The possessive triumph I felt in that moment is still there, a warm, intoxicating hum beneath my skin. But there is something else there, too. Something I am not prepared to name. Something that feels dangerously close to responsibility.
A dangerous thought.
This was supposed to be a single night. A release of tension. A way to finally get her out of my system.
But lying here with her, feeling the weight of her body against mine, the steady rhythm of her breath, I know it is not that simple.
It has never been that simple.
From the moment I met her, there has been a… connection. A spark. An awareness that has hummed between us, an undercurrent to every sharp-tongued exchange and competitive glare.
I have spent the last two weeks fighting it. Telling myself it was a bad idea. That she was a complication I didn’t need in my life. That mixing business and pleasure was a fool’s errand.
And yet, here I am.
In her bed.
With the scent of her all over me.
Her question from before, sleep-mumbled and slurred, comes back to me.
Fica… something…
A slow, wicked smile curves my lips.
Voglio sentire la tua fica stringersi intorno a me.
I want to feel your cunt tighten around me.
The cunt I just fucked into oblivion.
The one that is currently overflowing with my cum.
My smile widens. I am a Neanderthal. A base, possessive creature who is entirely too pleased with himself.
But I can’t seem to find it in myself to care.
I look down at her again. Her face is turned towards me, her lips parted slightly. A strand of dark hair is stuck to her cheek, and I have the strangest urge to brush it away.
So I do.
My fingers are gentle as they tuck the hair behind her ear. My knuckles brush against the soft skin of her cheek, but she doesn't move a muscle.
I'm not sure anything could wake her right now; her sleep is so deep.
Except maybe another orgasm.
The thought is there, unbidden and intrusive. A flash of her, arching beneath me, her body convulsing around my fingers, her cries of pleasure echoing in my ears.
I shift again, this time to ease the growing ache between my legs. This is getting ridiculous. I feel like a teenager with a permanent hard-on.
I should go.
It is the rational, logical thing to do. The responsible thing.
Stay, and this becomes something more than it should be. Stay, and I send a message I’m not sure I’m ready to send.
Stay, and I might not want to leave.
