Right when I say that, the waves of my orgasm start hitting me. But I do my best to keep fucking her through it, not taking the pressure off her clit. The disadvantage of using a dildo is that I don’t get to feel her muscles spasming around my fingers or tongue, but the way she’s gasping and shaking and frantically gripping at me lets me know she’s in the middle of coming too.
Intending to keep going until she tells me to stop, I thrust into her a few more times. Then suddenly, her entire body goes rigid, and I feel something wet hitting my thigh.
I still my hips, staring down at her in awe. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her mouth is dropped open, her chest rising and falling heavily. I turn off my vibrator and run a hand lightly up her side, waiting for her to look at me.
When her breathing settles down and she opens her eyes, I slowly pull out of her. Then I ask, “Did you just squirt?”
She throws an arm over her face with a groan. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.”
“Hey.” I reach for her hand and gently pull it toward me so I can see her face. “What are you talking about? That was so fucking hot, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she stops trying to look away from me. “It’s only happened to me like twice before. Sometimes I’ve felt like it was about to happen, but then either the guy would stop what he was doing, or I’d feel self-conscious and get all in my head, and it wouldn’t happen.”
“I’m glad you trusted me enough to let go,” I tell her, scooting backward on my knees so I have room to take the harness off. Noticing the wet spot on the bed, I add playfully, “Just remind me to put a towel down next time.”
She sits up and smacks my arm in response.
“I’m kidding,” I assure her with a smile. “I’m happy to have you soaking my sheets every day.”
“Then I hope you have lots of spare sheets.”
I laugh at that. “It’s called a washing machine, sweetheart.”
“Hush,” she says, but she’s laughing too. And with playfully sparkling eyes, she adds, “Go make me breakfast now.”
I mock-gasp. “So demanding.”
“I thought you liked it when I asked for what I wanted.”
“Oh, believe me, I do, Strawberry.” I’m proud of her for being able to ask for what she wants.
She’s different now from when I first met her, when she was trying so hard not to impose on anyone. She seems more comfortable now. Freer and lighter, even. And if I had anything to do with helping her get here, then I’m glad. But I think a lot of it has to do with losing the weight of that guilt and shame she was carrying before, and the stress of having to play a certain role for the sake of her career and her fans.
I only hope she doesn’t come to regret her decision of giving some of that up so she can be fully herself. Though I don’t think she will. I’ve seen enough of her talent and dedication to her music that I believe she’ll succeed in whatever she chooses to do next. She’ll figure out a way to continue putting out music, and I’m sure people are going to connect with it.
I crawl up the bed until I’m beside her, so I can cradle her face andgive her a slow kiss. “I love you,” I tell her, my lips brushing against hers.
“I love you too,” she says. Then she grins at me. “I wasn’t kidding about breakfast, though.”
Laughing, I pull her into me and hold her for a few moments. Having her in my arms feels so right, and while my instinct is to not entirely trust that feeling, I’m choosing to do it anyway. I’m not going to self-sabotage something this good just because of a shitty thing that happened to me in the past.
“All right, come on,” I tell her. “It’ll have to be something simple, and then I need to shower and get ready for work.” And change my sheets, but I’m not going to mention that.
She smiles at me. “Simple sounds perfect.”
Yeah, it really does.
Rileystrollsintothekitchen while I’m cooking at the stove. She’s freshly showered and wearing one of my T-shirts with a very tiny pair of white silk shorts that leave a hint of her ass cheeks hanging out. Even though she has enough of her own shirts here, I can’t say I don’t appreciate the outfit. In fact, I’d really like to fully appreciate it by peeling her out of it, but unfortunately, we don’t have time.
Coming up behind me, she wraps her arms around my waist and says, “That looks good.”
I smile as I stir the eggs around the pan with my spatula. I’m making scrambled eggs with mozzarella and spinach, paired with sourdough toast and apricot preserves I got from the farm store. “It’ll be ready soon.”
“Unless I distract you,” she says, leaning in to kiss my neck.
“Well, don’t do that,” I tell her, but I still can’t stop smiling. I put myfree hand on her arm where it’s resting over my stomach. “You’re hungry, so you don’t want me burn the eggs.”
She laughs softly in my ear and presses another light kiss to my neck before letting me go. “I suppose you’re right.”
