Screwmates(37)

“I…” he trailed off. I knew what he meant though, cause me…

“Yeah,” I agreed, breathless.

It didn’t take long for him to find the condom this time, and obviously no one was going to risk me killing the mood trying to fumble it on. In no time flat, I could feel the nudge of Marc’s cock at my center. I was too wet to keep him waiting, but neither of us pushed. He just slowly moved forward, and I slowly rocked back against him, and every inch that entered me felt like heaven.

When he was filling me completely, we both took a deep breath, then he slid all the way out.

“Yeah?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” I said, and he thrust back into me in one hard motion. Ho. Ly. Cats.

Once we started in earnest, it was really hard to hold back. This had been so long in coming, that—well, it didn’t take too long in the coming, so to speak. I clung onto Marc like he was my lifeboat in the motion-y ocean we were in, and he pushed in and out of me faster and faster. His groans sent me closer and closer, and when he finally whispered “oh god” in my ear, that was all it took and my entire body pulsed with the force of the orgasm that had me screaming his name.

He stayed inside me, breathing hard and holding me close, until we both found our equilibrium again, then he slowly slid out. It tickled just a little, and left me feeling like a puzzle piece I hadn’t known about was now gone.

I shivered, but not because I was cold. Although, it wasn’t as warm without Marc’s heat on top and all around me. It was more of a delicious shiver, counting up all the times he gave me the highest pleasure and comparing them to all the lackluster times before.

So this was what I’d been missing.





Twelve





Waking up in Marc’s bed was a very different story this time around. For one thing, there was no hangover. For another, there was no question at all of what had happened the night before: I had officially gotten laid.

Not just laid, I’d gotten thoroughly banged six ways from Sunday. If all the waiting and accidents and interruptions had led to that—well, it had been worth all the mishaps. I gazed over at Marc, and the pink mark on his forehead still healing from the recent stitches. Most of the mishaps, I amended. The entire emergency visit in a bra thing was being omitted from all future versions of this story.

“Good morning,” came his rumbly morning voice, and my eyes moved down to see that his had opened, and he was smiling at me.

“It really is,” I agreed. The sun was extra shiny; I was quite certain. That was why the birds were even chirpier than normal. And I was absolutely ravenous. It was a shame we’d devoured all the steak last night, because some of that with some eggs would be just the protein boost we needed for a second round this morning. Although—I winced—Anastasia never seemed to be quite this sore after an aerobic sex workout.

This led me to two conclusions. One, I needed to practice more yoga. Two, Grey’s dick must have had nothing on Marc’s.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Coffee,” he agreed. I didn’t exactly leap from the bed (those sore quads and all), but I damn well did in my mind. In my mind, in fact, it was like Cinderella being dressed and serenaded by all the little creatures of the forest. Once in the kitchen, I spun around as I filled the reservoir and dumped in grounds. I was so happy. I was sublimely, perfectly happy. I was—oh fuck.

I was in love.

My perfect mood was shattered immediately. I was in love with a man that I’d just slept with in order to prepare him to sleep with other women. What was I thinking? Scarlet had warned me. Hell, I’d basically warned myself the previous night. Why else would I have been so jealous lately? Of course I’d been developing feelings. And of course I’d fall for him once we’d slept together.

After all, the whole thing about me only having slept with the two old boyfriends had another logical conclusion. I hadn’t sought out any other sexual partners because I was only interested in sleeping with people I cared for.

Where was my inner therapist before I’d let things get this far?

A cloud passed over the sun, and it seemed like a metaphor for my entire life. If I were still Cinderella, this would be about the time that the coach turned back into a pumpkin. Idiot, I thought to myself. I had thought before then that most of my bad ideas were not the ones that stuck. Like the time I thought perhaps I could launch a new comic called Supercomic, where the main character borrowed any power she needed any time she needed it. Lizzie reminded me about copyrights, and it didn’t even get as far as a rough sketch.

There was my plan to go back to college and get a degree in accounting. I hatched that one after paying my old neighbor Dean to do my taxes. It died a quick death when Lizzie reminded me that I went to art school to avoid math classes.

There was the occasional hangover, twice giving my number to cute guys that turned out to be a real creeps, and the time I ate a suspect leftover taco and gave myself a nice dose of food poisoning. You know, the normal kind of bad decisions. Not so, this. This was a whole new level of bad choice I’d made for myself.

This was the kind of thing that hung around. And I strongly suspected that heartache might take longer to get rid of than a little salmonella.

I was fretting so much I barely noticed Marc stumble into the kitchen until he spoke. “So we actually did it!” He held up his large hand, the hand that had brought me to the edges of the known universe last night, and awaited a high five.