The Mistake(100)

“I’m sure it’ll get better,” she assures me. “And I promise, I’ll be cheering for you in the stands next week.”

I grin. “Thanks. I know what a big sacrifice it is for you.”

Grace sighs. “The biggest.” She swipes a T-shirt off the floor and tosses it in the laundry basket. “I just want to finish tidying up, and then we can put on the movie. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

I kick off my shoes and unzip my jacket, watching as she wanders around plucking random items of clothing—all belonging to her roommate, I realize. God, Daisy must love her. Awesome roommate and OCD-ridden maid all rolled into one cute package.

Grace bends over to grab a sock that’s wedged between Daisy’s desk and bed, and the sight of her round ass jutting out makes me groan.

She glances over her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. Stay in that position for a minute. That exact position.”

“Perv.”

“You’re right. How dare I enjoy the sight of my girlfriend’s sexy ass sticking up in the air?” My throat runs dry. “I want to f*ck you just like that tonight.”

Her breath catches. “I can live with that.”

I chuckle at the teasing response. “Then get on the bed. Naked. Now. Bonus orgasms for speed.”

She gets rid of her top, leggings and panties in record time, and I snicker as I reach for my zipper. “Jeez, one would think I haven’t been meeting your needs.”

Her gaze tracks the movement of my fingers as I drag my fly down. I love the way she looks at me. Hungry and appreciative, like she can’t get enough.

A minute later, I’m naked and covered with a condom. No foreplay necessary for me tonight—I’m hard as a rock and raring to go—but that doesn’t stop me from playing with her for a bit.

I crawl between her legs and kiss her inner thighs. Her skin is baby-smooth, silky beneath my tongue, and when I lick my way up to her clit, her fingers tangle in my hair to trap me there. Chuckling, I give her what she wants. Soft, slow licks and gentle kisses, until she’s squirming on the mattress. I don’t let her finish, though. Her first orgasm is always the most intense, and I want to feel her squeezing my dick and hear her moan my name when she comes.

I plant one last kiss, then grip her hips and roll her over. “All fours, baby. Bring that sweet ass toward me.”

Bring it she does. Her firm bottom bumps my groin as I rise on my knees behind her, and then she rubs it against my shaft, sending a bolt of heat up my spine. Two months together and she’s still driving me crazy. Melting my goddamn brain with the pleasure she brings me.

I fist my erection and guide it to the crease of her ass, sliding lower until it nudges her opening. Anticipation heats the air. This is my favorite moment, the hint of suction around my tip, the knowledge that soon she’ll be clutching me tight, surrounding me with the warmth of her *.

She’s so wet I slide right in with my first thrust, filling her to the hilt. I f*ck her slowly at first, wanting to prolong it, but each deep stroke scrambles my brain more and more, and soon the slow pace turns into a fast, relentless rhythm that makes me groan with abandon. But for all my talk about screwing her from behind, this position feels too…impersonal. I yank her up so her back is flush against my chest, and I fill my palms with her tits, teasing her nipples as I give an upward thrust.

Her head lolls to the side, and I take advantage of it, pressing my lips to her neck. I breathe her in, sucking on her smooth, fragrant flesh as I drive my cock inside her. Quick, shallow thrusts that make both of us gasp. I skim one hand down her body, grazing her tits, dancing over her belly, until I find her clit and rub it with my index finger, gentle circles that contrast the fast strokes of my cock.

We’ve gotten good at timing our responses, synchronizing our bodies so that we shudder in release at the same time. We collapse in a sweaty tangle of limbs, breathing hard from the orgasms, kissing frantically even as we come down from the euphoric high.

Afterward, she gets her laptop, and we cuddle under the blanket and start the movie. It’s her pick, so naturally we’re watching an old Jean-Claude Van Damme cheese fest that’s bound to put us in hysterics. We’re only five minutes in, however, when Grace’s cell phone rings.

She drapes across my chest to check the display, but doesn’t answer the call. “It’s Ramona,” she says when I offer a quizzical look. “Not in the mood to talk to her right now. Let’s keep watching.”