“Waking up drooling on your bare chest? Fuck. I couldn’t control myself. My clit was rubbed raw by the end of that trip.”
I snort, and the two of us laugh. But before I can blink or breathe, the amusement in her gaze catches fire.
We both stare at each other, face to face, chest to chest. In general, sex is an intimate act, but something about this position, the way we are tangled in each other makes it feel more so somehow.
She gives me a beat to adjust, or maybe she’s taking a beat. But then she starts to ride me.
Her walls flutter and flicker around my cock, her tits brush against my chest, and her hair whips around us in a quickening frenzy.
I might be so close I could scream, but if I come first, I’ll be asleep before she dismounts. That’s not going to happen. My fingers find her clit, and we work in tandem until we’re both panting with quick, heavy breaths.
My muscles contract with every roll of her hips as she drives me closer to my release. I lean forward, needing more of my body to touch more of her body, so I drag my lips across her bare skin.
She’s moaning, has completely drenched my hand, and is tightening around my cock with every passing second.
I’m not coming first.
I’m not.
I can’t.
I hike up her shirt and suck her nipple into my mouth, flicking the hardened bud with my tongue, and she detonates, dragging me into the abyss with her. The first pulse steals my breath, the second draws a growl from somewhere deep inside, and by the third, I’m a passenger in my own body.
There’s a white-hot rush of pleasure concentrated in my groin but spreading like warm honey through my belly, chest, even all the way into my fingers and toes.
The sounds I’m making aren’t human. They’re raw, unfiltered, animalistic, and they’re matched by Rhiannon’s teeth against my skin and her nails clawing at my shoulders.
Fuck. I wish I wasn’t so tired so I could do this all over again.
When I finally still, so does she. She skewers her hands into my hair, clutching my head so tightly there’s a sting from hernails against my scalp, pulling my face to hers with a hungry need to kiss me.
It’s a slow and sloppy kiss, all tongues and moans. For a too long moment, I want to tell this woman everything, my whole life history, all my deepest secrets, and yet again, I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
We kiss until long after my dick fully softens, and there’s a mess where our bodies meet, but my need to have my hands on her body, to kiss her, to worship her with whispers and caresses takes over.
When we finally pry ourselves apart, she’s sweaty, wisps of hair are stuck to her face, and her lips are puffy. “Wait here. I’ll go get tissue, or a mop for…” She gestures at my crotch before leaning over to the box of tissues on the bedside table. She crams a few between her legs and penguin waddles to the bathroom.
I roll my lips, but a chuckle escapes. “Told you there’d be a lot.”
“You men don’t know you’re born,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Is this where you lecture me about periods and pushing whole human bodies out of your vagina?”
Her laugh echoes around my bathroom. “Not tonight, you wouldn’t listen anyway. You’re barely conscious right now.”
She’s not wrong. A deep, heavy tiredness has invaded my body, and I can’t smother the massive yawn that bursts from me.
“Toldyou.” She reappears in front of me with a damp cloth and mops up the pool of our sexy fluids from me without so much as a flinch or a complaint.
“You’re too good to me.”
“It’s in my own best interests if your bed isn’t sticky all night.” She gives me a sheepish look doused in hopefulness.
I don’t want to make it a thing, so I simply nod. There’ll be plenty of time for us to analyze what feels like a shift between us tonight. I pull back the covers on her side of the bed. She nods and disposes of the washcloth in the bathroom.
We somehow find the energy to brush our teeth before we settle in for the night. When the lights are out and her body’s tucked in close to mine, it feels like there’s good in the world after all, like this is what it’s all about.
Even with her head on my chest, my brain’s already whispering that I’ll fuck this up somehow. That she’ll see the real me—the one who panics, who spirals—and decide she’s had enough.
