I watch him settle back against the pillows, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s not impossibly hard against his own sleep pants.
The minutes stretch. He watches me. I writhe. He lifts the vibrator every few seconds to avoid overstimulating me.
“Can’t have you cumming prematurely,” he comments.
“Cheater,” I counter between gritted teeth.
The vibrator keeps up its relentless buzzing against my oversensitive flesh, touching for three seconds, away for two, then touching again for three seconds. I’m making sounds I’d be probably embarrassed about if I had any pride left.
“Nico. Please.”
“Please what?” he asks.
Oh no.
This game.
“You know what,” I say, squirming.
“Say it,” he instructs.
My face flames. “I want...”
He tilts his head, looks at me hungrily. “Yes?”
“I want you inside me.” The words come out breathy and desperate.
“Where?” he asks.
“My... my pussy.” Even after all this time, saying it makes me feel exposed.
Which is probably why he makes me say it.
He smiles. “Good girl.”
And then he’s there, finally, pushing inside me with one smooth, condom-free thrust.
We move together with the ease of people who’ve memorized each other. Every rhythm, every angle, every sound the other makes. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes throughout the bedroom.
His hand finds my hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks. I drag my nails down his back.
“Mine,” he growls against my throat.
“Yours,” I gasp.
“Say my name,” he orders.
“Nico!” I scream.
“Again.”
I’m so close.
So close.
“Nico!God, Nico, please...Nico Nico Nico!” I say his name in time to his every thrust.
“You like it?” hetaunts.
