I pull myself up off the needs-to-be-replaced dorm room carpet and turn to face him.
“I’m going to have a bruise on my cheek, and my forehead.” I pause before rubbing my arm. “And probably my elbow. But no blood, nothing serious.”
He nods. “Then what the fuck was that?” His voice is taut, distressed, probably because he was so close to nutting. I feel that, because I fucking was too. “You could have snapped my dick in two.”
“I thought it’d be funny.”
“You thought you’d bring our prank war into bed?”
“You slapped me first.”
He sits up in bed. “Slapping is sexy. Tickling is not.”
I mean, I’m loath to admit he kind of has a point. But I won’t back down.
“I thought it’d make you laugh, you’ve been a grumpy-puss all damn night.”
“And you thought tickling my feet when I was about to shoot my load inside you was a good plan?”
I turn to look at him, his cock looks painfully swollen, and the agony on his face makes it hard not to laugh. He looks like he might cry. “I was so close.”
That cracks me up. “You look so pathetic.”
He drops back onto the bed in a poof of air from my pillow. “I might cry.”
“I’m so glad to see you’re concerned about my pleasure, or for that matter, my injuries.”
He sits up again. “I am concerned. Very concerned. You should climb back up here and let me finish the job for both of us. You don’t even have to do anything, just lie there and take it.”
I cover his hand with my palm and shove him down onto his back. “Then I’d have to look at your face, and I don’t want to.”
Something flickers in his eyes, insecurity, maybe? Like a breeze catching a sheer curtain making it ripple, then it’s gone.
“Luckily for you, I still need to get my O, and I don’t think my toys are charged, so saddle up.”
He holds up a hand. “No more tickling.”
I point at my face. “Learned my lesson. But you’re stupid if you think I’m doing all the work.”
Taking up my position again is a little tentative, slow, like part of me is afraid he’s going to buck again just for shits and giggles. Asshole might out of spite. When I’m situated, his hand meets my lower back and pushes me forward so he can guide himself inside me.
We both huff out the longest breath of satisfaction. When I move my hips, he moves his to counter, the head of his cock pressing so deep inside me, so hard it takes my breath away.
He spreads my cheeks, gliding his thumb over my asshole.
“Nope.” I stop grinding on his cock. “You can stop that thumb right now. That’s a one-way-traffic only kinda hole, Mr. Myers. Ass play is off the table.”
He retracts his hand. “Understood. I won’t touch it again.”
“Good. I’ll have to chop your hand off if you do, and I like your hands.”
He grunts.
I start moving again, slowly, my legs starting to burn from holding myself in this position, and my body aches with frustrated need. I’m soaking, my nipples burn with lust, and I just want to fucking come.
“Fuck.” He’s grunting as I bounce on his dick. If he comes first and goes soft, I will stab him. I will. I swear to... fuck... fuck. Oh... shit...
My head tips back, the stars reappear, and my insides clench around him as my body starts to let go.
