What He Left Behind(44)
Aside from the winter when we discovered this in the first place, we never f*cked much when we were teens—we enjoyed giving head more than anything. But when we first discovered it, we couldn’t get enough, and when we did it, it was always mind-blowing. Gazing up at him now, I hope his mind is going someplace else tonight, and I hope it’s going to the same place mine is. Back to that winter when this was as easy as it was new. When anal was still a novelty, and we seized every opportunity to f*ck each other senseless. I savor every stroke, my body lethargic and tingling from the orgasm I just had, while he’s carefully sliding in and out, well on his way to his own orgasm and still making sure he doesn’t overstimulate me now that I’m this hypersensitive. Just like we did back then.
Michael picks up speed. His eyes are heavy-lidded, nearly closed, and he’s f*cking beautiful—skin gleaming with sweat, red hair damp and disheveled, lips parted as if he’d be moaning if he could just remember how.
“Come here,” I whisper, and his eyes open. He meets my gaze as I reach for him, and he comes down to me, and then we’re kissing, and moving, and holding each other, and this is beyond perfect. I’m distantly aware of obstacles we still need to work through, but there is nothing about this moment I’d change.
Michael breaks the kiss and buries his head against my neck. His thrusts aren’t faster, but they’re definitely harder, and though they border on too much for my overstimulated body, they feel good. They feel amazing. And every time his breath hitches or his rhythm falters, I know he’s getting closer, and I can’t help moaning myself, because holy f*ck, Michael…
He pulls in a breath. His whole body tenses, but not like all the times he’s freaked out. I roll my hips, clench around him, hold him tight, and he exhales hard against my neck just before he thrusts all the way in and groans. Then, like I did earlier, he collapses. He withdraws but otherwise doesn’t move.
“That went better than I expected,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Same here.” He cups my cheek and kisses me tenderly. “Kinda reminds me of the first time we did this.”
My heart skips. “Me too.” Quite possibly in more ways than it should. But I banish that thought. “And it was good for you? Nothing bothering you from the past?”
“Not this time. It was…” He meets my gaze, and his smile does a number on my pulse. “It was perfect.”
I just smile back and run my fingers through his hair.
“I know this has been rough on you.” He kisses me again and barely breaks that kiss enough to murmur, “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Michael.”
Chapter Thirteen
After that, we can’t stop f*cking. Between him and my insatiable husband, it’s a wonder I can walk over the next week or so, and I love it. The sex is getting better and better, and so is Michael’s confidence.
I’ve been here more times than I can count now, hard and breathless in Michael’s bed, but it feels different tonight.
We’ve been tangled up together almost since the moment I walked in the front door. That kiss hello didn’t stop, and then I had him up against the wall and he was unbuckling my belt. We barely made it down the hallway to his bedroom without tumbling to the carpet and just tearing each other’s clothes off right then and there.
And now we’re here, struggling to shed clothes as we kiss and grope the way we used to when we were teenagers, back when we’d first discovered sex and couldn’t get naked fast enough. When we still had to sneak around and had to make the absolute most out of every stolen opportunity.
We have all the time in the world tonight, but I can’t get enough of him. I want him naked, I want his cock in my mouth, I want to f*ck him, I want him to f*ck me—I just want him.
“Got some more lube,” he says between kisses. “We were getting low.”
“Already?” I grin against his lips. “Guess we have been going through it pretty fast.”
“Uh-huh. And I want to get started on this bottle. Like now.”
I push him onto his back and press my cock against his. “I think we should get started on it too. And I want you just like this.”
“Yes please.” He drags me down to him, gripping my arms painfully tight as he kisses me. Even as we fumble around for that bottle of lube, and as we struggle to remove the cellophane around the top, we’re all over each other. Every kiss breaks with whispered cursing, and every new one starts with groans of relief and pleasure. I can’t get enough of him, and he’s matching me kiss for kiss, grope for grope, and when that bottle comes open, it’s a miracle we don’t wind up with lube spilled everywhere. Though at this point, I can’t convince myself that’d be a bad thing—then we could just keep kissing until one of us slides into the other. Or something. Fuck. I can’t even think.
Michael’s lips separate from mine. “Finally.” He holds up the lube bottle, grinning triumphantly now that it’s open and unsealed.
“P-put it on.”
He almost drops the bottle, but catches it, and when he closes a slippery hand around my dick, I’m surprised I don’t pass out. And we’re kissing again. Breathlessly. I thought he was going to f*ck me, but now I’m the one with lube on my cock, and he’s stroking me like this just turned into a hand job instead, and I’m completely okay with that.