I can still feel the heat of her skin clinging to the strands — that soft, salty mix of sweat and sweetness it has only happened after her. The faint trace of her shampoo is there, vanilla maybe, something warm and familiar, but it’s been changed—claimed—by us. It smells like the night, like the air between kisses, like the place where her neck met my mouth.
It’s intoxicating. Every breath pulls me back to her skin, to the sound she made when I whispered her name, to the way her fingers tightened around me. I know I’m ruined now. Because no matter where I go, if I ever catch this scent again—this blend of warmth, skin, and her—I’ll think of her. I’ll think of this. And I’ll want it all over again.
I push off of her and lean back.
My cum has leaked out of her, mixing with her own pleasure and the evidence that she is now mine. I can't stop myself. I reach down, gather every drop that has spilled out, and sink my fingers inside her, shoving my seed as deep as I can.
Claiming the Silence
Sabrina
The air between us is still heavy, full of the warmth we left behind. My heartbeat is finally slowing, but everything else feels new—my body, my skin, the way the world seems quieter when he’s holding me.
Langston doesn’t say anything at first. He just stays there, tracing slow, lazy patterns on my arm while I try to remember how to breathe. I never meant to stay a virgin. It was something that wasn’t important to me. But, I am so glad I waited for him. Even if this thing only lasts a year, I know that I was treated like something precious. That was something I will always take with me when we are done.
I try to move, but Langston tightens his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I just need a shower,” I say softly. “I feel…gross.”
His eyes open, slow and dark, scanning my face. “Are you hurting?”
I shake my head, hesitating. “Not really. Just…a little sore, maybe. Uncomfortable, but not bad.”
He frowns, brushing his thumb across my stomach. “A little uncomfortable?”
“Mm-hmm.” I bite my lip, trying not to blush. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. I guess my body was used to it. You are just bigger.” I laugh at the awkwardness of this whole conversation.
That gets his attention. His entire body goes still. “Used to it?” His voice sharpens. “Who?”
“What?”
His eyes flash. “I want a name,” he says quietly, dangerous in that soft way. “Every man who ever touched what’s mine.”
I stare at him for a second, then laugh—loud and startled. “Langston, you’re insane. I mean I’ve owned vibrators.”
He blinks. “You—what?”
The color drains from his face as if it takes him a second to process, then he curses under his breath and gets out of bed, muttering something about him being able to use my toys on me better than I could.
“Langston?”
He doesn’t answer, just walks out of the room.
For a moment, I sit there, the sheet wrapped around me, unsure if he’s angry or embarrassed or maybe both.
By the time I finally gather the courage to move toward the bathroom, he’s back—quiet, composed, holding a glass of water and a couple of pills.
“Take these,” he says gently. “It’ll help.”
The soft note in his voice throws me. I take them without arguing.
Then he takes my hand. “Come on,” he says simply.
“Langston, I can shower—”
“I know you can.” His thumb strokes my knuckles. “Let me.”
The bathroom is filled with steam, the soft hiss of water echoing off the marble. He steps in first, then reaches for me.
