He emerges a few minutes later wearing only fresh briefs, and I watch as he retrieves a condom from his wallet on the nightstand.
“Still good?” he asks.
I nod. Because despite every logical reason to stop this now, I’m not done. Not even close.
He prowls back to the bed and suddenly we’re kissing again. Hungry and deep. His weight presses me into the mattress and I can feel him hard again already, which seems physically improbable but I’m not complaining.
His hand finds mine in the sheets. Threads our fingers together. Then he squeezes three times.
The signal hits me like a freight train.
The three-squeeze cue.
Our old consent check.
He remembers.
I squeeze back three times.
Yes. I’m sure. Don’t stop.
After that, there are no more questions.
Just his hand sliding up my ribs.
His teeth grazing my collarbone.
Then he shifts, kneeling above me. His olive-peach skin gleams under low light, that scar above his brow a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.
His fingers hook into the waistband of those white boxer briefs.
He slides them down in one slow motion, and the air catches in my throat.
His cock springs free.Huge, thick-veined, and already flushed dark. Throbbing visibly like a second heartbeat.
It looks even bigger than I remember.
If that’s even possible.
Precum pearls at the tip, slick and gleaming. A viscous string stretches between the swollen head and the cotton as he finally peels the fabric past his hips, a string that snaps only when he tosses the underwear aside.
I watch, mesmerized, as he grips his shaft and his thumb casually rubs the swollen head. He groans, low and primal, spreading that slickness over his length.
His other hand fumbles for the foil packet. When it tears open, the sound shreds through the silence and he rolls the condom down meticulously, those investor’s fingers stretching latex over straining flesh.
Every ridge and vein disappears beneath the thin latex, but I remember...God, I remember... how he felt bare, when I was on the pill.
His knuckles brush his stomach as he smooths the last millimeter, a shudder rippling through his shoulders.
I tremble at the ruthless control, the animal need.
“Open for me,” he commands.
I do, and then he’s pushing inside and I forget how to breathe.
Jesus Christ.
Definitely forgot how big he is.
