It doesn’t take long before my body has adjusted, and he’s moving in and out of me easily.I shudder every time he goes in because the contact makes my head light up like I’m a fucking carnival game, and I can hear the desperate, greedy noises I’m making.Sam, for his part, is looking at me like he’s never seen me before.His fingers are biting into my hips with a death grip.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say as I bounce on his cock.They’re barely even words; they’re gasps.
“I am fucking you,” he says, but it’s like he doesn’t believe it.“I’m fucking you.”
“No, Sam, I want you tofuckme.”
I inch myself off his dick and drop down onto my back.Sam sits up, looks over at me, and gets onto his knees.His dick is hard and bouncing as he gets between my legs.He puts his hands on my knees, and then he hesitates.
“Put my legs over your shoulders,” I say.
But he doesn’t, not at first.He looks down at me, his eyes soft, his thumbs moving in small circles like now he’s trying to reassure me.And then he sits back, brings his arms up, and flexes.It makes me laugh because he’s such a nerd and because it makes me think of our first time together, and I feel that breaking sensation inside me all over again.I have to blink my eyes clear, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Fuck me, baby.”
He doesn’t need me to tell him again.With my legs in the air, he hitches me closer, lines up, and buries himself in me.
It’s so much that I shout.
The look on his face, caught between wanting it and worry.
“I’m okay.I’m okay.Fuck, Sammy,fuckme.”
The worry dissolves, and he moves.At first, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.He doesn’t have a rhythm.He slips out.Or he stays too deep, barely moving at all.But I can see it on his face, the intense desire not just to get his nut, God bless him, but to do it right.And after a few minutes, he hits his stride.
If I thought it felt good before, it’s nothing compared to the relentless hammering that comes next.I’m loud.I’m incoherent.When Sammy moves forward, planting one hand on the wall, with me bent almost in half underneath him, I scream, and in a scandalized whisper, he tells me to be quiet without ever breaking his pace.
It’s his first time, and my brain is fucking broken, and there’s this part of me that can’t handle the idea that he’s going to get even better.He’s covered in sweat.His face is red.His hair is glued to his forehead.
When he finally unloads, the muscles in his neck stand out, and he hits me like a fucking battering ram.I’m primed, so I’m saying, “Oh shit, oh shit,” as he slams into that spot, and all it takes is for me to jerk myself once and I’m shooting a mess all over myself.
He doesn’t exactly collapse on top of me.But he does sag, drooping over me, his chest heaving.He’s trembling, and even though my bones have melted, somehow I manage to run my hand down his back, gathering the sweat there.His breathing slows.And slowly, he sits up.
“You can pull out,” I tell him.
He’s careful, checking my face, and then checking the rest of me.
“I’m okay,” I say.“I’m better than okay.Fuck, Sam, you fucked my fucking brains out.”
It’s like he wants to be uncertain.Like he can’t quite bring himself to believe.But like he’s happy, too.So happy.And the happiness wins out, spreading across his face.
“Come here,” I say.“Lie down.”
He does.And even though Sam tends to be the big spoon, this time, he lets me pull him against me, and I kiss the sweaty hair above his ear, and I say, “That was so fucking good.You’re incredible.”
“I’ve never done that before,” he says.Not because he needs to say it, since we both know it, but because he can’t bring himself to say what he really wants to say.
“You were fantastic.You made me feel so good.God, Sam, it was perfect.”I rub his arm.“Was it good for you?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, and it’s so enthusiastic that I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.His ears turn a little pink, but he’s grinning.
There are other things we say, but they’re not anything meaningful—little sounds of contentment, snippets of words.Two happy fucked-out animals making their happy fucked-out sounds to each other in their den.And Sam apparently has been taking Natural Top lessons because he’s asleep in about five minutes—deep sleep, snoring softly.
But I don’t sleep.I lie there, and as that crushing bliss of the orgasm fades and my body starts waking up to the aches and minor discomforts of having been folded up and used like a fuck doll, I can’t help it.I start thinking about his smile, that boyishly pleased grin at how much he’d liked it, and how happy he was that he’d made me feel good.I think about how he said,I don’t want to hurt you.And about how he flexed.Most of all, I think about how I feel: like I’m wearing my heart outside my body, and I can feel everything, every whisper of air, everything.There’s this part of me, getting louder and louder, that wants to do something dramatic.Break all the plates in the kitchen.Throw the TV out the window.Set the bed on fire.
He loves you, I think to myself, and it’s as bright and clear and painful as sunlight.
He loves you, and you’re going to hurt him.
