He sets a slow, torturous pace, sliding in and out with ease, and I can already feel my nerve endings sizzle, sparking to life, so fresh off of my last orgasm they’re ready to fire at any given moment.
It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I honestly can’t recall the exact time. It was years ago, with some nameless, faceless man who didn’t have half the skills Jim has. Someone so mundane they weren’t even worth remembering.
He picks up the pace, the room filling with the sound of our bodies slamming together, and I curl my hands around the bedding, holding on for dear life.
“You’re so soft everywhere,” he moans as his hands feverishly roam my body. “Your freckles, your creamy skin. It’s all too much.”
My freckles have always been my biggest insecurity. My face is covered in them, and I refuse to go outside in the daylight without at least a layer of makeup on. They pepper my chest, my shoulders, over my back, and down to my waist. It’s normally something I hide about myself, but as Jim runs his hands over my body, leaning down to kiss what feels like every single freckle, I find myself wishing I could double them to cover everysquare inch of my skin so he could spend hours worshiping each and every straw-colored mark.
The balloon inside my belly starts to inflate, and I moan. I push back, rocking into him as he moves forward, his grip on my hips tightening with every punishing thrust. He lands another heavy smack to my skin, and I detonate.
He drives his hips into me at a punishing pace, and I reach a hand back, lacing my fingers with his, needing more contact as I ride out the second most intense orgasm of my life.
Once my body is trembling, legs weak and ready to give out, does he slow his pace. He pulls out, gripping my hips and flipping me on my back.
I’m breathless, panting, desperate for a drink of water when he covers my body with his, his wicked mouth finding mine. He licks into my mouth, slowing all movements as he kisses me, savoring the moment. Time seems to stand still, a wild change of pace from the man who just had me on all fours to deliver my second orgasm.
He then moves down my body, licking a path between my breasts before taking a nipple in his mouth. He licks, swirling his tongue, giving full attention to one side as his hand massages the other.
“Jim,” I pant, almost begging him to stop. My whole body is so sensitive,toosensitive, and his talented tongue only fuels that. He ignores my pathetic whines and half-hearted attempts to slow him, instead moving to pay equal attention to my other nipple. His free hand swipes between my legs, and I gasp, my hand darting out to still his movements. “I’m too sensitive.”
“My girl can take it.” He nips my stomach, my hips, my lush inner thigh until he’s seated between my legs again, pulling one up to sling it over his shoulder.
He uses two thumbs to spread my pussy, fingers tracing the edge of my lips like he wishes to memorize everything aboutit. In gentle strokes he massages me, teasing with every touch before his mouth is back. My body comes alive, so honed in on the space between my legs that blood courses through my veins at record speeds. I’m certain I can feel him all the way to the roots of my hair, and it’s a feeling I never want to lose.
The sounds that come from my mouth are downright embarrassing, and Jim seems to thrive on them.
Nothing but an evil laugh rumbling against my most sensitive flesh as he basks in my torture. I reach a hand down to firmly grip his hair. “Asshole,” I pant out, playfully shoving his head to the side.
He grins, rising up to plant a kiss over my stomach, tongue flicking around my belly button before moving back down in between my legs. He tightens his grip on my thighs, fingertips digging into my flesh, likely to leave bruised imprints, and I welcome it. The wave of an orgasm threatens to crest, coming on too strong, too fast. It’s like my body suddenly learned how to come, and so it jumps at the slightest opportunity to do so.
I scream when he sucks my clit into his mouth, his palms coming up to pinch a nipple. My body twitches, hips bucking wildly off the bed.
I’ve rarely come more than once. If I’m concentrating enough and my partner knows what they’re doing, I can generally squeak out an orgasm, but never two. Then here comes Jim, coaxing multiples out of me like it’s his life’s dedication. I don’t dare stop him. If this is it for me, if this is how I’ll leave this world, then let my tombstone read, Death by multiple orgasms.
When he’s satisfied with his torture—when I partially come back down to earth and my breathing levels out—I focus enough to open my eyes, finding his face above me, a surprisingly tender gaze as he smooths my hair away from my damp face.
“You are lethal,” I breathe out, eliciting a chuckle from him.
“I’m not through with you yet, you have one more in you.”
“Don’t be that guy that tries to tell me to come on command, it isn’t a good look.”
He smiles so wide his cheek dimple pops. “I won’t be the guy who tells you to come on command, but I won’t stop until you give me one more.”
I reach up to grab his chin, meaning to playfully smack him, but my body is listless, completely sedated. My hand stills once I graze the stubble on his chin, and instead of pushing him away, I pull him to me. The kiss is achingly tender this time. Slow. The softer side of him back. I taste myself on his lips, and I feel something unfurl inside my chest.
He eases himself back inside me, moving in slow, luxurious thrusts that mimic his kisses. He holds that pace, letting me get lost in the act, almost forgetting that we’re in the middle of sex. That we had plans for more than just making out. That I’ve had a record amount of orgasms and he has yet to finish.
He laces our fingers together and brings our hands above my head. He takes his time, murmuring sweet praises against my neck, my temple, worshiping my body in every way possible, and I feel the sting of tears burning the back of my throat with the intimacy of the act. I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the feeling of just being with him. I let it surround me.
Something foreign bubbles in my chest.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this between us. I wasn't supposed to feel a little sad. A little confusing. This was supposed to be a quick fuck. Something I could later blame on too many Old Fashioneds or the allure of the wedding. Something I could pass off as a mistake if I ever decided to tell my friends.
It was supposed to be mediocre at best, not electric. We weren’t supposed to have this much chemistry, and I wasn’t supposed to feel like I could fall for him.
Idefinitelywasn’t supposed to feel like I wanted more.
