Chapter 7 — The Morning After Math
The Morning After Math
I woke to green light and Shay’s ass pressed against my cock. Not a gentle press. A deliberate, possessive press, like she’d been lying there waiting for me to wake up so she could start round two with the filthy confidence she knew I wanted.
Morning filtered through the tent fabric in a warm, diffuse glow, turning everything inside the nylon dome a soft, swampy green.
Outside, the first sounds of cleanup carried from the Hollis property: a distant cooler lid slamming, someone calling a question I couldn’t make out, the mechanical whine of a trash bag being dragged across gravel.
The party was ending. The world was waking up.
And Shay Hollis was warm and naked and grinding against me with the casual entitlement of a woman who considered my morning wood an invitation she’d already accepted on my behalf.
I didn’t mind. The opposite of mind. My cock was already hard, aching, and the memory of last night, her pussy gripping me in the firelight, her face above mine, my cum inside her, hit my bloodstream like something I could mainline.
“Morning,” she whispered, not bothering to turn around.
Her voice was thick with sleep and satisfaction.
“Your dick is poking me. It’s been poking me for about twenty minutes.
Very persistent. Very needy. I was trying to be polite and let you sleep, but my ass has opinions, and right now it’s saying ‘wake him up or I’m starting without him. ’”
I laughed, the sound rusty in my throat, and wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her back against me.
Her skin was warm, soft, the faint white lines of her bikini stark against her olive tan in the green-tinted light.
Her ass fit perfectly against my hips, round and firm, and when I slid my hand down to cup the curve of it, she made a sound that was half laugh, half moan.
“That’s it,” she said. “There’s responsible Luke. Right on schedule.”
I wasn’t feeling responsible. I was feeling something closer to ravenous.
My hand slid between her thighs from behind, fingers finding her pussy, and she was already wet, hot, slick, her body still carrying the evidence of what we’d done hours ago.
She gasped, her hips jerking forward, then grinding back against my hand with a hunger that made my cock throb against her ass.
“Jesus, Shay.”
“I know. It’s obscene. I’ve been wet since I woke up.
Woke up with your cum leaking out of me and your dick hard against my back, and I thought, well, this is convenient.
Very efficient. Two birds, one stone, one very persistent morning wood situation.
” She reached behind her, her hand finding my cock, wrapping around it with a confidence that sent a jolt through my shaft.
“You want in? Because I want you in. No foreplay. No talking. Just your cock in my pussy, right now, before the real cleanup starts and someone comes looking for us.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I kissed the back of her neck, tasting salt and lake air, and her hand guided my cock to her entrance from behind.
She was so wet the head slid in without resistance, hot and slick, and the sound she made, that low, broken gasp, nearly finished me before I’d started.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, yes, right there—”
I pushed into her slowly, watching the way her back arched, the way her dark hair spilled across the pillow, and the blow-up bed beneath us made a comical squeaking noise that should have killed the mood and made it hotter.
Everything about this was undignified, the green light, the squeaking mattress, the fact that we were half a mile from her parents’ house with a party winding down around us, and Shay Hollis, wild child, truth-teller, was taking my cock from behind with a hunger that turned my brain to static.
“God, you feel good,” she breathed, her face half-buried in the pillow. “So deep, fuck, so deep—”
I set a rhythm, one hand on her hip, the other braced beside her head, and the mattress squeaked beneath us with every thrust. Shay tried to stay quiet.
She really tried. She bit the pillow, she muffled her moans against her forearm, but every third or fourth stroke dragged a sound out of her that I was pretty sure could be heard in the next county.
“Shh,” I whispered against her ear, and she laughed, the sound vibrating through both of us.
“I’m trying. It’s not my fault your dick is fucking magical. Magical dicks deserve appreciation. It’s basic science.” Her hips rolled back against me, taking me deeper, and the mattress let out a squeal so loud we both froze for a second, listening for footsteps that didn’t come.
We dissolved into muffled laughter, her shoulders shaking, my chest pressed against her back, and then I was inside her again, deeper, harder, and her laughter turned into a moan she couldn’t contain.
“Luke—fuck—I’m close, I’m so close—”
I was close too. My balls were tight, my cock swelling inside her, and the sight of her, spread beneath me on this ridiculous air mattress, ass in the air, dark hair wild across the pillow, taking every inch I gave her, drove me past the point of return.
I came with a force that nearly blacked me out, my hips driving into her, my cock pulsing deep inside her pussy in hard, rhythmic bursts that had her crying out against the pillow, her body clenching around me as she came with me, shaking, breathless, her hand reaching back to grip my thigh hard enough to leave marks.
We collapsed together, a sweaty, tangled mess on a squeaking air mattress that had no business supporting two adults having sex, and for a long moment the only sounds were our breathing and the distant thump of coolers being moved and someone calling Knox’s name from the main yard.
“Jesus Christ,” Shay whispered, her voice wrecked. “That’s two. Forty-eight to go.” She turned in my arms, her face flushed, her blue eyes bright with satisfaction, and kissed me hard enough to bruise. “Good morning to you too, Morning Wood Luke.”
We cleaned up fast. Towels from the stack Eden had left, water from the cooler, quick efficient wipes that did nothing to hide the fact that we’d just had sex on a blow-up bed in a tent while a family cleanup was happening half a mile away.
Shay dressed with the casual confidence of someone who’d planned for this, pulling on the same denim shorts from yesterday (still commando, because of course she was) and a fresh tank top from the small backpack she’d apparently brought.
I pulled on my shorts, my polo from yesterday wrinkled beyond salvation, and tried to look like a man who’d spent the night roasting marshmallows and discussing marine conservation.
Shay caught me staring at her and grinned. “You look guilty. It’s adorable. Very ‘I just fucked Vince Hollis’s daughter on an air mattress and now I have to go help him move a grill.’”
“I'm guilty.”
“Well, stop. Guilt is boring, and we have forty-eight more to go, and also?” She stepped close, her hand finding my chest over my heart, and her voice dropped to something warmer.
“Kiki already knows. I texted her at approximately two in the morning with a very detailed, very obscene summary of events, and she replied with three heart emojis and the word ‘finally.’” Her smile was sunshine and fire.
“The rest of them will know by lunch. Possibly by the time we walk back to the house, depending on how fast Eden’s thumbs move.
So brace yourself, Lake Luke. The queue just got louder. ”
I kissed her, because what else was I supposed to do, and she kissed me back like she owned me, which in the green-tented light of morning, with her taste still on my lips and her pussy still warm from my cock, felt like the most honest thing in the world.
“Come on,” she said, pulling back. “Time to be responsible. Or at least look like it. I’ll let you carry the cooler. Very responsible. Very trustworthy. Vince will be so proud.”
We packed the tent with the efficient chaos of two people who’d done this before and were pretending they hadn’t, and by the time we stepped out into the proper morning light, the cleanup sounds from the main property were loud enough that I could make out individual voices.
One of them was Kiki’s. Bright, carrying, laughing at something.
The sound of it landed in my chest and stayed there, warm and certain, and when Shay’s hand found mine for one brief squeeze before we reached the tree line, I understood with perfect clarity that whatever happened next, whatever the queue brought, whatever the families saw or didn’t see, I was exactly where I belonged, and the only person still pretending otherwise was me.
***
We separated at the edge of the yard with the casual precision of two people who’d rehearsed nothing and knew exactly what to do.
Shay bounced ahead, dark hair flying, calling something over her shoulder about finding her phone, and I hung back, adjusting my polo, running a hand through hair that probably looked exactly like what it was: slept-on, sex-rumpled, and carrying enough of Shay’s citrus perfume to be admissible as evidence in a court of law.
The Hollis yard was nuclear cleanup. Coolers being emptied.
Folding chairs stacked against the porch rail.
Trash bags multiplying by the minute, fat with paper plates and red solo cups and the standard debris of a lake party that had run past its expiration date.
Someone had already fired up the hose, and the hiss of water on stone carried from the side of the house where the worst of the spillage had happened.