“Good. I don’t want this to be a pity thing.”
“I know. It isn’t.” I kissed him, this time demanding more even though it was still slow, lingering. His hand went to my hip, pulling us closer. My breasts pressed against his chest and I felt the hardness of his cock against my stomach.
I burned to have him inside me, to fill me up and make me forget when I ended and he began, but I wanted this to last, the night to not end.
My hand travelled across down to his ass, fingers pressing into taut muscle. His fingers explored from my hair, over my breasts, nudging my nipples and then to my centre, which he cupped gently, as if I was made of porcelain.
We stayed on our sides as he entered me. There was no rush, no words, just the Moroccan smoulder and the enveloping quietness.
It wasn’t fucking, that was clear. This was a different level of closeness where the end of an orgasm wasn’t the most important thing; it wasn’t about the release.
He moved slowly, but deep, holding my hip, giving me soft, sweet kisses. His eyes were pooled with need and something else and I understood then that this wasn’t just about forgetting what tomorrow was bringing.
My chest felt as if it was expanding and as I came with an orgasm that turned me inside and out, I realised that this couldn’t be one more one night. Even if we didn’t have this again, and I wasn’t sure we would, this man in this bed in this room had changed something in me.
He held me closer as he came inside me, my leg over his hip, allowing him inside me deeper than anyone before. I watched his face, saw his lips say my name and when he stilled we wrapped around each other, holding on as if we were the sole object keeping the other afloat in a demanding sea.
Callum
Iwoke with Wren’s head on my chest as I lay on my back, slim rays of sunlight shifting through the room. I could hear the faint sounds of Marrakesh outside, the noise from the narrow streets of people heading into Jemaa El-Fnaa, the main square where the city bustled and the souks led from. Riads were quiet spaces, a complete contrast to the madness outside and this bedroom was an enclave away from that still.
Wren still slept, her naked body wrapped around me. We’d done something other than fuck last night and in the early hours of the morning when we’d both woken, both needy.
I placed a hand on her back, on her soft skin. Her breathing was calm and deep and there was no way I was going to move and disturb her. The clock on the wall told me that my mum should be starting her op round about now but the anxiety I’d felt last night wasn’t there.
Wren was right. I had to stick to the facts, what we knew, and trust the doctors. Worrying and pining and becoming agitated wasn’t going to solve anything. In ten days I’d be home; I had a week of leave where I’d be able to stay with her, tell her about Africa. Maybe tell her about Wren.
The soft woman in my arms stirred twenty minutes later, her grip around my chest tightening first.
“You snuggle.”
I held her a little closer if that was possible and didn’t tell her that I didn’t snuggle, that I usually left as early as possible and tried not to stay the night. I didn’t snuggle, never had. I just didn’t want to let her go.
“You want to get breakfast?” I heard her stomach rumble.
Wren laughed and sprawled out across me a little more. “In a minute.” She kissed my chest. “It’s just so peaceful. No cameras.”
“For a few days.”
“Then only a few more days filming and we go home. Has the itinerary been released yet?”
“Not yet. I know we’re starting in Mongolia. Then China and India, but not sure where exactly.” I inhaled sharply. Her hand was remarkably close to my cock which was wide awake.
I wasn’t thinking about last night, or I was trying not to. I was out of my comfort zone, being there when a lover woke up, still holding them.
Not wanting to let go.
Maybe this was what it was like to have a holiday romance. Or to use someone so you could forget what was happening outside your bubble.
Her breasts were firm and I’d discovered they were sensitive. I played with her nipples, teasing and pinching them, moving her off me so she was lying on her back, letting me explore her tits in greater detail, listening to her moans, signs, learning what she liked and what she loved. Losing myself in her.
I made her hold onto the bed frame while I pushed into her, wishing for rope, wishing for cuffs, needing control. She let me have what she could, holding her orgasm till I told her to come, and when she did, she wrapped her arms and legs around me and I exploded, burying my face into her neck and biting her soft skin there because I couldn’t look her in the eyes.
I held her again against me, wanting her warmth and closeness, feeling her heartbeat. “You must be really hungry now.” It was lame, but it was all I could allow myself to say.
“You’ve worked up my appetite.” Her eyelids were still heavy, her body relaxed.
“I should check my phone.” It had been charging all night, the ringer on loud for specific people, namely my siblings, even my dad, just in case.
