“You’ve done it before.” I add another finger, curling them just right.
She does.
The second orgasm crashes into the first, the layered sensations leaving her gasping and incoherent.
Her fingers are still twisted in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and I fucking love every second of it.
When she finally comes down, I kiss my way back up her body. She’s a quivering mess. Totally wrecked.
Exactly the way I want her.
“That was...” She can’t finish the sentence.
“Oh I’m not done with you yet,” I tease.
I stand and strip off my sweats. Her eyes track the movement, heavy-lidded but hungry.
My cock is painfully hard, has been for the last hour while I’ve been torturing both of us. Pre-cum glistens at the tip, pearling.
She reaches for me. I catch her wrist.
“Not yet.” I guide her hand to my chest instead, pressing her palm flat over my heart. The organ is pounding hard enough that I’m sure she can sense it. “You feel that?”
“Yes,” she replies.
“That’s what you do to me.” I slide her hand lower. Down my carved stomach. Past my navel. Wrap her fingers around my cock. “And this. All of it. Is yours.”
Her grip tightens. I groan.
“Yours,” I repeat. “Every fucked up, scarred, broken piece. Yours.”
Condom. I need a condom.
There’s a box in my nightstand that I’m pretty sure has expired from disuse, but I bought new ones last week. Just in case.
She releases me long enough for me to open my nightstand and fumble with the box. I grab a packet and tear it open with my teeth, then roll the condom on with hands that aren’t quite steady.
She watches me with that expression that still catches me off guard. Like I’m worth looking at. Like the scars make me more interesting instead of less. Like she wants to swallow every fucking part of me. Especially my cock.
When I finally sink into her, we both groan. I’ve already decided, I’m not fucking her this time. I’mmaking loveto her.
The phrase has always struck me as sentimental bullshit, but right now I understand itcompletely.
I set a rhythm that’s different from every other time we’ve been together. Slow rolls of my hips instead of brutal thrusts. Deep rather than hard. My forehead pressed to hers, our breath mingling, eyes locked.
“So perfect,” I murmur. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Nico.” My name on her lips, so full of desire, almost makes me cum right there, and it’s all I can do to hold back.
“I’ve got you.” I say after a moment, and I shift the angle slightly so that I’m hitting the spot inside her that always makes her cry out.
Her orgasm builds slowly this time. A rising tide instead of a crashing wave. I can feel her tightening around me, feel my own release gathering at the base of my spine. I keep up the slow, rhythmic movements.
Thrust.
Withdraw.
Thrust.
