We rearrange ourselves, hands finding each other, and I wrap my fingers around him. He’s hard and leaking, and the sound he makes when I stroke him—this broken little moan—goes straight to my core.
He puts his hand on mine, helping me set a rhythm for a few strokes, then gently moves my hand down and back farther, guiding my fingers to press into him.
“You want this?” I ask as I trace light circles.
“I want everything you can give me,” he gasps. “And I swear a porn script writer is not writing my dialogue right now.”
I can’t help laughing. God, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun during sex before.
There’s the slightly awkward fumbling for supplies in his nightstand drawer—“I swear the lube is in here somewhere, this is so unsexy, hold on”—and he finally holds up condoms and lube triumphantly.
“Given my ex’s parting gift, I’m kind of religious about condoms now.”
“I completely understand.”
I squirt lube on my fingers, and then press back in, crooking my fingers until I find the spot that makes him jolt.
I add a second finger, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
All I see is want.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask.
Nick rolls onto his side, presenting his back to me like an invitation. “Big spoon me. But like, sexually.”
“Big spoon you sexually,” I repeat. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“I panicked! My brain is not working at full capacity right now.” He wiggles back against me impatiently. “Just…come here.”
I’m laughing as I put on the condom. Then I curl around him, my front pressed to his back, my arm wrapping around his waist. He makes a sound of pure contentment that does something to my heart.
“Good?” I ask.
“So good. Now less talking, more—” He grinds against me, and we both groan.
I press into him slowly, inch by inch, and oh my god, I place my forehead on his shoulder, breathing hard, and justfeelhim.
He’s so warm. So tight. So perfectly, impossibly right.
“Jesus,” Nick gasps, gripping my forearm where it’s wrapped around him.
“Too much?”
“Not enough. Move. Please.”
I obey him, and I swear every nerve ending in my body lights up. This close, I can feel every shudder that runs through him,every hitch in his breath. His back is warm against my chest, and I can feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of my own.
I wrap my hand around his cock to stroke him, and he lets out a sound that sounds almost like a sob.
Through trial and error, I learn he likes it when I go slow. That his breath catches when I kiss along his shoulder blade and onto his neck. That he says my name like it’s the only word he knows when I find the right rhythm moving inside him and stroking him.
And he learns me too. Pays attention to every sound I make and adjusts accordingly, like pleasing me is a skill he’s determined to master.
But then I reach a point where I need more. I need to see his face.
“Can I—” I withdraw, and he makes a sound of protest.
“I want to see you.”
