Page 79 of Butterfly Effect

“Yes,” Wade encourages. “Fuck.”

I pick up the pace, wanting more praise, and relish what’s before me.

He’s glorious to watch, twisting with need and want. His defined arms bunch and tense, and his head tips back, panting moan after moan through those pink, bowed lips. Wade writhes as I ride, the speed of his cock hitting my G-spot and the friction on my clit driving the orgasm closer.

Eyes fighting to stay open, he flashes them to me with a warning. “If you keep going…I’m gonna come.”

I stop touching myself to lean forward and cup his chin. “No. You’ll come when I say you can” —my hips rise before sinking onto him again— “Be a good boy and wait for me.”

“Make yourself come.” He groans. “Use me to make yourself come.”

A simple brush of a finger across my clit has the sensitive bundle throbbing. I moan out.

“Fuck, you take me so well.” Wade squirms, the lowest part of his belly coiling as his knuckles go white and the sinews of his thighs shake under mine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants.

I teeter at the edge, tightening and tremoring around how full I feel. One more intense plunge bubbles my orgasm over, and I bolster myself on his thighs, back arched to its furthest ability.

It sends him bottoming out with a jolt, screaming my name so loudly, his grasp on the headboard so strained he tears it from the wall.

Sweaty, half-clothed, and spent, we crash together in a cloud of dust from the drywall, our hearts racing and chests heaving in the aftermath.

Wade catches my limp body again and rolls us over; his dazed chuckles muted through feathery kisses on my collarbone as my vision returns.

“We broke it.” His smile presses into my skin. “Are you okay?”

Panic settles in. Sex with Playboy wasn’t supposed to be intimate. It wasn’t supposed to be caring or sweet. We’re gonna have to stop all that.

“Of all the professional athletes,” I say through a puffed breath, “I get into bed with one that has no stamina. What shit luck.”

Wade scoffs and stretches my arms in a single hand above my head, pinning my wrists in his grasp.

“Just for that, I’m going to sit in this pretty cunt for a while longer.” He rolls his hips in a sharp drive.

I hiss, still tender. “It’s not my fault you can’t last more than two minutes.”

It was definitely more than two minutes.

“Some women would be flattered.”

“Ah, yes. I’m beside myself at being another notch in your metaphorical bedpost.”

The dazed, playful smile on Pretty Boy drops. “Don’t ever say anything as stupid as that again.”

My eyes slide to the left. “You expect me to be proud of being one of many?”

“One of many what, Freckles? You think I bring every girl to my bed?”

Doesn’t he?

Wade sputters and shakes his head, releasing me and climbing off the bed to tie off the filled condom.

I cover my face with both hands.

Only you, Gabe Finch, would be insecure after putting a guy like Wade Boehner in his place. Get it together.

When I join him in the washroom, he’s changed into black lounge pants and nothing else.

I shake the distraction away, then pee and clean myself up as he washes his hands.

---