Chapter Twelve
Grant
Ihad never been lonely, damn it. I didn’t need much human interaction to get by.
Then I’d had Walt and Tuck, and that had been enough.
More than enough some days. But as I lay there with the bare skin of a beautiful woman under me, I could admit that I had missed this kind of human interaction.
Not getting off—or not just that—but touch.
Warmth. Hands and lips and other, more interesting places.
What unsettled me wasn’t the wanting, it was how fast the wanting had rewritten the rules I’d lived by for years. How easily my body had made room for her, like it had been waiting for permission I’d never planned on giving.
I hadn’t gotten laid in way too long. I should have been desperate for it.
Instead, I couldn’t get enough of kissing her, of hearing the little sounds she made when I found a sensitive spot.
I could have lain there all night, the cool comforter against my skin, the subtle smell of her shampoo invading my nose.
But I had also been hard for an alarming amount of time, and we were both getting impatient.
I positioned myself at her entrance, and when she gave me the green light—followed by a not-so-subtle push of her hips—I sank into her wet heat.
We both froze, our groans filling the room.
I stayed buried deep inside her, feeling my pulse beat in my cock.
I ran my hand over one smooth ass cheek, then around to her chest, finding her nipple already pebbled and ready for my touch.
I squeezed the little nub between my thumb and forefinger, and as her breath caught in her throat, I started to move my hips.
Little thrusts at first, trying not to lose it before she did.
“More,” she moaned, leaning her head back, meeting my lips in a sloppy kiss.
I did as I was told, pulling out until only the head of my cock remained inside her, then thrusting back in hard and fast. Her mouth gaped beneath mine, and I repeated the motion.
Sweat formed along my hairline and between my shoulder blades.
My leg started to cramp as I lay on my side, forcing my hips forward harder and faster just to keep those sexy little noises coming from her lips.
The muscle ache was a welcome distraction as heat built at the base of my spine, licking down my legs and threatening to make this over before I was ready for it.
I bit my lip hard enough to hurt and kept moving.
She took my hand in her smaller one and guided it between her open thighs.
I slid my fingers through her wet folds and pressed gently against her clit.
She shuddered, and I repeated the motion, circling her clit a few times before pressing gently again.
I watched her reactions, letting them distract me from how my balls tightened against my body, knowing I was on borrowed time.
“Are you going to come for me?” I asked, bringing my lips back to the spot on her neck I knew she loved and thrusting harder.
“Yes,” she cried.
The muscles of her back tensed against my chest, and I kept every movement in sync until she cried out and shook.
Her inner muscles hugged my length, and I couldn’t wait another moment.
I froze as deep inside her as I could go and pumped rope after rope of cum.
The waves kept coming, and I forced myself to keep working her clit through the haze of my own orgasm.
Finally, her shaking stopped, and I pulled my hand away.
My own aftershocks lasted a little longer before they finally faded.
We lay there with me still buried inside her, knowing I needed to get cleaned up but it was hard to convince myself to move.
I was dog-tired, satisfied in a way that should have been freaking me out, and reluctant to let reality pop our little bubble.
Finally, I slid out of her and went to get her a cloth.
When I returned, she hadn’t moved. I lay down behind her again and pulled her to my chest. She hummed sleepily, nestling closer like this was something real—like we were working toward love and happily ever after rather than rivals on a temporary truce.
Rather than two people who were maybe more starved for touch and company than either of us cared to admit.
I stared into the dark and wondered when exactly things had tipped from simple into dangerous. When wanting her had stopped feeling optional. I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like, only that I’d already crossed a line I’d sworn I wouldn’t, and part of me didn’t regret it nearly enough.