She didn't even know I was in the house. I don't even know what day it is anymore. We've literally done it in every room that has a surface.
On tables, against walls. I think at one point I bent over the bathroom sink after showering, and he just went for it.
It's been nonstop. Like we've both been possessed.
Morning? Sex.
Midday? Yeah, sex.
Didn't matter where. Storage room. Hallway. If there was one hour and something to lean on, it was happening.
At night? Forget it. That's when it got feral. We tried every position. Every. Position. I didn't even know some of them were physically possible.
We went rough. We went slow. We edged each other so bad one night we both ended up panting on the floor, sweating and laughing, our whole bodies shaking.
There was choking, biting, spitting, crying.
Like, actual crying from overstimulation.
I don't think we ate real food. I think we survived off each other. I think I literally lived off his mouth and hands for seven days straight.
Every time I looked at him, I got hard.
Every time he touched me, I got desperate.
Every time he praised me, I came.
We almost didn't leave the house. The only reason we did was to fuck in other places. I'm talking "how are we still alive" kind of sex.
Now it makes sense.
Why Gio is so cocky and so full of himself. Because the way he fucks…holy shit.
He's fucking me so good I start thanking him, as if he's doing me a favor. He knows how to praise me and punish me in the same fucking breath.
Now I catch myself waiting for it. I used to be serious.
I had freaking dignity.
Now I'm the guy who begs. I literally beg him to touch me. I ask for his hands, his mouth, his dick, whatever he's willing to give.
Because yeah, Gio's good at sex. But…let's not get it twisted. I've had him on his knees too. I've made him shake and whimper. So, yeah. Maybe I'm down bad. But so is he.
We're basically soldiers at this point. Two insane, addicted soldiers, fully trained in the art of each other. He says "get over here," and I move. I say "don't stop," and he doesn't.
He drops to his knees, I spread my legs.
I drop to mine, he loses his fucking mind.
I've never done anything like it. Neverfeltanything like it. But then I'd lie in bed afterward, and feel something blooming in my chest that I shouldn't be feeling.
Because this wasn't part of the deal. We had rules. We made rules. If one of us caught feelings, we'd stop.
No drama. No heartbreak. No mess. I promised I wouldn't catch feelings. That we'd just fuck and that's it. Nothing serious. Nothing with a capital N.
But I keep catching myself doing things that scare the shit out of me. Yesterday we were walking down the street and my hand almost went to his on its own.
It was like his hand had a magnet and mine was stupid metal. I swear. Then at night, I caught myself hovering over my phone, ready to type:Hellooo Gio, can I come to your bed so we can just cuddle while I tell you about my family problems and how terrified I am of whatever this is?
