Three Strikes Ch. 17

He wrapped his arms around me. "What's wrong?"

It was paralyzing to sit there; unable to control myself; to speak words or look him in the eye. I started to bawl and sob—full on ugly crying. I was surprised he was able to keep a hold on me the way I was shaking. I tried to speak but couldn't manage.

"I—I"

After about the tenth failed attempt at verbal communication, Shane picked me up and carried me into a different room. I kept my face buried against his chest, even when we were lying down with me tucked between his body and the...couch? His arms were wrapped tightly around me as his fingers rubbed up and down my back.

It was quite some time before I calmed down. Shane never once questioned me or pushed me to hurry my breakdown along. He just held me, soothed me, and whispered encouragement into my ear. I finally reached the point where I thought I was capable of communication. I took a deep breath and tried to stay steady.

"I'm sorry."

My chest was still doing that emotional hiccupping thing it does when you're completely wrecked.

"For what, exactly?"

"Everything! Oh god. I've fucked up so much, you don't even know what I'm apologizing for! There's so many things!" I fisted his shirt with both hands and pathetically cried out as I burrowed deeper into his body.

I started to shake again, except, it wasn't me...it was Shane. Shane was laughing at me, which only made me cry, harder. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pull myself together.

Shane squeezed me. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just—amusing to see you like this." He tried lifting my face but I refused.

"No. I can't look at you."

"Okay, but at least tell me what's going on. I'm flying blind here. I have no clue what's made you so upset. Is it my fault? Was it me?"

"No, fuck no. It's me. I'm such an asshole! I constantly made you feel like crap, dumped you for no reason, made you feel like more crap, then a crap pile, got jealous, and ruined things for you and your job. I'm so selfish and I never think of anyone other than myself. I've always done this. I always do this. This is why no one likes me...because I'm such a bitch!" I sobbed hysterically against his chest and continued to ramble on about all of my shortcomings, everything I'd done wrong, and all of the things I'd fucked up. "And I feel like I don't deserve your forgiveness, not that you ever would...how could you? I've been terrible. After everything you've been through and how I've treated you?" I shook my head against his chest before continuing. "Lord knows I didn't go easy on you. At this point, I have no karma points. In fact, if my math is correct, I'm probably due for seven years of bad luck. Scratch that, twenty-seven years of bad luck."

I caught myself kneading his shirt so I stilled my hands and, instead, started to smooth the wet, wrinkled shirt with my fingers. I was still crying but not hysterically. How I still had tears to shed, I had no clue.

"Honestly, I don't forgive you."

So much for not being hysterical. I didn't expect him to forgive me but hearing him say the words was worse than being stabbed.

"Whoa, wait a second," he ran his hands across my back in soothing manner. "I don't forgive you because I don't feel there's anything to forgive. Don't get me wrong, you're confusing as fuck sometimes. You're like having puzzle pieces to two different puzzles that look exactly the same. There's no right way to win. And you've definitely hurt my feelings, but that's life. I've screwed up too—it's what we do. There's nothing to forgive."

"What?"

I felt his shoulders shrug.

"You're making me feel even worse. You're just—not making this a big deal."

"You're making it big enough for the both of us."

I growled into his chest.

"Donovan, I'm serious. You're punishing yourself enough for the both of us. I don't want to punish you. I like you. I want to date you. I want to move on from this and be happy with you."

"You're better than me."

"Someone has to be," I felt his smile.

Asshole.

"Hopefully we'll take turns. I'm shit, you're shit, I'm shit, and you're shit."

"Is this the part where I'm shit?"

"Definitely."

"Jerk," I hit his chest, lightly.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm away from our bodies so I couldn't move it.

"Hey, you're the shit right now, not me, so you don't get to hit me."

I tried to pull my arm back but he wouldn't let me, and when I tried to use my other arm, he grabbed it, too, and pinned them on either side of his hips.

"I need you to forgive me even if you don't think it's necessary."

He kissed my head. "I forgive you."

"Even for—" I hesitated, not wanting to finish.

"For?"

"You know. Nick and Nelly?" I mumbled.

He took a deep breath and my upper body raised and lowered with him.

"Sure, but only under one condition."

I nodded against his chest.

"Can we do away with the doomsday clock? No more keeping score, no more strikes, and no fouls. T Ball rules—unlimited swings, no outs, everyone makes it to base, and everyone scores at home."

I was confused by the reference.

"Everyone? Like as an open relationship? Sex with other people?" He'd just found out I'd had a three-way. Did he want it to be a normal thing? I sure as hell didn't. "Shane, I don't know if you got the wrong impression, but I'm not really into that stuff. The thing with Nick and Nelly was a one-and-done thing. I could never watch you being intimate with someone else, it'd kill me—"

"What are you talking about? I was talking about you and me, only us, not keeping track of all the shit we do wrong. You know...forgiveness. Nothing about sex with other people, no, nothing like that!"

I was so relieved to hear him say that because I only wanted him. I scooted up and kissed his neck again and again. He moved my arms to his chest then used his grip on my wrists to push me away from him. Still not wanting to look at him, I pushed back and hid my face against his neck.

"Look at me," his voice left little room for argument.

"No, it's still too hard. Plus, I'm a wreck. A total mess."

He pushed me back until I was on my knees and he moved forward until he was sitting in front of me. I kept my head down, though, so I didn't have to look at him. He let go of one of my hands and used it to pull my chin up.

"I want to see you. I like you like this."

I looked to the side, I wasn't ready for the intimacy of looking someone in the eyes after royally fucking everything up. He moved his face into my line of sight and, when I looked in the other direction, he moved his head, again, which made me laugh.

As a smile cracked for the first time in days, I whined, "Stop."

I glanced at him. He was so close. Looking into his eyes was therapeutic. They held so much compassion—it was like aloe for my broken soul. It gave me back the strength I'd lost during my break down. If I'd looked at him earlier, would've I cried for so long? I wondered to myself.

His gaze was unwavering, intense, smoldering, loving, and warm. I wanted to look away, yet I didn't. The corner of his lip curled up and his eyes twinkled. I was about to roll my eyes and look away, but his lips were on mine in an instant. One hand held the nape of my neck, to keep me close, while the other wrapped around my waist, also to keep me close.

We kissed and kissed. It wasn't slow and it wasn't frantic—it was needy. I needed him, bad, and I felt as though he needed me, too. I don't know if he felt the same, but I couldn't look away. The look in his eyes completed me. There was only one word to describe the look—adoration—and it only made me want him more.

It was more than just his gaze, it was his presence; his size. I'm not small, not even close, but I loved being with a man who made me feel—what's the masculine word for delicate? Whatever it is, that's how Shane made me feel, especially since I was barely recovering from my fall into the pit of terrible self-realization. He felt like a safe-house, somewhere I could be without fear, and it was almost too much for my overly emotional self.

When his hands grazed my body and his eyes brown eyes pierced my soul, I felt the emotion welling up. What was up with me? I hadn't cried since I was hit in the man bits with a baseball when I was six-years-old (saves my minor breakdown after overhearing Shane's tight ass comment). Yet, I hadn't stopped crying since showing up at Shane's doorstep, some hours prior, and I didn't want to start again.

I lunged forward and selfishly ravaged his soft lips.

"I need you." I needed the distraction, and well, him too.

He simply wrapped my legs around his waist and walked us to the other side of his bedroom, toward his bed. I felt him pressed against my ass and I adjusted myself in hopes he'd find his way and shivered when I felt his warm, thick shaft as it rubbed against me.

He moaned as he moved his hand down my lower back until his finger was sliding down my crevice as we carried me.

"God, I've missed you."

I was grinding against him when he squatted down near the back wall and it felt like the only things holding me up were his hand and dick; both were pressed deliciously against my ass.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I felt myself tip backward. I cinched my legs tighter around his waist, my breath hitched when I felt his arm squeeze me tighter against him. He started tossing box lids around and digging through totes with one hand while squatting and holding me tight with the other. As I held on for dear life while he rummaged like a crazy man, I asked.

"What are you doing?"

He paused and looked at me with sparkling eyes.

"Trying to find the damn lube. I haven't had a reason to unbox it and I didn't expect you to show up or I would've had it ready," he kissed me and resumed searching. "I know it's in one of these."

One of these was one of the ten totes that lined his wall. I groaned with annoyance.

"Don't you keep it handy for when you need...a handy?"

Not once stopping his frantic search, he commented with a straight face.

"I don't do that."

My jaw dropped with disbelief.

"What! You don't jerk it? Ever?"

He held up a bottle of lube and smiled like a kid finding lost Halloween candy in February.

"Got it!"

I felt his thighs flex as he effortlessly stood as if my one-hundred-and-sixty-five-pound frame wasn't wrapped around him like dead weight. My dick twitched at his sheer strength and vitality. He'd just spent three minutes crouching-walking in a squatting position with me wrapped around him like it wasn't a big deal.

I fucking love this man. I mean—I like this man. I like him a lot.

I didn't have time to over analyze my thoughts because Shane had me pressed against the mattress with my legs spread; giving himself all the access he needed. His eyes were dark and hooded as he kneeled there and stared at me. I was over-the-top filled with lust and having him stand there like a statue pulled my insecurities to the surface—I wanted him on me and in me, not analyzing and judging me. I tried to pull him down, but he resisted as I whined.

I was about to protest again when he fell forward—his body on mine and his lips on my lips. My back arched as I rocked against him and the feeling of his hardness against mine was everything. Hot lips started down my neck and I felt as though I was about to lose it. I wanted him more than ever.

His lube covered fingers found their way to my most sensitive spot. I was more than ready and it wasn't long before he had the real deal pressed against me. I pushed back to try to get him home, but every time I thought he was about to breach me, he'd pull back. After the fourth or fifth time of him denying himself entry, I growled.

"Do you get off on frustrating the shit out of me?"

The gate was open, security had been sent home. I wasn't playing hard to get, I practically had a sign that said, "Intruders welcome, take what you want." Hell, I was the bowl of Halloween candy that people leave on the porch, when they don't want to deal with the selfish children, with a sign that says, "Please Take One." Except, I had no limit, he could take as much as he wanted, yet he wasn't.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you."

He pressed a little harder and stopped. My eyes snapped open only to find him looking at me as he waited for me to continue so I added.

"I need you."

He pressed forward, and paused again.

"I need you so much...all of you!"

That time I felt the pressure of impending entry. So close.

"I fucking missed you so damn much."

I groaned as he slowly breached me. My breathing was heavy as I tried to calm myself from the initial pain.

"Fuck, it's you. It's always you."

Our eyes were locked together and there was a thin layer of sweat breaking out over each of us as he pressed forward.

"I wanted you the first time I saw you. You were so fucking hot! Even when I hated you, I wanted you. I hated you because I wanted you."

My eyes rolled as he pressed all of the way into me, then stilled.

"I'm glad you made me dance with you. I remember the way you smelled and felt against me. I didn't want to admit it, but I loved it."

He pulled out and pushed back in, making me want to lose my mind, but his eyes kept mine begging for more.

"That night was everything I'd ever wanted. Not just great sex, but the connection was so good and so intense."

He started really moving, encouraged my words of affection. No doubt he'd needed to hear that for a long time, since I'd never gave him what he really needed.

I moaned as I secretly hoped he'd hit spots in me, physically and emotionally, that would ruin me for anyone else.

"The way you chased me—even when I was being impossible. You never stopped...don't stop."

Don't stop chasing me, don't stop doing what you're doing.

"You make me feel things—"

My body was tingling and the feeling deep in my belly was building. My cock was being worked between our bodies while his cock worked deep inside of me, which made everything (from my breathing to my vision) unstable. I dug my fingers into his back and tried to pull him closer because I wanted more friction against my throbbing erection.

He looked deep into my eyes while pounding me harder and deeper, yet with so much care.

"What do you feel?"

Words were becoming more and more difficult to say.

"Happy, so happy."

"And?"

"Safe."

"And?"

I couldn't think because the feeling of explosion was so close. My toes curled and I held him tighter as I rolled my head back and waited for release. With sweat glistening on his skin, he asked, again.

"And?"

He squeezed my cheeks and forced me to look at him, although I was barely coherent enough to breathe on my own, let alone focus on him or answer any questions.

"What do you feel?"

Between thrusts, I said.

"Love. Love—for—you. I—love—you."

"That's it. Yes," he moaned.

He continued to repeat the words as he lost control and squeezed me, tightly, as he chased his orgasm. Feeling him release inside of me tipped me over the edge, I came with incoherency in my voice, and he slowed his thrusts until he finally slipped out of me.

He let my legs down and gently laid himself on top of me as he kissed my chest, shoulders, and neck until he reached my lips. I was completely out of it. The physical and emotional exhaustion took over and I could only lay there, like a rag doll, with my eyes closed as he peppered me with kisses. I couldn't even properly kiss back.

"You took my breath away the first time I saw you," I heard him whisper. I don't know how long I was out—it could've been minutes or hours—but he sounded a million miles away. I wasn't even sure if he was talking to me.

"I've easily walked away from a lot of people, but I couldn't walk away from you, not even when I wanted to."

That's nice. I tried to nod my head with approval. I was so glad he never truly walked away, even when I'd made it so easy.

"Before you, I didn't care if anyone got fed up with me. If they did, they could leave, but with you—I beat myself up daily. The harder I try, the more I fail."

I nodded at his words while drifting in and out of consciousness as his gentle caress lulled me back into a dream state.

"Don't give up on me," he quietly begged.

I shook my head slowly—I'd never let him go. If only for how good he felt as he rested between my limp thighs, with his fingers against my tired skin, and his kisses against my swollen lips.

"Donovan, I'm terrible at showing it, but I love you. I've been in love with you for a while—since the beginning."

I moaned and my dick twitched at his words. No one's ever, genuinely, said those words to me. I opened my eyes when I heard him laugh. He'd probably felt my reaction.

He was smiling at me. Actually, he was laughing at me so I groaned and covered my face with my arms, which he immediately uncovered. I knew I must've looked like Courtney Love, after a week-long binge, with my metaphorical makeup smeared from crying and sex. Oh god, my hair...

"I look terrible, don't I?"

He leaned down and kissed me. "You have no clue, do you?"

I shook my head. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"You always look good, every day. But when you're not put together—" his eyes rolled back in his head as he moaned. The expression on his face was how I think I look after taking a bite of a perfect chocolate chip cookie when it's fresh out of the oven. Pure satisfaction. "Remember when I showed up unannounced, at your house? When you thought I was UPS?"

"Don't remind me," I groaned at the memory.

"The second I saw you—" his brown eyes were full of affection. "I think that's when I fell in love with you. You're so sexy when you're raw and unscripted. The most perfect kind of perfect. It speaks to my innermost instinct." I felt him hardening against my thigh.

I rolled my eyes, but inwardly, I was smiling. It feels good to be wanted at your lowest. Well, what I thought was my lowest, Shane thought was perfect. It didn't take much more than a little fresh lube for Shane to slide into me again. This time, the love making was slow and he came inside of me a few minutes after I came between us.

We enjoyed nothing more than each other until we fell asleep. He woke in the middle of the night, pressed himself against my back side, and I gladly welcomed him. He took me fast and hard as I jerked myself to release before passing out, again.

I woke early the next morning, but I didn't have the heart to wake him, he looked so peaceful and beautiful. His auburn hair a disaster. I loved it. I wondered if that was how he saw me—a beautiful, perfect mess. As I stretched, I felt the remnants of last night crackling on my skin.

Eww. I lifted the blanket and rubbed a patch of crusted semen from my belly. As I got off of the bed, I brushed the loose particles off of my body and the bed sheets.

"Sex doesn't always equate to sexy," I mumbled to myself.

My effort was wasted as the bed was covered in its own fair share of white, crusted nasties. If the dried spunk wasn't enough of a reminder of what'd happened last night, the smell of man-sex was ripe in the room. After getting dressed, I decided to crack the window open to help alleviate the odor. Some people might argue that the smell of stagnant sex is wonderfully delicious. I call it foul...it's nasty.