And he was mine. All mine.
I spread his knees and knelt before him, relishing his reverent gaze as I wrapped my lips around the most sensitive part of him.
The tang of salt brushed my tongue. At my first tentative suck, he jerked his hips.
“Too much?” I whispered.
He shook his head. I was never too much for him. He was trying to hold back.
Breathing heavy, he delicately collected my hair at the nape of my neck, then caressed my cheek.
My nerve endings pricked to attention, singing his praises.
He didn’t need to call me his ‘good girl’ aloud.
Every look and touch promised he adored me.
I clenched my thumb to suppress my gag reflex, then took him deeper.
He swallowed a groan, rolling his head to stifle whatever surged within him.
I quickly learned how to take care of him—to tease him, to pleasure.
How much pressure, what angle, what rhythm made him flex with need. His grip tightened in my hair, his breathing ragged. “Pidge…”
I popped my mouth off him, switching to my hand, and glanced at us in the mirror.
Angel was disheveled, shirt and plants splayed open, hair damp with sweat. Droplets of water clung to the edge of his eyelashes, his dark, unfocused gaze on me. Our eyes met in the reflection, and desire pulsed through every fiber of my being.
We were beautiful and sexy. I’d be able to please him just as much as he could please me. We could take care of each other. And ourselves.
Maybe at the same time.
I touched myself and worked his cock, my hands slick with our arousal. Every time I wanted to moan, I put my mouth on him again to indulge another urge.
We could do anything.
Together.
Everything tightened—our muscles, our grips on each other. Warmth splashed across my chest as he breathed my name.
I loved him so much.
I loved who I could be, especially with him. I was alive, awake, and safe to be myself, even in these unexpected situations.
Sighing happily, I slumped against his leg, basking in our little lavender haze, the love glow that’d linger with us far longer than our time at The Closette.
He gently combed his fingers through my hair, and I closed my eyes. It’d be so easy to fall asleep like this. Even with my knees on the floor at this somewhat awkward angle.
“You good, pidge?” he whispered.
I nodded, and he urged me into his lap, where we hugged and kissed, leaving little splotches of warm adoration all over each other. But we didn’t have too much time for aftercare. We'd make up for it later, we implied with every lingering touch as we freshened up.
“Lucky you had these handy,” he said, spreading a cool cloth under my breasts.
“We know how to clean up nice at The Closette,” I rasped, buzzing from the high of our orgasms.
He chuckled and helped me clasp my original bra into place. “To be clear, you could send me a selfie in scrubs and I’d still come running for you.”
