The climax hits like a seizure. No warning, justwhite noise and convulsing muscles. I arch off the couch, mouth open in a silent scream.
“Four!” He slams home, hips jerking as he empties himself into the condom.
We collapse in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs. His heartbeat rages against my ear where my cheek rests on his chest. The air reeks of sex and him. Cedar, salt, and spent lust. His hand drifts lazily down my spine, fingertips tracing the curve of my ass.
Marked. Claimed.
I nuzzle the damp hollow of his throat. “Still think... I’m beautiful?”
His laugh vibrates through me. “More now.” He tips my chin up. “Look at you. Flushed. Used. Perfect.”
Outside, Manhattan hums. Taxis, sirens, the pulse of a city that never sleeps. In my shabby studio, we exist in a bubble of skin and silence.
His fingers trail patterns on my hip.
“You counted,” I whisper.
“Wanted you to know.” His thumb strokes the bite mark on my shoulder. “Every time I wrecked you.”
I trace the ridges of his abdomen. “Five next time?”
He says nothing.
We just lay there, tangled together on the couch. I’m boneless (and well-boned). Not to mention slightly dazed, like I’ve been hit by a truck.
A very pleasurable truck.
Fuck. Will I ever feel this way again with anyone else?
After what seems an eternity, and yet also a heartbeat, Marco shifts, carefully extracting himself. I immediately feel the loss of his warmth and have to resist the urge to pull him back.
Don’t be clingy, Jess. One night,remember?
He stands, disposes of the condom, then crosses to my tiny kitchen. I hear the tap run. He returns with a glass of water and my ratty throw blanket. And a damp cloth.
“Drink,” he says, handing me the glass.
I drink. The water is cold, and grounding. Somewhat. At least my hands are steadier now.
He sits back down, and the tenderness as he cleans between my thighs with the damp cloth almost undoes me. Then he pulls me against him, and drapes the throw blanket over us both. For a moment, we just sit there in the quiet.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear.
I could fall asleep like this.
I could stay here forever.
But I know I can’t.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.” I am. Sort of. “You?”
His face darkens. He doesn’t answer for a long moment. Finally: “Yeah.”
We don’t talk about what this means.
We don’t make promises or plans.
