Page 33 of Way Down Deep

I’m back on top of you now. We can feel so much more. Just two flimsy layers between us. I press the length of my cock along your folds, tight, moving just enough. Enough to tease. Enough for you to feel every inch of me. Just that, only that, until something changes. Until the smooth hush of cotton on cotton changes, beginning to drag and pull. Because I want you wet. I want your clit as stiff as my cock, want you throbbing, just as I am. When we get you there, then we’ll find out what comes next. But not a second before.

You don’t haveto want. I am wet. I was wet the moment you said you were between my legs, and I’m wetter still just hearing you talk about my clit and how stiff you’d like it to be.

It is, you know. I can almost feel my pulse beating there, and every time you give me one more tiny thing, one more delicious detail, it swells. I get a little slicker. The urge to touch myself gets a little harder to resist—but I will. My hands are still above my head, held there by you. My body is still spread out beneath yours, only touched by whatever you allow.

Waiting, waiting for whatever you want to come next.

What I want isyou on your back. Is there a pillow? I want the edge of it between your legs. Or a blanket, twisted into a rope. I want to know there’s some blunt facsimile of me there against your pussy, growing wet as your hips start to move, seeking the friction. Seeking me. Do that, and I’ll give you more. Promise.

There’sno need to promise. I was scrabbling for the nearest thick, firm thing before I finished reading your words. It’s there now between my legs, solid enough that I can feel it without moving a muscle but oh god when I do…

I’ve made a mess of it already.

Christ, I swear I can smell you here. It must be seven hundred degrees in this clammy, drafty old room. I’m stripping my sweater and shirt away. That only leaves my underwear.

It’d be wrong to just shed those as well, though. So I bid you to get up. To leave the bed, kneel on the floor beside the heap of my abandoned clothes.

I join you on those cold floorboards, standing. Invite you to be free of the last stitch that stands between you and this thing you’ve been theorizing and fantasizing about for unnumbered years. Peel them down slowly or tear them to tatters, I don’t care. Do it in a rush or touch me first—trace the length of me through that soft cotton. Whatever you want. Whatever you’ve been waiting for.

My hands would beon you quickly, pulling and tugging until you were bare. But once I was there, I’m not sure how I would be. Hesitant, breath catching, unsure if whatever I was doing is right? Or too aroused to hold back, mouth already following my hands, kissing whatever I revealed? I think it would be the latter. I think I’d damn the consequences, brave your laughter over any possible blunders. Let you feel how sloppy my eagerness makes me as I lick over the length of your cock. As I take you in my mouth before I’m ready, forgetting to breathe, almost choking, hands all over you all at once.

Fuck, Maya.

You make me feel so fucking … everything. Big. Hard. Desired, most of all. Alive and dirty and helpless and huge.

Forgive me, but fuck the fantasy. There’s nothing left in my head but steam and colors. All I can give you is exactly what’s happening. Tell you I’m naked, on my back on these rumpled covers, burning up in this cold, dark room. Tell you I’ve fisted myself, that I’m stroking myself, if barely. Just barely. I need this so badly. Just tell me how. Help me end this. Tell me to go fast, slow, tight, rough, light. Whatever you’d want to see. Tell me so I can get there. So you can get me there. Because I’m not going to last another minute.

Go fast. Go hard. Go like you can’t stand it any longer.

Because I can’t. I’m rutting against this pillow between my legs now, barely able to type. My whole body is shuddering, sweating, as flushed as I’ve ever been in my life. The ache between my legs is so strong I can hardly stand it. My teeth are gritted against it. I’ve never been able to come with so little direct contact, but I think it’s going to happen now.

So make it happen for you, too. Make a fist so tight around your cock I could see the white of your knuckles if I was there. Stroke yourself quickly, like you need to come too bad to stop.

10

Sunday

1.03am

Are you there, stranger?

I’m here. Just. Maybe. God.

The rain’s stopped. Nearly. I don’t know when. I’m just growing cold atop the covers. The breeze is almost too much, or not nearly enough. I don’t know.

I feel so much, and yet almost nothing at all. My body’s not gone this quiet in months. Like I can hear every sound. The grass outside, dripping. The blood slowly creeping back through my veins. You, breathing who knows how many miles away.

Strange, because I’ve never felt so loud. It’s like my insides are rushing to fill all the empty spaces up. I’m not surprised you can hear me—my heart is shouting in my chest.

Thank you. Thank you.

Idon’t knowwhat to say aside from you’re welcome. I don’t even know what you’re thanking me for… An orgasm? I don’t think it’s that. Maybe something too big to explain. That’s how it feels to me, anyway. Though bear in mind, I just came so hard I very nearly died, so there’s a lot of delirium at work.

But thank you, too.

Yes. Too big to explain. Too complicated to process.

Too much for me to talk about. If I do, I might say something ridiculous.

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