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He woke up restless, sweating. Heart beating so fast and hard in his chest that he thought it was about to explode. And then he remembered his nightmare, his brain torturing him at night, making him recall insidiously the events he had faced earlier. As if the anxiety that had its grip on him all day wasn't enough, it had to come to him at night too.
He felt useless. His job was useless.
He grabbed an ashtray and his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and lit one. Too bad about the nicorette. Migraine hit him and he pressed his palm to his forehead.
“Javi?” you murmured, voice sleepy.
“Shit, I’m sorry hermosa. Did I wake you up?” he asked, still haunted by the images swirling like ghosts in his mind, his gaze lost in the sheets he couldn't even see.
“It’s ok, baby,” you answered. You sat up and wrapped your arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder. The warmth of your naked body against his, an attempt to get him back to you.
You knew what was torturing him, you had lost count of his nighttime awakenings, mumbling in his sleep.
He kept smoking, flicking the ash into the ashtray from time to time.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Hey… don’t do that,” you replied, kissing his shoulder and tightening your grip around him. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”
His Adam's apple throbbed and then returned to its place, almost painfully.
“Javier,” you insisted.
The corner of his lip slightly twitched into a smile, as he heard you say his full first name to prove that you meant it. You were the only one who never made him roll his eyes, always knew how to act around him, instinctively.
“Tell me what you need,” you said, encouraging him.
He put out his cigarette and placed the ashtray back on the nightstand. “Need to forget,” he breathed, still unable to look at you, as if he hated himself at those moments.
“Come here,” you said, hand tight on his bicep as you lay down on the bed and spread your thighs lightly. He positioned himself between them, his eyes finally plunging into yours. You brushed his cheek as he nestled his cock at your entrance. His tortured, haunted eyes fixed on yours, but not quite present yet.
He slowly pushed in and the warmth of your cunt surrounded him. He frowned, as if he was fighting against the darkest part of himself to come back to you, mentally and physically.
Your body responded to his length, his touch, and covered him with your wetness. Your fingers played with his hair at the back of his neck as he slid his arms under your shoulders. He moaned softly when he felt your body fully welcome him.
You didn't take your eyes off him, watching his gaze changing and the anxiety leaving, as he was fucking you slowly, your clit already throbbing against his skin.
“You’re my constant in this world, hermosa,” he had told you once.
And each of those moments proved it to you a little more, night after night. You knew he would be okay as long as he would be against you, inside you. And so would you.