Was it his ex-wife? Am I a rebound?
I command my anxious mind to stop trying to ruin this, and instead focus only on relevant questions. Like wondering if he has the same negative STI test that I got from the local Planned Parenthood. Maybe next time I’ll bring it up.
Maybe next time we won’t bother with condoms.
But for now, I tear open the box and hand him one of the foil packets.
George pauses playing with my nipples to accept the birth control. He moves away enough to free both hands and roll the rubber on, then he envelops me again, guiding my top leg up and back to rest on his thigh.
“Relax as much as you can,” he directs me when I feel the tip of him press against my entry. “Fuck, Beth. You’re tight.”
I whimper, from the pressure of George working himself in, but also because I’m addicted to the gravelly note in his voice.
“You’re nice and wet,” he groans, “but let’s use some lube.”
“O-okay.” My brain barely comprehends the suggestion.
“It’s in the drawer, Beth baby. Can you reach it?” His question is hot on the back of my neck. Once I comprehend what he asked, my hand rummages around clumsily until my fingers find a small bottle.
“Good girl. Use it on me,” he commands.
Pleasure has my body heavy, almost feverish, but I manage to pop the top and cover my fingers with the slick lubricant. Reaching between my legs, I spread the moisture on my pussy lips and the decent amount of his cock that waits to enter me.
George has a ways to go, and I groan at the thought of him fitting the rest of his thick length inside me.
“Are you going to take it all?” His hips give short, gentle thrusts.
“I’m trying.”
“I know. You’re doing great,” he praises me as his fingers seek out my clit and rub encouraging circles. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” He hums an encouraging note deep in his throat. “Good girls make it fit.”
I shove my face against the mattress and moan, George matching the sound as his hips finally meet my ass. He’s all the way in, and I’ve never been so full in my life.
The stretching sensation paired with his firm fingers on my clit is glorious.
“Come for me,” he demands. “Let me feel it, Beth.”
As if he controls my vagina with his guttural words, I find myself soaring over the edge once more, sobbing out his name as my body clasps his. Pleasure shudders and clenches.
“Good. So fucking good.” George grips my hip as he thrusts, slow at first, then faster. His breath releases in hard, hot gusts, brushing over the sweat beading on my neck.
When I regain control of my muscles, I reach back to grab his ass, digging my nails in and reveling in the way his glutes tighten into iron with each flexing thrust.
“Beth, you’re going to make me…oh god…when you touch me…grab me…” The next noise out of his mouth is harsh, more animal than man. His thick cock jerks inside me, and George’s choppy grunts tell me he’s coming. Hard.
Using my inner muscles, I bear down on him, and he shouts a curse, rolling us so that his back is on the bed and I’m splayed wide on top of him as he thrusts up into me with a final, powerful heft of his hips.
Then we both collapse into a panting, sweaty pile.
“Fucking hell, Beth.”
“I second that.”
And as the sound of our ragged breaths fills the room, George holds me close, proving my theory about him being a hugger to be true. But I don’t mind. After losing myself in pleasure, it’s nice to be held steady.
When we recover enough to move, George throws out the condom and grabs a wet washcloth from the bathroom. He gets me a glass of water from the kitchen. Then he spends the next half hour slowly making out with me, his mouth only straying from my lips to pay homage to my nipples. But he doesn’t push for another round of sex. It’s as though he only wants to savor the intimacy.
The act is surprisingly relaxing. Tension that has built up in my muscles and joints for years eases under the tender treatment. The only responsibility I have in this moment is to stay in his arms and accept his sensual affection.
