12. Craig #2
“Okay. Okay.” She nods. Her right breast is bright pink from days of stubble, but she asked me not to shave today.
She raises her hips and moves backwards, hands flat on my abs to steady herself as she straddles me, looking me straight in the eyes with her ass in the air.
What a view. “I was thinking,” she says, in the same tone she used that time she asked me which side I dress to four summers ago.
“Since you haven’t been with anyone else and I haven’t been with anyone else and I’m on the pill, we should finally… ”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes. Ride me bareback, baby. It’s about fucking time.”
“Finally, a little enthusiasm,” she says wryly as she takes hold of my shaft with one hand, the other still flat on my abs to hold herself steady, and slowly, slowly lowers herself onto me.
I watch as she kisses the head of my cock with her pussy.
It’s mesmerizing. So good. I’m usually already inside her when I flip over onto my back.
I know she’s not trying to torture me. I know how big I am.
But this is the most beautiful, agonizing fucking thing that has ever happened to me.
Jesus, what a week this has been. We have about four more days until the Griffins will send someone to get me, and if it takes that long for my girl to get comfortable on my erection—so be it.
She keeps moaning and gasping and licking and biting her lips, and it’s so hot.
“Jesus, you feel so good, baby.”
“Did you get bigger?”
“Maybe? You want me to—”
“No, I’ve got this! Here I go…” She sucks in a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and then drops her knees to the mattress with a high-pitched squeal.
“Oh my God!”
“Fuuuuck, babe.”
“I did it!”
I might actually pass out. The grip she has on me feels so damn good, and she hasn’t started moving yet.
I can barely see straight. Not because of the concussion, because my eyes are so hooded.
Okay, maybe a little because of the concussion—but fuck the concussion.
I force my eyes open so I can watch my beautiful woman raise her head, eyes closed, hands on my lower abs, and she starts to circle her hips. Tiny circles. So slow.
“You good?” she purrs.
“So good.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“The best fucking day of my life.”
She grins, raises her left hand to massage her tit. Moves her right hand to stroke her clit. Hips moving in bigger circles. Holding my blurry gaze the whole time. Then her head drops back, and she rocks her hips back and forth, back and forth. Easing into it, taking her time like a fucking goddess.
I’ve never seen her like this before. So confident. It’s because she knows I’m hers. But she needs a reminder. “I’m all yours, baby—you know that?”
There it is.
Bridget rolls her neck, sways her head back and forth, squeezes around me even tighter, and then picks up the pace. “I love you so much, Craig.”
“God, I wish I could squeeze your ass right now. I love you so much too.”
She folds forward so her nipples brush against my skin.
My head instinctively raises, mouth straining to meet hers.
She gives me the briefest, fieriest kiss and then arches her neck, gripping my legs with her hands and leaning back, rocking her hips in a staccato rhythm.
And then she sits up straight and she is bouncing on my cock. All of her. Bouncing.
It flashes through my mind that I might have died when that puck hit my head or possibly when I was licking her bare pussy earlier, and now I’m in heaven.
“Fuck. I’m gonna come, baby.”
“I want you to. I want you to come inside me.”
“You’re gonna be full of my cum because you’re mine.”
“Yes! Yes!” She’s spasming around me, and that’s it.
The explosion.
I empty myself into her, disappear, come back to myself and bring her with me.
I’m so fucking mad that I’m too tired to watch her climb off of me. I want to watch my cum pour out of her. I want to clean her up, but I can’t. I don’t have hands, and I don’t have the energy. All I have is love for Bridget and a mild pressure in my head.
When I wake up, I have hands again. There are a lot of pillows behind me, and I’m sitting upright.
“Drink the water,” Bridget says, holding my sixty-four-ounce stainless-steel water bottle up in front of me. “I added electrolytes.”
“Such a girlfriend move,” I say, reaching for the bottle.
She’s put on jeans and a T-shirt and pulled her hair up into a ponytail, which I look forward to tugging on later. Probably need to give myself a few hours to recover first, but I’ll get back in the game tonight.
“We are not having sex again until tomorrow,” she informs me.
“What? That can’t be right. I think you mean tonight.”
“Your season is at stake, mister. And I’m in charge of your well-being.”
“Then why are you wearing clothes right now?”
She smiles at me. Not in a smirky I’m going to give you a boner and it’s going to be painful kind of way.
In an I love you and I like looking at your face kind of way.
It’s how I’ve always wanted to be smiled at.
I’m proud of myself. Now I know how to guard the people in my life who can smile at me like that.
Instead of guarding myself from them. “Because I have to go back to the kitchen to work on some clients’ clothes.
I have a few jobs to finish so I can go to New York with you. ”
“Yeah?” This is so Bridget. So Stitch. Making everything fit before she moves on.
“Yeah. I was thinking I can stay with you for two weeks, maybe three. Take a break. I haven’t really had a vacation in…years? And if it goes well, then I can come back and pack things up.”
“I’ll come back with you to help you pack.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s not that much stuff.”
“Baby. Here’s what you need to understand: When I commit to a play, I commit completely,” I say. “If it’s you and it’s your stuff, it’s important. I’m going to be with you whenever I can and I’m going to help you whenever I can. That’s my play. You in?”
Bridget smiles at me, the way I like, the way that says I’m home, and nods. “Yeah. I’m in.”