Pinned beneath him, I held what little breath I’d managed to suck in during the fall. Together we froze, still intimately connected, our heaving bodies molded together by sweat and arousal. For the longest minute of our lives we stood stock still, listening fearfully for anything; the buzz of a drone, the sharp cry of voices. The terrifying sound of boots, running up the dock.
We were naked. Weaponless. Utterly helpless, if any of those sounds reached our ears.
Luckily, none of them did.
The hottest part was that, throughout the whole thing, I could still feel Ripley erupting inside me. He did it quietly, wordlessly, too past the point of no return. His body remainedstiff as he injected me, pulse after pulse, with his warm, sticky seed.
When it felt safe to move again, we unraveled our tangled limbs and made our way shakily back to our feet. The cloying fog of sexual tension that drew us inexorably together had finally cleared. The world was exactly as it was, before we’d jumped each other’s bones.
The poor futon however, was utterly destroyed.
“Damn,” Ripley lamented, looking down. “Should we leave a note or something?”
“A note that says what?” I demanded, stepping into my panties. “Sorry about the mess? A billionaire’s infrared drone chased us into your fishing shack, and we accidentally fucked the bed to pieces?
“You’re right,” he said, rubbing his stubbled chin. “A note probably isn’t gonna cut it.”
I was still in a daze, but it was a good daze. Actually, it was the best daze possible.
My legs were still jelly, though, as I scanned the little shack for somewhere — anywhere — to sit down. There wasn’t much, but—
“You wanna cuddle on thatothercot?”
I pointed to another seat, buried by junk in the corner. It looked even older, and less likely to support our combined weight.
Ripley regarded it for a moment, then shrugged.
“Sure,” he chuckled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
