His mouth is on mine before I’m finished. He parts my lips with his, slipping his tongue inside in a move I know he’ll use between my legs later. It takes all my strength to tear myself away, walking to the hallway.
He follows slowly, tucking himself back in, turning off the television, taking his wallet and phone out of his pocket and placing them on the counter.
The bedroom is pitch-black but he finds me there, like muscle memory guides him. The bed dips and my hands find his waist in the dark. He doesn’t need to touch me. He can do it after. I can’t wait any longer.
I push and pull his clothes off necessary body parts and his hands do the same to mine. Spreading my legs, he rests in the cradle of my body, rubbing his cock as he gets hard again all over me until we’re both slick and wet.
“Want you,” I say. Because it’s the only thing I can speak out loud right now. I justwant. I want so much it’s a need.
Taking himself in hand, he pushes inside me. I could come like this, just from him filling me up.
He shudders, burying his face into the space where my jaw meets my throat.
Gripping my shirt in one hand to keep the hem above my breasts, he kisses my hot skin as he starts to move.
He pets me, my clit swollen and begging. With his mouth on me, his cock in me. This is all I need. Just this.
My orgasm moves slowly through me, like the sun through the room throughout the day. Hot and long I come around him, tremble beneath him while he thrusts in long strokes. Not until I’m wrung out does he let himself come again, wrapping his arms around me, pulling my body into his, pushing himself into me as far as he can go.
He is everywhere and yet it’s still not enough.
Our chests heave together as we catch our breaths. He rolls to the side, bringing me with him. Wesley hitches my limp leg around his hip, keeping his softening cock inside my body.
“Don’t leave,” I say. I feel weighted to this bed. We can never move again.
“Tired?” He kisses my forehead. I can only hum a response. “Want me to stay until you fall asleep?”
“No,” I mumble. I wanted more. To fuck his fingers, his mouth but my lips feel buzzy and numb. “Don’t leave,” I say again, my body or my bed. “Stay all night. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
“Yeah?” He sounds surprised and happy and exhausted.
I nod against his chest.
“How come?”
“Let’s pretend tonight was real,” I say. It’s easier in the dark. “Didn’t it feel real tonight?”
The routine of it, the comfort. My feet on his legs, his feet on my table. It felt like maybe, one day, it could be real.
“Yes,” he says after a long pause. He peppers my cheeks and shoulders with kisses. I purr another happy sound.
“It felt a little bit like that.”
There’s a tone in his voice, like what he’s left unsaid is,it felt a bit real but it’s not. And it disappoints him.
This is all I can give him. Maybes and pretend. But I think—I know—he wants more. He deserves it, too.
He’s the kind of man who wants to hold my hand, to know that we claim each other when we walk down the street. He wants to pull me out to the dance floor even if he’s probably not a very good dancer, to tease me for showing up late to Happy Hour.
I don’t know how much longer he’ll wait.
A take-out coffee cup slides slowly across my desk on Friday afternoon. “Here,” Wesley says. “You were working pretty hard and missed your own alarm.”
I blink up at him as the soft bell sound of my PM coffee alarm tinkles from my cell phone in my desk drawer.
“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Making him fetch coffee now feels a little weird, but my Friday afternoon slump won’t let me refuse the caffeine hit.
