After the Cool Down A Run Club Hookup Erotica #6
“I’ll wait if you tell me to wait.”
Riley smiled, small and tired and filthy.
“I’ll tell you.”
She pulled his shirt down over the wet between her thighs and left Saturday sitting on both of their calendars like another kind of yes.
Saturday’s long run started in a parking lot that still smelled like Tuesday.
Riley pinned her number on and did not look for him first.
Twenty-six years old, same black shorts, sports bra already dark at the sternum from the warm-up.
The club moved out in a loose ribbon along the park road.
Nate found her pace at mile two without making a show of it.
Twenty-four years old, beat-up shoes, a glance that said he remembered exactly what he had left in her on his sheets.
They did not talk for three miles. Breathing. Cadence. A sprinkler hitting the path and cooling her shins. When the pack frayed at the water station she tipped her bottle at him.
“Peel off after this loop,” she said. “Mine. I’m not doing the group photo.”
“Can I peel off with you.”
“Yes.”
They dropped out at the oak like it was a bathroom break. Nobody chased them. The walk to her building was six minutes and sweat. Stairwell still smelled like carpet and dinner. This time she kissed him with the key already in the door because the first-time carefulness had been used up.
Inside, she did not give a speech.
“Shoes off. Clothes can stay on until they can’t. I want you in me face to face. Slow. We’re still sweating and I want that in it.”
Nate nodded. “Can I take the bra off.”
“Yes.”
He peeled the wet nylon over her head. Her tits were flushed, marked by the elastic, nipples tight in the apartment air. He put his mouth on one and she let him for a minute, fingers in his damp hair, then pulled him toward the bedroom by the waistband.
They did not make a pile as neat as the first night. Shorts half down. His shirt stuck to his back. Riley lay on her back on unmade sheets that still faintly smelled like the week and pulled him over her. Skin slick. Salt. The clean burn of eight miles in both of their legs.
“Ask.”
“Can I be inside you.”
“Yes. Slow. I want to look at you. You can cum in me again if you last that long. You check right before.”
He pushed in slow.
Riley’s breath left her in a long sound.
Swollen less than Thursday night, still tender, still greedy.
He sank to the root and held because she put her heels on the backs of his thighs and made him.
Forehead to forehead. Sweat dripping from his throat onto her chest.
She could smell the park on him, grass and asphalt and her own soap from when he had used her shower days ago.
“Move.”
Nate moved. Long strokes. No headboard show.
No mirror. No cramped back seat. Just a 24 year old covering a 26 year old woman in her own bed after a long run, cock dragging through the wet of her, their stomachs slipping.
Riley kept her eyes open. She wanted the face.
She wanted the specific way he looked when he went deep and remembered to wait.
She slid a hand between them and rubbed her clit in lazy wet circles. The orgasm built without drama and took her that way, a deep pull that made her lock around him and say his name into his mouth. He kept the same slow rhythm through it, shaking.
“Tuesday,” she said, when she could talk. “River loop again. I’m going.”
“I’m going.”
“We still don’t have to walk in together.” She rolled her hips up to meet him. “We can. I’m not scared of the stretch circle. I’m also not making a flyer.”
Nate laughed once against her cheek, wrecked. “No flyer.”
“Good. Harder by a little. Still face to me.”
He gave her a little. The slap stayed soft.
Sweat glued her tits to his chest. Riley hooked her ankles higher and took him and thought about the water bottle on the curb and the stairwell and the bad pasta and the fogged car windows and his shirt on her after he came in her the first time.
A simple hookup that had refused to stay at one room.
“Close,” he said.
“Ask.”
“Can I cum in you.”
“Yes. Stay in when you do. I want to feel it and then I want to lie here.”
He drove in and came with his mouth on her shoulder, pulsing heat high inside her, a groan she felt in her ribs.
Riley held him there with both legs and both hands and took it, the second time she had asked for this particular mess, no less filthy for being slower.
His cock jerked. She clenched. When he tried to apologize for how heavy he was she told him to shut up and stay.
They stayed.
Sweat cooling. His cum leaking around him when he finally softened and slipped free. A truck outside. Someone in the hall. Riley stared at her own ceiling with a 24 year old’s weight still half on her and eight miles in her legs and did not reach for her phone.
Nate’s watch did not buzz.
She pulled the sheet over their hips and left her knee across his thigh.
“Same pace group,” she said to the room. “That’s as much naming as I want to do today.”
“Same pace group,” he said.
Riley smiled at the blinds, small and tired and done pretending the cool down had ever been about the run.
Tuesday was already on both calendars.
More wet. More wild. Keep reading.