“Nipples,” I gasp. He twists a little too hard, and it only takes one, two, three more strokes before I detonate, screaming through waves of pleasure. We’re still vertical, on our knees, and he slams up, up, up, and I feel him grow huge and pulse inside me, groaning in my ear. He twists my head so he can attack my mouth, wrapping his tongue with mine as he gives me one last thrust.
We collapse on the bed, and again I’m in my favorite place, being crushed by Elias.
He rolls us over after a minute. I realize he’s still wearing a shirt, and his pants and boxers are still around his shins. He doesn’t let me go anywhere, instead opening my legs to watch his come leak out of me. “Tell me that this isn’t better than porn,” he says, nipping me on the shoulder.
I laugh, feeling almost hysterically giddy and only slightly unhinged. “That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Wait,” he says, slipping his pants down and ripping his shirt off. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he tells me, before getting between my legs, his cock impossibly hard again, and positioning it at my entrance. “Watch,” he says, as he slowly pushes into me again, pushing all his come back in. He slides in, then out, and the feeling is unreal.
“I’m gonna come again,” I whimper.
“That’s the point of this whole arrangement,” he grins, and he starts to move.
You’ve made a grave mistake, you dumb cunt, the logical part of my brain screams at my content vagina, when I wake up with Elias wrapped around me in my bed. This feels too feeling-y. This feels warm and like where I belong and like I never want to leave and never want to share.Just sex, just sex, just sex, I say, as a twisted sort of pep talk.
This week has been hell. I’ve been on autopilot, just going through the motions, hiding in my room. Missing Elias. But now, as I feel him start to wake up, I decide it was all worth it. I decide I love learning these minuscule details about him, ones that I’d never known before. The sharp inhale he takes when he wakes up. The smell of his chest, like his soap and a little bit of sweat from the night before. The feel of his skin. I snuggle further into him, wanting to crawl inside his chest like a lunatic.
He freezes.
Shit.
“Morning, Gorgeous,” he still smiles down at me, even while pulling away.
“Morning, beautiful,” I answer, playing it cool, and not like a lifelong sex friend.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep here,” he murmurs. He reaches over still, and plays with my hair, rubbing the ends between two fingers.
“It’s okay. I—” I cut myself off before saying I loved it. “—don’t mind. I mean, it’s easy. Or hard, I mean. Because you live here. You sleep fifty feet away, anyway. This is the same thing. It’s just too easy. Or hard not to,” I ramble frantically.
He barks out a laugh. “Relax, Meems—”that fucking nickname is back and I hate it“while we’re here, let me do this,” he tells me, before leaning over and making out with me for a full five minutes, in spite of morning breath, and it’s soft and warm, and everything washes away.
He finally pulls away, grinning, his Dimple saying good morning now, too. “I missed this mouth.”
His random, sudden affection is infectious. “I missed your dick,” I manage.
He slaps my butt. “Let’s go shower.”
The shower inevitably turns into shower sex, which logistically has never worked for me, but obviously Elias teaches me how to handle it just fine. Unfortunately, this makes us late for work. Well, not actually late. We’re still there ten minutes before our contractual hours, but that’sreallylate for me. I see his notes for today’s class with my kids stuffed in his back pocket as he walks away.
Dazed, I walk up to my classroom, leaving five minutes to prep for my entire day. But I feel okay about it today.
“All right, peeps,” Elias is yelling over the Olympic theme song he’s blasting from a massive Bluetooth speaker.
A new idea pops into my head as I watch him. Opening ceremony. We need an opening ceremony.
“Welcome to the PS 2 Fall Olympics,” he orates in a strange accent, looking like one of the original competitors in the first 1869 Olympics in Athens, with his sculpted Zeus body and slightly crooked Roman nose. My kids stare at him, rapt.
Kyle raises his hand. “Where are the basketballs?”
Elias doesn’t miss a beat. In his terrible accent, somewhere between British and maybe Romanian, he answers him. “Settle down, Kyle. We haven’t even gotten through the Opening Ceremony, yet.” He mimes pulling his hands out of pants, and Kyle copies him.
I grin.
“Now, we’re all gonna participate in the Olympic Games, but not all of us are going to be athletes. Some of us are going to be athletes, but some of us can be referees or judges or even sportscasters.
Sean raises his hand. Elias nods at him. “Can some of us be the audience?”
Elias’s previously serious demeanor softens for a moment, but he reverts back quickly. “Sorry, bud. You gotta remember that this is P.E. And what does the ‘P’ stand for?”
