“You’re so thick, and I’m so full. God, Wilder, I’m not going to last,” she moans.
Thank fuck, at least that makes two of us.
“Are you okay? You’re so quiet.”
“Also trying not to come,” I grind out, my face heating. “Trying not to think about how tight you are or how you just impaled yourself on me without a second thought.”
“I needed you to fill me up. I couldn’t wait.”
“That’s good. It’s so good. Too good. I might stroke out,” I pant breathlessly.
My cock kicks inside her as she lifts herself off and sinks back down. When I make the mistake of opening my eyes to watch the show, I immediately shut them tight again because it makes it that much more unbearable and harder to hold back. My balls are going to detonate. She’s soaking, and I’m a hot mess too. Every time she rocks forward, I can hear how wet we are.
It’s so perfect.
So fucking hot.
My legs start to tremble, and not just a little. A lot. Uncontrollably. As Carissa’s a nurse, there’s no amount of pleasure that’s going to keep her from noticing.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” she gasps.
“Yup,” I bite out tightly. I have to give her something. It has to be the truth, or she’ll assume something terrible. “Just trying really hard not to come.”
There’s a pause. A lengthy silence. And then she rocks forward harder, grinding against me wickedly. “You don’t have to not come. You can come whenever you like.”
“I want to wait for you.”
“I’m almost there. We can be totally cliché and do it together.” She’s working her hips so furiously that I don’t stand a chance. “Oh god. Yes. Right there… don’t move. Oh wow, yes.” I didn’tmove. I won’t. She’s doing all the work. She’s glorious, riding me backward and taking me exactly where she needs me.
She throws her head back when she comes, changing the rhythm to long, drawn-out strokes. The ends of her hair brush against my stomach as she raises her head like she’s going to wolf-cry to the moon. But she doesn’t. She just pants and breathes heavily through the pleasure.
I somehow manage to hold on, even with her rippling all around me, to let her take her pleasure without changing up the position. When I’m fried on that front, I grasp her hips and rock her hard. She rides with me, whimpering and gasping for air, her pussy still spasming all around my cock.
“Can I come inside you?” The question sounds rude, but so is doing it, or not doing it, depending on her response.
“Y-yes. P-please do.”
My balls practically climb into my body as the first waves of pleasure rock me. It’s not just experiencing such a strong climax that makes for an almost out-of-body experience and some semi-mortifying shaking. It’s Carissa coming right along with me. It’s her joy and pleasure that make this so incredible. It’s the heat of her and the pulsing waves of her tight heat wrapped around me that makes me keep coming and coming until I might truly be in danger of fracturing apart.
The hard truth? I never wrote or sang love songs, not just because Matt thought they were stupid, but because I didn’t believe in them that way. Every song I wrote—every lyric, every note—was an act of love, and for me, that was enough. I have a whole fanbase whom I could give love to. I knew love from my grandmother in a familial way. I had the love of friends at one point, although I’m not sure that ever fully goes away. But romantic love? I never told myself I didn’t believe in it, but I guess part of me gave up on it long before I arranged for a fake girlfriend. I didn’t believe it was possible to connect with anotherperson on this level. All those other songs that were coming out and being made famous by the people writing them and singing them were great for them, but I didn’t buy into it, at least for me. For others? It was great for them. Looking back, I can see that part of me was jealous.
And how a great big part of me just didn’t understand.
I’d never found a person I could understandwith.
Carissa slides off me with more ease and grace than I have at the moment. Then, she turns around and spreads out on the couch with me. There’s not much room with my big body doing its best deadweight impression, but that just means she has to arrange herself half on top of me.
She nuzzles her face into my neck, her body going limp. She’s so warm. So trusting. Her breaths tickle my ear with every exhale. I’m sticky, and she’s a little bit sticky too.
This is better than anything I’ve felt on stage in a very long time. Maybe at the beginning of it all, I’d get that wild rush. And I still do, before every show, but it fades with time. This is the rush, but it’s also the peace. That’s the aspect that was always missing. This is a different sensation entirely. It’s not just the aftermath of coming down from all that pleasure. It’s not my brain going haywire just because it felt intensely good for a while. Whatever it is that has drawn us together, I haven’t felt with any other person.
My brain screams at me to run and take cover and search for safety immediately.
But my gut instinct, maybe even my heart, says to stay. Be steadfast. Trust.
Carissa raises her head and looks into my face at exactly the moment when I’m warring with myself. My emotions are overflowing from my eyes, and it’s all there for her to read.
Her lips don’t thin out or get pinched. She doesn’t shove herself off me, call me an imbecile, or accuse me of havingdoubts, all while I sold her on some line of security just so I could get into her pants.
