Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(52)

We don’t move for a while. We stay just like that—trading lingering kisses and tender touches—wrapped close and snug around each other. And then, when I can feel my knees again, I pull out of her, lift Lainey up and carry her into the living room.

Because we have a lot of time to make up for, and I’m just getting started.



~



It’s a full-on fuck-fest from there. We’ve deprived ourselves for too long, so now we get to indulge—gorge ourselves on every sexual activity we can come up with—no matter how mundane or deviant. I don’t plan on stopping until I’ve screwed her in every room in the house, on every available surface.

I might not survive—banging Lainey may be the last thing I ever do on this earth—and I’m really okay with that.

I lean back on the couch, my feet on the floor, legs spread. Lainey’s knees straddle my waist as she rides me—her rounded stomach tapping against my chest with every buck and sway of her hips.

I gather the gorgeous strands of her hair in my hand, and tug—just hard enough for her to feel it, as I thrust up into her.

“You like that, baby?”

She gives a jerky nod and a long, sweet moan. Her hips quicken when I lick at her nipple slowly at first, then flicking at the tight bud relentlessly with my tongue. She bites her lip and loses her breath in a gasp, as her pussy contracts like a tight wet fist and she comes hard all around me.

When Lainey collapses against my shoulder, breathing hard, I slide my hands up and down her spine.

And I chuckle. “Oh yeah, you definitely liked it.”



~



In the late afternoon, with the snow still pounding away outside, I build a fire in the fireplace and Lainey and I eat sandwiches and cookies for sustenance—wrapped naked in blankets on the floor.

Her eyes roll back in her head as she licks a line of gooey melted chocolate off her finger. “Mmmmm, it’s so gooood.”

It takes every ounce of control I have not to pounce on her, but I manage it. She’s a human incubator—she needs to eat.

We cuddle and we talk. About our parents—and my lack thereof. I tell her about the time I came home sloppy, stumbling drunk and Grams tugged on my ear so hard she tore the skin—and then had to drive me to the hospital to get two stitches. And she felt absolutely no guilt about it whatsoever.

Lainey tells me about the time her parents left her at the beach—and made it all the way back to Bayonne before realizing they were one daughter short.

She tells me stories about when Jason was a baby, the joys and the terrors. I rest my hand on her stomach and we talk about our baby—if it’ll be a boy or a girl—we decided not to find out the sex because Lainey said that’s one of the greatest surprises ever and she wanted to wait until the delivery to find out. We talk about what we think the baby will look like, whether it’ll have her eyes or mine and what it’ll be like to hold it and have it with us on the outside.

And the crazy thing is, these hushed words and quiet, intimate moments are every bit as awesome as the sex.



~



In the evening, after the sun has gone down, I force myself to put on clothes and head back out for a second round of snow shoveling. I don’t want ice to form that Lainey could slip on in the days ahead.

When I come back in, I find her painting the walls of the upstairs bedroom. She’s back in her pajamas, filling in the vertical lines that have been drawn in pencil on the wall—thick navy and white alternating stripes that look like wallpaper. It’s part of the video she’ll be posting this week for the Lifers on different painting techniques and faux finishes.

I strip back down to my black briefs and as Lainey paints I sit propped against the wall, staring at her ass. Now that is a Saturday night well spent.

“I could watch you do this all day.”

She smiles back over her shoulder. “You could watch me paint lines all day?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“That sounds about as interesting as watching paint dry. Would you watch that too?”

“If you’re wearing those shorts, bent over just like that? Bet your sweet ass I would.”

Lainey makes her way over to the corner—and my dick gets the best idea. We’re back on good terms again—he’s a genius.

I lift up on my knees and shuffle toward her. “How about you paint while I’m going down on you?”

Her brush freezes mid-stroke.

“I don’t know if I can keep the brush straight if you do that.”

“Only one way to find out.”

I slide between her legs, push those shorts aside—and my tongue gets to work.

She’s not able to keep the brush straight.

Behind the door, there’s an indelible stutter in one of the navy lines. And it’s like visual Viagra—every time I look at it, from this night on, I get an instant hard-on.



~



Later, when the sky is midnight-black and the lake is a glassy pool, and the mounds of snow shimmer beneath the silver cast of the moon, Lainey and I kiss our way into the master bedroom. David Gray sings “The Year’s Love” softly from the house speakers, and Lainey lets go of my hand, stepping her slippered feet back through double doors, onto the snow-covered balcony that overlooks the rear of the property. Tiny flakes float down around her and her hair frames her face in golden waves as she spins slowly, dancing to the song.