4. Bridget #4
I bite his shoulder, but he doesn’t even flinch. “Is there more?”
“Yeah, I’m not even halfway in.”
Okay…
Ohhhh-kay.
These are high-class problems.
Deep breaths.
I visualize myself expanding for him.
You’re gonna need a bigger vaginal canal…
“I can go slow,” he offers with the assurance of a man who has gone slow for more than a few women.
“No. Go fast. Go hard. Just do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want it.”
He grunts and thrusts, and it’s the most magnificent, sharp, inspiring pain I have ever felt. I guess I’m screaming again, but I’m saying yes because yes. Just yes. I am full of him. It’s intense but delicious. I can even move my hips a little now. He’s not too big for me—he’s exactly right.
Warm tears stream down my cheeks. They’re happy tears. We did it! tears. Thank God we’re so well hydrated tears. I snake my arms around his back and bend my knees, bracing myself for more everything.
“Fuck. So good.” He slowly ramps things up.
The weight of him alone is so inconceivably sexy to me, but his cock is reaching parts of me that have never been stimulated like this before.
Waking up the dark, previously undiscovered perimeters and staking its claim.
I hereby proclaim that you deserve a proper orgasm.
You deserve to be filled up. Receive me, and you shall be rewarded with the kind of full body pleasure you didn’t even dare to wish for.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be chill about this, but I’m going to. Yup, this is just a low-key Tuesday-night hookup with an NHL star who’s broadening my sexual horizons and vaginal walls—no big deal.
But I can take it. I can accommodate him. I don’t have to alter anything. My expanded internal genital organs and my life will return to normal after this.
Craig has taken hold of my hands and pinned them over my head.
He’s basically doing a thrusting forearm plank over me, and the amount of strength and control it must be taking for him to do this is stunning.
A bead of sweat drips onto my chest, and it makes me love him a little bit. The dedication—it’s beautiful.
As I’ve relaxed into this, the unbearable pleasure-pain has alchemized into a radiating warmth that’s spreading everywhere.
My body can’t even contain it anymore. I feel it beyond the confines of my skin.
His rhythmic thrusts and grunts are moving the bed and vibrating through me in a way that’s primal and graceful at the same time. It’s so freeing to not have to perform.
This orgasm is different. It’s a deep, slow burn that’s growing and subtly intensifying until suddenly, it’s a firestorm that consumes me.
I can hear Craig’s hoarse voice calling me baby, telling me he’s going to come, but it’s a million miles away.
I have left my body and possibly this dimension.
The climax was fun, but the floating on the way back down, this may be my favorite part.
This was perfect.
I think I know Craig Bowman the exact right amount to have great sex with him. He’s not a total stranger, and I haven’t known him long enough to find out what’s wrong with him or get emotionally attached.
Also famous last words. My heart, that overworked little muscle, is smirking at me, like, That’s right, honey. This has nothing to do with me, but why don’t you Google “oxytocin” before getting called up from the minor league next time?
Craig is still inside of me, lying on top of me.
I was wrong: Coming down from the climax isn’t my favorite part—it’s this.
This is it.
This big, beautiful man’s body on top of mine, pressing me into the comforter and the mattress while he catches his breath is a new level of sexy.
I feel good. I feel safe. I feel so relaxed.
Apparently I was extremely relaxed. Apparently I fell asleep.
I wake up to find Craig Bowman sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water and watching me.
“Hi.” I sit up. He’s placed a blanket over me. “How long did I sleep for?”
“Not long.” He holds the glass of water out to me. “I added electrolytes.” He winks. “You lost a lot of fluids.”
Well, that’s adorable. I gulp down the lemon-lime-flavored water. He’s wearing sweats again, still shirtless, just sitting there with his arms crossed at his chest, watching me enjoy my beverage. I finish the whole glass, smack my lips, and then say, “So, that was pretty good, right?”
Craig smiles, nodding. “We should probably do that again. Room for improvement.”
“I do have some pointers for you,” I say wryly.
He takes the glass from me and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I was thinking we could take a shower together before I drive you home.”
It’s the strangest thing, that sentence.
The way the words take a shower together take the sting out of the words before I drive you home.
But that’s the deal, I guess. And I’m still not looking for a relationship.
So I will take one for the team and shower with this man—maybe once, maybe a few more times this summer.
It will be more fun and more orgasms than I’ve ever had with any other guy. And that will be more than enough.