And I can’t stop myself from touching him in return. His body is incredible, all hard planes and warm skin, muscles shifting under my palms as he moves.
Somehow, this is one of the hottest experiences of my life.
What the hell is making it so great? Maybe it’s because the costumes give us permission to be different people, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m just so relieved this is actually happening.
Or maybe he’s just really, really good at sex.
Whatever it is, there’s something freeing about being wanted by someone who doesn’t know about the baggage I carry.
He discovers my nipples are my weakness and proceeds to exploit this information mercilessly. First with his fingers, light touches that make me squirm, then his tongue circling slowly while I grip his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. By the time he adds teeth into the mix, just the slightest pressure, I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten my own name.
“The Force is particularly strong here,” he mutters hoarsely against my chest, and I would laugh except I can’t breathe properly.
He retrieves lube and condoms, and even while he’s prepping me, he speaks in whispers that still sound vaguely like Darth Vader, and I whisper back nonsense that’s halfStar Warsreferences and half begging, a combination that shouldn’t be hot but apparently is based on the heat in his eyes.
I’m so desperate, needy, chasing the pressure that his fingers tease me with.
“I’m ready.”
He responds by withdrawing his fingers gently and then flipping me over like I weigh nothing. Suddenly, I’m on my stomach with his weight pressing me into the mattress in the best possible way.
My eyes sting when he starts to enter me. It’s not due to the minor burn of pain because let’s face it, my body is out of practice doing this. It’s because all the feelings are suddenly overwhelming me, his breath on the back of my neck, the way he’s edging inside with this perfect combination of restraint andurgency, and the sheer relief that my body still knows how to do this, still knows how to feel good.
“Okay?” he rasps.
“Never better,” I manage to say back in a choked-up voice.
But then we’re not really saying much, besides my extremely creative variations on “oh god” and “please” and his name, which I still don’t actually know, so I just keep calling him Vader, which he seems to find hilarious between groans.
He fills me and stretches me so exquisitely. Every thrust lights me up from the inside, like those glow sticks you crack at concerts.
Except instead of lasting three hours, I’m about to last three more seconds if he keeps hitting that exact spot.
“Oh yeah, Vader, keep doing that,” is not something I ever thought I’d find myself saying, but never say never.
He rocks back, pulling me into a position where he can easily get a hand to stroke my cock with the same tempo he’s thrusting inside me. It’s too much, the combined sensations making my brain short-circuit like I’ve stuck a fork in a toaster, except instead of electrocution, I’m getting the good kind of destroyed.
My orgasm hits like I’ve been shot out of hyperdrive, everything blurring and bright. I’m pretty sure I say something embarrassing about the Force, but he’s too busy following me over the edge to judge me, his whole body shuddering as he erupts inside me.
Then he gently pulls out of me, and we’re just two idiots smeared in costume paint, trying to remember how breathing works.
“Wow,” I say, and he smiles.
And then he pulls me to him. My face presses against his incredible chest with a smattering of sexy hair that rasps against my cheek.
I listen to his heart thudding and realize mine is matching his beat for beat. Like they’re having their own little conversation about what just happened.
God, it’s so nice to be held like this. So nice to have the warmth of someone’s arms around me, the simple miracle of skin against skin without any agenda except being close.
I tilt my head up to look at him. He really has been Yoda-fied, with green paint streaked across his jaw like some kind of alien hickey.
I reach up to try and wipe it off, but he captures my hand and leans down to kiss me.
And then we’re kissing again, slow and lazy this time, tangled up in each other, not in a particularly sexy way but in a “we’re both too blissed out to figure out whose leg goes where” way.
Making out after sex? Not my normal experience, but I am so here for it.
And okay, we haven’t even exchanged names, but I love the fact that kissing him is starting to feel familiar.
