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John can't remember the last time he was this drunk. He'd gotten himself into this position, if he was going to be totally honest with himself. She didn't know the extent of his problem. He'd suggested the restaurant. God, he thought, they weren't even supposed to be doing this. She was some young doctoral student, no older than 28, and he was her fucking professor he wasn't supposed to be doing this with her. He couldn't help it. She was so kind, and funny, and she was definitely into him.
His back was pushed up into the wall of his apartment, her long fingers fisted into his button-up, one leg pushed between his. God. What was he doing here? He reached up to tangle a hand in her hair, long and blonde, like Susan's had been once upon a time. She was so like Susan in so many ways, tall, blonde, smart. No, he corrected himself, she wasn't Susan. His ex-wife was a different person now. His student, 'what was her name?', had him out of his shirt and halfway out of his slacks before he registered what was happening. God.
As the cold air hit his bare chest, John had to shiver, pulling the young woman closer to him instinctively. He pushed his hands up her dress, leaning away to kiss clumsily at her neck. Was he too drunk for this? Fuck. Her silk panties bunched up around his fingers and he groaned. Finally, in her drunken fumbling, Coraline had gotten him out of his briefs. Her hands were ice-cold on his cock, but god she felt so good against him. How long had it been? Years? He hadn't done this since the last time Susan had been willing to fuck him and that had been long before the accident.
The accident. It wasn't an accident, John reminded himself. You did this.
Hot bile bubbled up in his chest and John Reilly had to push it down before he threw up all over the hot young doctoral student who was currently kissing her way down his chest. "Fuck." He groaned, pulling at her hair, still wrapped around his fingers. She grinned against his hip bone, batting her eyelashes up at him. "Don't tease me, Cor, please," A whimper. Pathetic. John let his head hit the wall, screwing his eyes closed. Her name was Coraline.
If it had been years since he'd gotten laid, it had been well over a decade since he'd had someone's mouth on him like this. Susan had never really enjoyed pleasuring him. She'd always been straight down to business, then done as soon as he was finished. No care, no love. Coraline's hands were all over him, running up his thighs, curving around to grope at his back and his cheeks as she swallowed him whole. God. As her throat constricted around him, gulping around his length like a suction cup, John cried out. "Jesus Christ, Coraline," He should not be doing this.
Seeing Coraline there, on her knees, clearly having the time of her life pleasuring him brings John to a dark, pathetic place. When was the last time someone had spent this much time making sure he felt good? Making sure he was okay? He couldn't remember. His throat constricts on him again, seizing his heart like an elephant on his chest. His throat burns hot.
"Cor- Coraline, you've got to stop," he chokes out, finally prying his eyes open. "I'm not going to make it." Not technically a lie, but a lie in spirit. He's not even close.
Coraline blinks up at him owlishly, bright blue eyes shining with pride and excitement. He heaves her up into his arms, a feat for a man of his small stature, and sets out toward his bedroom. Maybe if they get this over with, he'll make it through in one piece.
By the time John throws her onto his bed, she's totally naked and as he realizes this, she's splaying her form out before him, laughing and groaning all the while. He's not ready for this. A dark pit sits in his gut. Will Susan hate him for this?
John Reilly you've been divorced for 6 months, he reminds himself.
Coraline reaches down between her legs and runs her fingers between her wet folds, not pleasuring herself, but teasing him. He curses, catching his breath.
Finally his legs creak forward, carrying him robotically toward the bed. She smiles softly at him, beckoning him with one hand. "There you go, John. Come here." That is what does him in. She wants him there, in her arms to hold and fuck and care about. Jesus, John, he thinks.
As he falls into Coraline, his bitter thoughts melt away. He's on top of her, strong arms holding her flush to his chest, but she's in total control of him. Her fingers run softly through his hair, long nails scratching lazily at his scalp, her arms wrap tightly around his torso keeping him there with her. Her hips set their pace, pushing into him relentlessly. John is surrounded by her, totally wrapped, mind and body, by her soft warmth. He can't catch his breath, in spite of himself. He's too far gone to remind himself that she doesn't care about him like he needs her to, so he just buries his face in her chest and lets go.
Its her whispering in his ear that pushes him over the edge. "Come on, John. Its okay. I'm here, come for me John." and he does. Her affirmation that she's there and will remain there is too much for him. He can't remember the last time anyone made him feel so cared about, so seen.
It's there, in his most vulnerable moment, naked, soft, and wrapped in her arms, that he loses what he'd been holding in all night. John's breath catches, his heart stops, and before he can stop it hot tears flood his vision. He's still inside her, still on top of her, but its too late.
He cries.
John cries and Coraline, his young doctoral student, stays there for him. She continues holding him, drawing soft patterns in his back, whispering quiet affirmations in his ear, until he falls asleep there between her breasts.
There's no telling if she'll be there in the morning or what the repercussions of their night will be, but for now, he doesn't care.