“There.”
Cum bursts from my cock, soaking the sheets as my hips continue jerking on their own, still chasing the endless, explosive orgasm. It just keeps going and going while Remy slams into my spasming ass, racing toward his own climax.
Barely lucid, I glance over my shoulder.
Brows knit, hair drenched in sweat, abs clenched, veins bulging, jaw straining—
More cum spurts out.
He’s a god.
I feel him swell.
“Come in me,” I plead. “Fill me up.”
His entire body seizes. His eyelids shutter. His lips part.
Bliss drenches his features at the same time he releases streams of cum deep in me. He collapses onto me, both of us struggling to catch our breath. His arms snake beneath me, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of my neck.
I’m not sure how long we lay like that, coming down from the most intense sexual experience ever. I wait for the panic to creep in. The shame or guilt. But all I feel is sated relaxation.
Remy props his chin on my shoulder.
“So… did I make you come hard enough to rewire your brain?”
Grinning like an idiot, I sigh. “For now… but permanent results require many,manyorgasms.”
He snorts. I shake with a silent laugh.
I think I’m healing.
55
Remy
“Fuck that’s hot,” Win hisses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My brow lifts as he passes a mug of tea I brewed for him between his hands like it’s a game of hot potato.
“One minute it’s too cold, the next it’s too hot,” I scoff and plop into the corner of the couch again. “I see there’s no pleasing you, Prince Winston.”
He shoves his face into the steam. Inhales. Then sighs contentedly with this adorable little smile that makes my dick twitch.
“Smells good,” he hums. That sound goes straight to my balls which still ache with the reminder of what we just did.
We laid in bed for an eternity, drifting back into ourselves. Win's cum nearly dried on the sheets by the time I scooped him up (the fucker is heavier than he looks) and marched into the shower where I proceeded to kiss and clean every inch of his perfect body. Once I was satisfied, I dried him off and dressed him in some sweats, which I'm pretty sure were mine at some point, before leading him to the small living room to watch adocumentary. (He won't shut up about this new deep dive into Appalachian Cryptids.)
Alright, I may be going overboard, but I can’t ignore this instinctualneedto take care of him. It’s an urge I didn’t expect. I’ve never been much of a nurturer— just ask my cat— but where Win is concerned, I’m apparently a doting, down-bad bitch.
Oh god… I’m turning into my mother.
“What’s that face for?”
I blink my boyfriend into focus again. It’s rare to see him without makeup smudged around his eyes. He looks so delicate. Like his trademark liner is a form of armor, protecting the fragile vulnerability beneath. To have this version of him is a fucking gift.
“Nothing, love,” I sigh, my lips curving up. Around him, smiles are effortless. “Come here.”
Cautiously, Win wiggles back, holding the tea in front of himself like a live bomb until he’s settled between my legs. Then he melts. My fingers card through his damp raven hair. I kiss the top of his head and breathe in the sandalwood scent of his shampoo. Sweet. Fresh. Sexy.
