My back arches off the blankets.
A raw scream tears from my throat.
“GREGORY!”
My cunt convulses around him in violent, rhythmic clenches, milking his cock.
Pleasure detonateseverywhere.
Hips.
Toes.
Fingertips.
He snarls my name.“Sorrel!”
His hips stutter and he slams deep as his own release hits.
I feel him pulse inside me as his groan vibrates against my throat.
We collapse together on the blankets, both breathing hard. I’m shaking, possibly from the multiple orgasms or possibly from emotional overload. Hard to say.
Stay.
The plea echoes in my lingering grip on his body, but after a moment he pulls away and rises.
The warmth where his body was pressed against mine turns cold. My thighs clench against the lingering throb between them, still aching from his fullness. The fire crackles, but it can’t replace his furnace heat.
Gone.
I watch him walk toward the guest bathroom.
He’s just disposing of the condom.
He’ll be back soon.
Still...
My skin prickles with phantom touches, already mourning the loss of his calloused palms.
I hear the faucet run for a beat, and then, thankfully, he returns.
He lies down and immediately wraps me in blankets, but it’shimI crave. The hard planes of his chest against me, his arms banding around my ribs like a renewed claim.
He tucks my head under his chin, and I melt into that familiar scent of sweat, sex, and safety.
Wait, is safety even a scent?
Doesn’t matter.
This moment is all that’s important.
His hand strokes my hair, slowly and possessively. “Still there?”
I try to remember how to speak. My mind is liquid, my body a quivering mess of aftershocks. All I manage is a choked whimper against his collarbone, my fingers knotting in the blankets like they might anchor me to this moment.
To him.
