All the way gone now, I power into her mouth, then pull out and spill all over her tits.
Chapter Nineteen
Lot
Now he’s grocery shopping?
Ican’t move—still catching my breath. My jaw is tender from sucking, but I don’t care.
I’ve had good sex before. Even great. But nothing like this.
I’ve never squirted or had a man come all over my breasts. Not even my B.O.B.s can keep up with Dice. Everything between us is just so intense. I’m savage with him, about him, for him.
I like going hard. I like having control. I need it. But unlike with other partners, I trust him enough to give it up when I want to. I don’t know if that makes him safe or dangerous.
He helps me up, not even looking winded, like he could go another round.
“You some kind of freak sex machine?” I ask, my whole body still tingling and pulsing.
He pulls up his shorts, his eyes scanning my naked body and hissemen on my skin with a satisfied grin. “You’re the one ruining me for life.”
I roll my eyes, even as I dare to let myself hope it’s true.
He draws me in for a hug. Dice is surprisingly affectionate outside of sex. I’m not. Those after-sex cuddles are too intimate. They make me feel vulnerable and exposed.
“There you go.” He gently lifts my arms to wrap around his back. “You got it.”
“I know how to hug,” I grumble.
“’Course you do,” he murmurs into my hair, one hand stroking down my damp back to my hip.
I try not to tense up and just stay in the moment. It feels strange to hold someone like this for no real reason… but not in a bad way with Dice.
“Let’s shower,” he says, lifting my chin to press a kiss to my lips. “Then make coffee and breakfast. Unless you’d rather hit the café.”
“I don’t have the energy to walk.”
“Same.”
“You seem fine.”
“I feel incredible. Thanks for trusting me, Lot.”
There’s something deeper in his eyes—something that makes my heart beat a little too fast. And then, just like that, it’s gone, replaced with his playful smirk as he scoops up my panties and stuffs them in his pocket. “Keeping these.”
“You collect souvenirs?” I ask, following him toward the bathroom.
“That sounds like a loaded question.”
“Just don’t want my Love, Veras to end up in some trophy drawer.”
“Don’t have one of those. This is an exclusive collection.”
Humming, pleased with himself, he turns on the tap and adjusts the temperature. Soon the room is fogging up with steam. There’s something intimate about stepping under the hot spray with him. About lathering up his body and his soapy hands gliding over mine.
He draws my back to his chest, cups my breast with one hand, and as if remembering what I’d said earlier, brings the massage head between my legs. I break apart in his arms, another orgasm ripping through me, my cries echoing off the tiles.
I slump against him, spent once again. The sex I can handle. That part keeps things balanced. Keeps us level.
