Page 21 of Wright Kind of Trouble

His thumb came to my clit, circling it round and round as he continued to ram into me. I was barely coherent as my body built and built and built to a crescendo. I reached for him, wanting to feel his skin against mine, but he was relentless, drawing out my pleasure until I believed to my core that he really would edge me all night before letting me have another orgasm. And I would like it.

“Come for me,” he said.

With one more thrust, I crashed into a million pieces. I screamed into the room, tightening all around him. He only lasted another minute, thrusting harder and faster through my orgasm before he bottomed out inside of me, coming with a roar.

It was primal, feral, and fucking hot as hell to watch his head tip back and his mouth widen. To see the haze of satisfied desire in his blue eyes. And to see contentment cascade over him as he finished and slumped forward over me.

He pressed our foreheads together, and nothing in the world had ever felt so right. We were naked and sweaty and panting. And still, I wanted him.

“More,” was my only plea.

He startled, pulling back far enough to make sure he’d heard me right. “You want more?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

My hand came to his cheek. “I could never get enough of you.”

“Then, more you shall have.”

And the rest of the night disappeared in a haze of orgasm-laced euphoria. A night I’d never ever forget.

7

Chase

Harley was sprawled naked beside me when I woke up.

Her blonde hair an unruly halo around her head. Her ass against my hips, stirring my cock. Her hand reaching for mine to band across her bare chest and over those perfect pink nipples.

We’d fucked over and over again last night. And already, I wanted her again. I was insatiable. Ravenous for her. The taste of her skin. The feel of her hair. The pulse of her pussy.

And every soft moment in between when we’d hung out with Bowie, taken a shower, and then crawled into bed to recover. When we’d discussed the finer points of David Bowie’s music collection or how Halloween was both of our favorite holiday or the handful of books we were in the middle of—fantasy for me and preferred smut for her, a topic that I could get behind. A delirious litany of things we had in common, places we wanted to go, things we wanted to do, bucket lists we wanted to check off. Still more sex.

She was like a drug that I wasn’t sure I would ever get enough of.

I released her hand and slipped my hand down her side, over her hip, and down the soft plane of her leg. I’d kissed every inch of her body last night. I’d mapped it with my hands and tongue and cock. And I wanted to do it all over again.

I moved to the V between her legs. My finger strummed playfully against her clit. Nothing too intense. Just enough to wake her body up.

“Mmm,” she murmured, spreading her legs wider.

“Fuck,” I muttered as she arched into my hand.

I caught the sight of her pretty pink pussy. A sheen of slickness already ready and waiting for me. My cock lengthened against her back as I dipped my finger down into her wetness and dragged it back up to her clit.

“Oh, mmm,” she moaned in her sleep.

She bucked her hips backward, her fingers fisting into the mattress.

All I wanted to do was slide into her sweetness and make her come all over my cock, but I would wait out her orgasm. We had all day after all. I had nowhere to be until Monday morning, when I had to be at the office.

Harley rolled over, her eyes fluttering open. Her mouth popped wide in surprise, and I used that moment to slide two fingers into her waiting pussy.

“Good morning.”

Her mouth opened wider. “Oh. Oh fuck,” she gasped. “You…I…oh!”

---