Chapter 5 — The Count
The Count
I woke to sunlight and the weight of a woman on my hips, and for a confused second I thought I was still dreaming.
Then Kiki smiled down at me, all golden hair and blue eyes and naked skin, and the dream became real in a way that made my cock harden under her before my brain had finished booting up.
Morning light poured through the gaps in my curtains, painting bright stripes across her body.
She was bare, completely bare, her golden hair falling loose around her shoulders, her sun-warmed skin glowing with that summer heat she carried everywhere.
The white lines of her bikini stood out against her tan, pale curves across her full breasts and the tops of her thighs, and when she shifted her weight over me, her breasts moved with a lazy bounce that my eyes followed without permission.
Her thighs were spread wide across my hips, warm and firm, and between them, I could see the blonde curls where my cum had dried on her skin overnight, proof of what we’d done hours ago when the room was dark and my conscience had been the last thing on my mind.
“Good morning,” she said, and her voice was warm honey, pleased and unhurried, like she’d been awake for a while watching me sleep.
I blinked up at her, my hands finding her waist on instinct, feeling the narrowness of it under my palms, the soft curve of her hips. “Morning.”
“You look serious.” Her fingers traced my jaw, slow and proprietary. “Like you’re about to give me a speech. Something about responsibility, or boundaries, or how we should probably talk about what happened last night before we do it again.”
She wasn’t wrong. My brain was already assembling the speech, the apology, the careful adult conversation where I explained that crossing the line once didn’t mean we should sprint across it again before coffee.
But my cock was fully hard under her, straining against her warm pussy where she was already wet enough that I could feel the slick heat of her through the thin barrier of my boxers, and the speech died somewhere between my brain and my mouth.
“Kiki,” I started, and that was as far as I got.
She leaned down and kissed me, her mouth soft and sure, her tongue finding mine with the confidence of a woman who’d been inside me enough times now to know her way around.
Her breasts pressed against my chest, heavy and warm, and the scent of her filled my lungs: vanilla, sunscreen, and the muskier note of sex that still clung to her skin. It turned my resolve to ash.
“Your cock is so hard,” she whispered against my lips. “I can feel it pulsing. Do you want me to slow down, Luke? Do you want to talk first?”
She was making fun of me.
Sweetly. Mercilessly. With her mouth brushing mine and her hips still moving like she knew exactly how little dignity I had left. Kiki Bishop was giving me an out the same way a cat gave a mouse an exit.
I didn’t take it.
My hands slid from her waist to her ass, gripping the firm, round muscle there, and I pulled her against me hard enough that she gasped against my mouth. “No,” I said, and the word came out rougher than I meant it. “I don’t want to slow down.”
Her smile was sunshine and mischief, and she reached between us, her fingers working the waistband of my boxers, tugging them down until my cock sprang free. She wrapped her hand around me, one slow stroke from base to tip, and my hips bucked off the mattress without my permission.
“God, you’re still so hard,” she breathed, her blue eyes darkening.
“Even after last night. Even after coming inside me twice.” Her thumb circled the head where I was already leaking for her, and the contact sent a jolt through my cock that traveled straight up my spine.
“I love how much you want me. It makes me feel powerful.”
She lifted her hips, positioned the head of my cock against her entrance, and sank down on me in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Heat. Wet, clutching heat. Her pussy took me inch by inch until I was buried to the root inside her, and the sound she made, that deep, satisfied moan vibrating through both of us, nearly made me come right there.
“You’re so deep,” she whispered, her head tipping back, golden hair spilling down her back. “I can feel you everywhere, Luke. Everywhere.”
She started to move. Slow at first, rising up until just the head remained inside her, then sinking back down with a roll of her hips that made her breasts bounce and my hands tighten on her ass.
Each descent dragged a groan out of me, low and involuntary, and she watched my face with that pleased, proprietary expression that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
“Fuck, Kiki.” My voice was wrecked, my hips lifting to meet her, driving deeper on each thrust. “You’re so wet. So fucking tight.”
“I’m still wet from last night,” she said, and the admission, delivered with that sweet, wicked smile, drove me deeper. “I woke up with your cum inside me and your cock hard against my hip, and I thought, why wait?”
She picked up her pace, riding me with a confidence that shouldn’t have been possible for someone who’d lost her virginity less than twelve hours ago, but nothing about Kiki Bishop followed the rules.
Her thighs clenched around my hips, her pussy gripping my cock with each downward stroke, and the sight of her, golden and bare and taking her pleasure from my body with such open delight, undid me completely.
Her breasts bounced with each thrust, full and heavy, nipples tight, and I reached up to cup them, feeling the weight of them in my palms, thumbing her nipples until she moaned and her rhythm faltered.
“Luke,” she gasped, her hands braced on my chest, her hips rolling faster. “I’m close. So close. Come with me. Please. I want to feel you come inside me again.”
It was too much. The heat of her, the sight of her, the knowledge that she’d woken up in my bed and decided she wanted me again before I’d even opened my eyes, it was too fucking much.
My balls tightened, my cock swelled inside her, and the orgasm hit hard, pulsing up my shaft in rhythmic bursts that had me gripping her hips and driving up into her as deep as I could go.
“Kiki—fuck—I’m coming—”
“Inside me,” she demanded, her pussy clenching around my pulsing cock, milking every drop. “All of it, baby, every single time, give me all of it—”
Impossibly, I came harder than I had the night before, my cock jerking inside her, flooding her with hot cum that I could feel spilling around my shaft with each thrust. She came with me, her body shaking, her back arching, her pussy squeezing my cock in pulses that matched my own, and the sound she made, raw, desperate, completely unashamed, echoed off my bedroom walls like she wanted the whole house to know.
She collapsed onto my chest, breathless and laughing, her golden hair sticking to her damp forehead, her body still trembling with aftershocks. My cock was still inside her, still half-hard, still pulsing with the occasional weak twitch as my body tried to figure out if we were done.
“Jesus Christ,” I managed, my heart hammering against my ribs, my hands running up and down her sweat-slick back.
She lifted her head, blue eyes bright with satisfaction, and smiled that sunshine smile that contained absolutely zero regret. “That’s two.”
The number hit me hard. Two. Two of fifty.
She was counting. She was serious. This wasn't a joke or a throwaway line or heat-of-the-moment exaggeration.
She had a number in her head, she was ticking them off one by one, and the casual certainty with which she said it made my brain skip while the orgasm still faded in my balls.
“Two,” I repeated, and my voice sounded strange even to me.
“At least.” She kissed my chest, right over my heart. “I might need to adjust the count upward. You’re very... accommodating.”
I laughed, the sound rusty and surprised, and pulled her against me, my cock still buried inside her warm, cum-slick pussy, and for a long moment we lay there tangled in my sheets with the morning light warming our skin and the lake sounds carrying through the open window.
Fifty times. Minimum.
She wasn’t joking. And the worst part, the terrifying, wonderful part was that neither was I.
***
Kiki didn’t let me lie there and overthink the fifty. She slid off me with a wet, satisfied sound that made my cock twitch again despite everything, kissed my chest once more for good measure, and pulled me out of bed by the hand before my brain had recovered from the second orgasm in eight hours.
“Shower,” she announced, tugging me toward the bathroom. “We’re sticky and I smell like sex and your cum, and while I personally think that’s a fantastic scent profile, my mother has a nose like a bloodhound.”
I followed because following Kiki Bishop had become my default setting sometime in the last twelve hours, and also because my legs weren’t entirely steady and the cool air on my sweat-damp skin had raised goosebumps along my arms. My cock hung half-hard between my thighs, still glistening with her, and the sight of it, evidence of what we’d just done, twice now, should have triggered something resembling guilt.
It didn’t. It triggered a vague, distant ache that said round three wasn’t entirely off the table if she wanted it, which was its own kind of problem.
The bathroom filled with steam as Kiki turned the shower to hot and stepped under the spray without waiting for the water to warm. She gasped at the temperature, laughed, and reached for me through the glass door, her hand finding my wrist and pulling me in after her.