"Not the kind of quiet I want."
"What kind do you want."
"The kind that comes after I've made you come twice and you're so wrung out you can't lie to me about what you want."
My thighs clench around nothing.
"Keep them open," he says. Low. A command.
I open them.
He goes back down.
He makes me come twice before I get language back.
The first one is with his mouth. He adds a second finger and curls them both and sucks my clit in a rhythm that starts slow and builds and doesn't stop. I feel it climb. I feel him hold me down through it. When I come I come loud and I come hard and he doesn't move off me until the last pulse eases.
The second one is before I'm done from the first.
He keeps going.
"Gray. Gray. I can't."
"You can."
"It's too much."
"Yellow or green."
"Green."
"Then take it."
He doesn't pull back. He softens. Tongue gentle. Fingers curling in small slow motions. He lets the sensitivity settle and turn into something else, and somewhere in there a second wave builds that I didn't plan.
When it comes I'm crying.
Not sad crying. The other kind. The kind that leaks out of you when your body does something so big that your face can't keep up.
He kisses my inner thigh. My stomach. My navel. My sternum. Works his way up until his face is over mine.
"There she is."
"Gray."
"Hi."
"Hi."
He kisses my mouth. I taste myself on him. His hand comes up to my jaw. Thumb at the corner of my lip.
"Still green?"
"Still green."
He stands up and takes his jeans off. Boxers with them. His cock stands thick against his stomach. He grabs a condom from the nightstand. Rolls it on. Comes back to me.
He flips me.
