We found a rhythm this time that was less urgent than the first time. It was slower, the kind of slow that came from having established something—from knowing each other's geography well enough to linger.
He worked his way down my body with his mouth and I let him, my fingers in his hair, the studio quiet around us. His lips traced the curve of my breasts, tongue circling my nipples until they tightened into aching peaks, then lower, over the soft plane of my stomach, until his breath ghosted hot against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
Then, he did something I was not expecting.
He stopped. Looked up at me from somewhere around my stomach with an expression that contained equal parts intent and something close to mischief. It was the first time I'd seen anything like mischief in that face. It was devastating.
"Roll over," he said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Trust me."
"Those are the two most dangerous words you've said to me," I told him. "And you once talked me out of hitchhiking."
A hearty laugh surprised out of him—and then he moved and I moved and we rearranged ourselves and I understood what he was doing. I felt heat flood through me from my scalp to my heels.
We ended up stretched along the narrow sofa, the light filtering through the windows and painting our skin in soft gold. He lay on his back, and I turned to face the opposite direction, straddling his chest before sliding down so that my thighs framed his head. My breasts pressed against the hard ridges of his abdomen, my mouth level with the thick, flushed length of his cock, already heavy and straining for me. At the same time, his strong hands gripped my hips and guided me back until his face was buried between my thighs, his breath teasing my slick folds.
"This," I said, from my end of the arrangement, "is going to require?—"
"Yeah," he said. "Stop talking."
So, I stopped talking.
What followed was—there was no word for it that didn't feel inadequate. We took each other apart this way, unhurried, learning and giving and taking in equal measure.
I lowered my mouth onto him, tasting the warm, velvet-smooth skin stretched tight over steel, swirling my tongue around the swollen head before taking him deeper, savoring the salty tang of his arousal and the way he throbbed against my tongue.
At the same moment, his mouth claimed me—lips closing around my clit with devastating gentleness, sucking softly whilehis tongue delved between my folds, licking long and slow through my wetness.
The position felt deliciously intimate and filthy all at once: our bodies aligned head to toe, every shiver and moan shared in the closest possible way. His hands kneaded the soft flesh of my ass, spreading me wider so he could devour me more thoroughly, his tongue fucking into me in lazy strokes while I hollowed my cheeks around his cock, bobbing with tender reverence.
Every time one of us made a sound, the other absorbed it and gave it back different, better. The wet sounds of mouths and tongues filled the room, mingling with our ragged breathing.
Pleasure coiled tight and low in my belly, building in slow, luxurious waves. He sucked my clit harder, two fingers sliding deep inside me, curling just right, and I shattered first—my orgasm crashing over me in deep, pulsing waves that made my thighs tremble around his head. I moaned around his cock, the vibration pulling a guttural groan from him that vibrated straight through my core. He didn't stop, licking me through every aftershock until I was gasping, oversensitive and aching for more.
I felt him laugh, too, against me, which sent me somewhere entirely new. The joy and raw pleasure of it undid me again, a second, gentler orgasm rolling through me as I kept sucking him, stroking the base of his shaft with my hand while my tongue worshipped every inch.
By the time we came back up for air, we were both undone, flushed and breathless and tangled on the narrow sofa. He pulled me up against him the way he had before—like that was just where I went, the natural resting place—and I settled into the warmth of him and listened to his heart beat slow for a moment.
But the hunger between us hadn't faded. His hands roamed my back, then lower, gripping my hips as he shifted us again. With tender strength, he guided me onto my back beneath him on the sofa, my legs parting to cradle his hips. He looked down at me, eyes dark with need and something softer, deeper. "I need to be inside you," he murmured, voice rough.
I nodded, pulling him down for a kiss as he positioned himself. The broad head of his cock nudged my entrance, slick from my orgasms and his mouth, then he pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching me open in the most exquisite way. We both groaned at the perfect fit. He filled me completely, bottoming out with a roll of his hips that made my back arch off the cushions.
He moved with that same focused certainty—deep, unhurried strokes that built heat between us like a slow-burning fire. The sofa creaked softly beneath us, our bodies moving together in perfect sync. He angled his hips to hit that sensitive spot inside me with every thrust, one hand cupping my breast, thumb brushing my nipple, the other braced beside my head. Pleasure mounted again, sharper this time, coiling tighter with each powerful glide of his cock.
"Come for me again," he whispered against my lips, and I did—clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, my third orgasm pulling a broken cry from my throat. The feel of me coming around him shattered his control. His thrusts grew deeper, more insistent, until he followed me over the edge with a low groan, spilling hot inside me as we clung to each other.
"Okay," I said eventually, boneless and glowing in the aftermath.
"Yeah," he said.
"That was?—"
"Yeah."
I laughed. "Very articulate."
