong she was. No matter how strong she was in all other things- he was her weakness.

He filled the space between them, rushing her, darting his hands out to plant on either side of her face against the far facing wall. The smell of him filled her nostrils and covered the smell of a dingy bathroom in a shitty dive bar.

Her hands came up, fingers lacing through his hair, curling and locking in place against his scalp. He groaned, stepped forward until her back was pressed flush against the wall. The coolness of the tile and the heat radiating off of him was a welcome contrast but in that moment, with him overwhelming her senses, diluting her sense, all she wanted was to feel him. She grew desperate to feel at one. She grew desperate for the feeling of him inside of her, filling her, and he could tell.

He could taste it on her lips.

He wasn't a selfish man, he wanted to ensure that she was ready and willing before taking what he wanted but he'd waited so fucking long for that very moment. He wanted her with more desperation than he had ever wanted anything. She saw him as a force she couldn't deny and he saw her as the only thing that made him feel alive. There was no restraint, no matter how badly the two of them wanted to fight themselves.

The kiss consumed them both and his hands dropped to her ass, strong fingers making indents in her flesh. That same strength lifted her into the air, pulling her up against him so that he could pivot his body and set her on the edge of the sink, the skirt of her dress pushed up to expose her. If he wanted to he could see his reflection behind her but he didn't want to. He knew that if he looked up from her and saw himself in that mirror he would see a man unhinged so he kept his focus on her- on the red tint to her cheeks, on her swelling lips, on the way her eyes glossed over now that she knew what was happening.

"Tell me you missed me." His voice was low, a deep baritone vibrating in his chest and commanding her to do as she was told. That same voice that told her to run away told her not to answer but she wasn't in control of herself anymore, that's what he was there for. Her rationality was weak compared to the way she needed him so with wide eyes cast up at him she spoke, her voice small and needy.

"I missed you."

"Yeah?" He needed to hear more but more than that he needed more.

Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her thighs exposed, the panties she wore exposed. He knew her in ways no one in the world would know so it didn't even take a second thought for him to reach out a hand, one finger curled to brush a single knuckle along the length of her cotton covered slit. It was a light touch, barely there at all, but she shivered against him and gave him life. That shiver was like the fountain of youth, propelling him further, making him want more.

"I missed you so fucking much." The elaboration on her behalf was welcomed, it was music to his ears and music well sung but he didn't think he could hold himself out for the chorus.

His body was hummin, throbbing, fighting against the restraint of his jeans. He needed to consume her and that need consumed him in turn. It dug its way down to the darkest parts of him, gripping and latching without worry or concern. When he was with her he was a different man, a man he didn't recognize but a man he wanted to be and as he looked down at her wanting and ready and compliant he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

"Tell me you love me." His voice softened but only because he was focused on pushing her panties aside, slipping two fingers inside to make sure that she was ready. And she was, the sound that she made was a clear indication that she was ready but there was still a part of her that didn't want to give in to him.

A part of her that was losing.

"I fucking love you." It was a cry, desperate and heady, and she looked up at him looming over her.

He overwhelmed her senses. All she could see was him and that look of need. All she could smell was his cologne and his skin. All she could feel was his fingers inside of her. All she could taste was his tongue against hers. All she could hear was the low groan emitted from his chest and the zipper of his pants. She hadn't wanted this, she hadn't wanted to slip back into this trap, but she was there now and the only thing left to do was bleed out and accept her fate.

He pushed inside of her without warning.

She'd been so caught up in the sight of him, the sound of him, the smell of him, that she hadn't been focused on what his hands were doing.

He pushed inside of her, hard and thick and firm. It'd been so long she could feel her body stretch out, feeling the smooth expanse of his cock, the ridges and ends, the veins and the curves. He filled her with a perfection she hadn't felt since him and despite knowing she would be angry with herself in the morning she cried out. He clamped his hand over her mouth the moment she did- he didn't want to be kicked out of the bar- but that didn't stop her. She cried out against the calloused palm of his hand, her own fingers curling over the white porcelain sink she was perched on.

There was no feeling save for the feeling of the two of them joined. Being inside of her felt like going home and him being inside of her felt like purpose.

He was kind, he was considerate, he gave her body time to adjust, but that adjustment time was a few seconds at best. He couldn't contain himself and she didn't want him to. Her hands slipped up beneath his shirt, fingers spread out over his back. Before long, before she had a chance to catch her breath, one hand was coming down to wrap around her hip so that he could hold her in place and fuck her.

He drove into her like a man on fire and she fucking loved it. She loved falling back to rest against the mirror and looking up to see his face twisted with pleasure. She loved the way his free hand came up to slam against the mirror about her head. She loved the way he groaned as he fucked her, how desperately he needed her.

It was passionate and it was all consuming. His body moved and reacted without thought, without consideration of how she felt or if she was in pain. All he could think about was how fucking good it felt to be inside of her again and how long he'd waited for her to scream out his name. And she was screaming. He didn't bother covering her mouth, not with the way they were going at it. He wanted to hear her, he wanted to hear his name mingled with strangled cries and he wanted to see her unravel for him.

"Fuck." It was the first thing she'd said since he slipped inside of her and without thinking the hand against the mirror dropped down to wrap around her throat, holding her in place, cutting off enough air that her cries were little more than short, desperate gasps.

"Come for me." He wasn't suggesting, he was demanding, and her eyes ripped open to look up at him. It was what she had been fighting but in that moment all she could think about, all she wanted was for him to own her.

"Come for me. Right now." He was still hammering into her, a part of him wanting to hurt her for the sole reason that he knew he could and he knew that she would like it. The skin beneath her ass was creaking and the mirror behind her head was starting to crack but he didn't give a fuck. He didn't know the next time this would happen so he increased his pace, increased his vigor, used the hand not around her throat to lift up a leg so that he could sink in deeper.

Every thrust reached a part of her that was sore and tender yet despite the pain of it her legs slipped wider, her lungs struggling to expand wide enough to get enough oxygen. His hand around her throat was making it difficult to breath but that difficulty made her head swim, intensified the feeling of his cock slamming into her poor tight pussy. It made her quiver and shake, her body practically vibrating beneath him.

Someone was banging on the door so loud that they could hear it over the music playing but he didn't think twice about it. He fucked her, his fingers wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the mirror. He was determined to make her come. All he wanted was to feel that one more time and when it happened she gushed, spilling around him with a strangled cry deprived of air.

He didn't last much longer after that. The wetness of her, the way her pussy constricted and massaged his cock had the arches of his feet pressing up in his boots, his grip on her throat growing so tight it'd bruise, and with a four more violent thrusts he was coming, too. He spilled inside of her, his cock twitching against her sensitive cervix, eliciting an aftershock of her orgasm to rip through her. It took a few moments for him to find clarity but when he did he released her throat, getting a sick sense of satisfaction when she sucked in a strangled breath.

They stayed like that for a moment, connected and panting, grasping at one another. They probably would have stayed like that for far longer if it wasn't for the incessant pounding on the door, the threat of security no doubt waiting to kick them out.

"Come home with me." Despite his usual demanding tone it wasn't a demand, it was suggestion. And her with her eyes wide and filled with tears, her lips parted and breath heaving, looked up at him in a way he hadn't seen in far too fucking long.

"Okay."