In but a second, he had me naked and withering as he kissed his way down my body.
"Cal," I panted, his head dipping further to my abdomen. "Cal…."
"Need a taste."
His tongue dipped, and I jerked as his mouth tasted my wet need.
We both groaned, desperate and throbbing.
"More," he demanded, pushing my legs open and taking what I offered.
I fisted his hair, holding him to my core as he played me like an expert conductor, my body singing with need under his mouth.
"Cal—" I bit off my protest, body clenching and writhing as the orgasm broke, unexpected but welcome.
"Yes!" He surged up, giving me no space to recover. His cock bridged my entrance, and I welcomed him, arching up.
He paused for a moment, then slammed into me, forcing my body to accommodate him.
I loved it, I hated it, I wanted more, I wanted… I needed… I…
I lost all sense of self, giving in to him, letting him control my reactions and responses. Letting him lead.
"Fuck," he barked. "Gonna come. You feel too goddamned good."
His admission drove me over the edge, and I came again, losing myself as he roared his pleasure, bottoming out and emptying his cum into me.
We crashed to the floor, a wet patch soaking our new rug.
I tried to catch my breath while my body shuddered with aftershocks. I'd never come so quickly or consistently before. It was as if he had discovered a secret switch in the years between then and now.
And to be honest, maybe he had. And who was I to complain when five years of additional experience, Cal was a superb lover.
Eventually, the chill of the room set in, forcing us to redress. I cleaned up, finding him remaking the bed with the colourful sheet set we'd purchased.
"It could have waited 'til morning," I told him, leaning against the door jamb and enjoying the view.
"Told you, not gonna fuck you on anything that you hate."
I tsked. "You're really missing out on some serious hate sex, then."
He paused in his sheet-tucking efforts. "Angry sex?"
I shrugged, amused at his hopeful expression. "You'll never know now."
He looked so forlorn that I took pity on the poor man.
"Tell you what. Next week, swap out the sheets for the white ones for a day. I'll be a naughty girl then."
"You're always a naughty girl," he told me, walking around the bed to straighten the top sheet.
"Never."
"Always."
We grinned at each other, the argument familiar and comfortable.
When he was finished, I climbed in, facing him, our hands finding each other under the covers.
