39. Clay #2
But the way she squirms tells me teasing is exactly what she wants. So I do. I drag my fingers through her, slow at first, then faster, thumb working circles as she bucks into my hand. She’s glaring at me, daring me to push her farther.
It’s too much; I’m shaking, everything from my shoulder down to the tips of my fingers burning with the need to touch all of her at once.
I move my hand lower, rub her clit with the pad of my thumb while my fingers press inside. Her heat sucks me in, making me see black stars at the edge of my vision. She hisses between her teeth, hips stuttering, then her hands flash up and grab my wrist.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps, “Clay, oh fuck…”
She shivers apart, legs locked around my shoulders, pulling me close like she’s drowning and I’m the only air.
The sound she makes is half sob, half feral, and I have to fight every cell of my body not to follow her right over the edge.
Her hips ride my hand through it, and the clench of her around my fingers is so strong, so immediate, that I could believe I was made just for this.
She sags against me when it’s over, kisses my mouth like she’s grateful, then licks the sweat from my upper lip. I want to say “I fucking love this”, but I’ve never been good at saying the thing I mean when it’s big and real.
Josie recovers fast as I crawl back up the bed and she pulls me down into another kiss.
She pushes my boxers down the rest of the way, then grips me with both hands and just stares, like she’s memorizing me in the lamplight.
The way her hand fits my cock scrambles my nervous system, makes me want to beg or laugh or drop to my knees in worship.
She rubs her thumb along the shaft and spreads me slick under her palm.
“Never gets old,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking huge.”
I pretend to roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong.
I shift upright between her thighs and brace my hands on either side of her shoulders, and she uses one long, slow stroke to guide me to her. Then we’re both silent, just breathing in the ache. I have to grit my teeth so I don’t lose control and blow it on the first thrust.
She’s still, braced with her legs wrapped around my hips, waiting for me to move.
“Clay,” she begs.
I ease inside, inch by inch, letting her adjust, letting myself get used to the insane heat and pressure of her.
I can’t look at her for more than a second without risking total meltdown. My forehead drops to hers, sweat and messy hair, and we just breathe for a moment, connected all the way down.
She moves first. A little shift of her hips, the grind more than a thrust, and holy fuck, I feel it everywhere. She does it again, and then again, chasing the friction, her legs locking tighter around mine until there’s not a single centimeter between us.
I catch her rhythm, holding back for as long as I can, then harder, every movement wringing a new gasp from her lungs and a curse from mine. My hands slip down to her ass, palms fitting the round curve, fingers digging in just to keep myself anchored in reality.
She’s made for friction and hunger and wanting more. Each time I slam into her, she digs her heels in and drags me deeper.
We grind up against each other, sweat slick, shoving the headboard into the drywall. She bites my neck hard enough to bruise. I hear her swallow the sound it makes, like she’s stealing that pain just to keep the rhythm going.
I try to slow down. I want to make it last. I want to remember every second, the way her name tastes in my mouth, the way her body flexes and clamps and gives.
But that’s not the kind of story we’re built for.
Her hands tell the truth. Scrambling, greedy for more, clutching at my shoulder blades and the base of my skull, pulling me so close I can hear the grind of our teeth, the click of her jaw every time she gasps.
The pulse between us stretches tight, fragile as wet newsprint. My hips snap, and she meets me thrust for thrust, her spark catching on my every ragged exhale. The smell of sweat and vanilla floods the room, enough to erase every sensible thought I've had all day.
She smacks a hand to the wall for leverage and rides me down so hard I almost lose the plot.
The headboard rattles with every collision, a frantic staccato counterpoint to our breathing.
She claws my back and rakes her nails over old scars, new flesh, marking me up like she’s claiming salvage rights.
I’m half convinced the neighbors are going to call the cops, or maybe just take notes.
My knees go numb from kneeling on the mattress. She locks her ankles behind me, and her cunt clamps down with impossible force. For a wild moment, the world whites out. I let go, a wave of heat firing up my spine, everything bucking and blind and raw.
I swear, loud and ugly, and Josie chokes out a laugh. She milks me through each pulse, every twitch, eyes glued to mine. She wants to see the exact second I lose control.
When the spasm ebbs, I collapse onto her, arms locked around her waist so tight she squeaks. Sweat glues our skin together.
I stay exactly where I am, holding her against me while both of us try to catch our breath.
The room is a wreck. My body hurts. My leg's probably going to hate me tomorrow.
I can't remember the last time I cared less.