He’s still holding me so tightly I can barely move, and I grope desperately for my dick. It’s rock hard and leaking a steady trickle down the shaft, but when I go to stroke, Jasper finds me and stills my hand while he rocks inside me.
“Wait,” he says.
“I don’t think I can.”
“I waited for you for sixty days. Just give me a few more minutes.”
How can I say no to that? I lean back, tilting my head against his shoulder. He croons, telling me how good I am while he pumps inside me. Since I’ve gone pliant against him, he lets go of me, letting my weight keep me where he wants me while he grips my hips, lifting me up and down on his cock while my own dick bobs mindlessly in front of us. Every thrust feels so damn good. We’re warm, even unclothed, and sweat slides against our skin where his front and my back are pressed together.
I’m trying to wait. I really am. But every time he hits my prostate, my insides coil tighter and tighter. The sensation is overwhelming and I’m not going to last.
“Jasper,” I gasp. “Hurry. I’m going to come.”
In one motion he bends forward, pushing me down so my ass is in the air and my face is squished into a pillow. I have to turn to the side to breathe, but all the air seems to have gone out of the room. I gasp as he slaps against my ass. His fingers on my hips are so tight he’ll probably bruise me and I don’t care. His. If it’s like this every time, I’m so his.
With one last thrust, he sends me over the edge. The orgasm shoots out of me in a rush. The strangled cry scrapes against my throat, and my hands go cold. It’s all I can do not to let the feeling wash over me completely, but I’m not sure I’d be able to stop it right now once I let go. Behind me, Jasper groans and has a chance for one final thrust before he loses the rhythm, and the hot splash inside me says he’s coming too. I’ve never had sex without a condom before, and the pulse of his dick in my ass sends off little aftershocks from my own dick, leaving me to drip helplessly onto his sheets.
When he pulls out of me, I collapse like a broken doll. The wet spot on my belly is ick, but not so much that I want to do anything about it. I may never move again, actually. The best way to escape the time loop is to stay here in Jasper’s bed and let him fuck me senseless whenever he wants.
He falls beside me, flopping onto his back with a contented sigh. His lips curl up in a sleepy, happy smile. I could stay here forever.
“That was nice,” he says.
“Just nice?” Immediately, the drowsy feeling evaporates. I roll toward him. “It wasnice?”
But he laughs and pulls me until I’m on top of him again. He wraps his arms around me, holding me still.
“No more fighting,” he says. His voice is already thick with sleep. I squirm a little more, mostly to prove the point, but heonly hums and kisses the top of my head. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“I am not cute.” I stab a finger at his sternum and I expect him to laugh, but he grimaces, tensing with pain. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. I—” He pushes me up so I’m braced over him. A bruise the size of a palm print has settled in the middle of his chest.
“How long has that been there?” I ask.
“What?” Jasper also rises up on his elbows. His brows crease in concern as he looks down at his chest, then he rolls out of bed, rushing toward the bathroom. I follow after him. We’re both naked, but no one’s worried about that. Jasper stares at his reflection in the mirror, fingers tracing the outline of the angry mark on his skin.
“This wasn’t here before,” he says.
“Definitely not.” I was pretty focused on getting laid as we stumbled into the apartment, but I’d have noticed if he’d been banged up like this while I showed off my spiffy chilly nipple trick. “Does it hurt?”
“Like a son of a bitch. Do you think this is from getting shot?”
My blood goes cold in my veins. I wrap my arms around him, careful not to press too hard on his bruise. The position is eerily familiar, like the way I held him while he died. My palm on his chest is in the same place it was as I tried to hold his blood inside him.
“Does it usually hurt for you?” Jasper asks as he turns in my arms.
A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I can practically see it spreading beneath his skin.
“I can’t remember ever being shot. But that wasn’t there before, and usually my aches and pains get better, not worse when the day starts over.”
We stay there for a few minutes, quiet as our thoughts whirl around us. I’m almost afraid to touch him, like any contact will damage him further. Finally, he takes my hand in his and leads me back to the main room and the bed.
“Sleep,” he says. “Everything is better with sleep.”
He’s right, but that doesn’t mean relaxing is easy. My postcoital stupor is long gone, and I toss restlessly in bed. Jasper stays still so long I think he’s managed to drift off, but after a few minutes he says, “We had a few dates that went really great, you know.”
I stop rolling. “We did?”
