She sucks him until he can feel a tide building and building in him, his muscles tightening in anticipation. His breaths are shallow. One of his hands runs through her hair. She’s looking up at him, her eyes bright in the darkness, and when his gaze locks on hers, the tension in him crests past a breaking point. Suddenly, he is overwhelmed by the most incredible climax he has ever felt. He furrows his brows and squeezes his eyes shut—a soft cry emerges from his lips.
In the haze of the aftermath, he senses her straighten from her crouch. When he looks back down at her, she is stroking him with one hand. He is still far too sensitive, and the motion makes him wince.
“Well, you’re going to be a tight fit,” she whispers, her smile crooked, and presses her other hand against the muscles just above his cock. She turns her wrist.
He gasps and stiffens. Almost immediately, the sensation of pleasure returns, and to his disbelief, he stays rock hard in her grasp. As her hand works up and down his length, he feels the tide rising in him again.This should be impossible,he thinks, but it’s hard for him to concentrate on anything else right now.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers.
“I’m transmuting into you all the dopamine your body can handle,” she murmurs with a smile. Her hand remains pressed against his muscles, and he sucks in his breath as another orgasm engulfs him. He cries out and shudders against her. “I can keep you hard all night,” she goes on, “and we can play for as long as you can stand it. But I expect you to return the favor.” She straddles him, and this time he feels the heat of her slippery core pressing against him. “You’re going to learn how to make people beg for you.” Again, impossibly, the sensation of pleasure returns, and he is ready. His hands grip her hips as she touches his chin. “So. Shall I teach you how it’s done?”
He nods wordlessly, dizzy with lust, and she smiles before licking his lips so that he can taste himself on them. “Oh, Ari,” she whispers. “You’re beautiful when you come.”
Then she sinks herself down on him, and his mind shatters again, consumed with heat and desire.
She rides him hard, gasping out his name, until she cries out and trembles and wraps her arms around his neck. He carries her to her bed and they fall onto the sheets together in a wild tumble. As she wraps her legs around him, she whispers instructions in his ear, telling him how to press his palm flat against her abdomen, how to transmute pleasure inside of her. Red blood cells into dopamine, water molecules into endorphins and oxytocin. How to make her feel good. He obeys. Sweat sticks against their skin. She crests again and again, her short hair spilling around her head in the shape of a teardrop, her eyes clouded with ecstasy. At times, their rhythm turns languid and unhurried. She combs her fingers through the thick curls of his dark hair, murmurs instructions to him as he slides his tongue across her wet folds, then moves with him until he comes again. Other times, he feels like he might break against her, like he can’t bear the feeling a second longer, and he fucks her until she cries out into the pillows.
He loses track of time. Loses track of reality. Dreams of Sam under him, her feet locked behind his back. Catches a glimpse of her dark eyes gazing up at him. Is she here? She can’t be, but everything feels like a fever, and he doesn’t trust himself enough to be sure.
At some deep hour in the night, they collapse against each other at last, their bodies weak and thoroughly spent. His skin is slick with sweat, cooling in the night air, and his eyes are hooded. Beside him, Isla smiles sleepilyagainst the pillow. He admires the curl of her lashes against her cheeks, the short hair flopping across her eyes.
But as exhaustion finally claims him, he imagines Sam again, here, in all her exquisiteness. His heart pulls, aching, and it takes him a moment to realize that the ache is him knowing that he is going to miss her.
Then the darkness closes in, and he falls into the deepest sleep of his life.
The private wound is deepest. O, time most accursed,
’Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!
The Two Gentlemen of Veronaby William Shakespeare, 1623
