Page 169 of Smooth Sailing

I was coming down, feeling his finger leave my clit so he could wrap his arm around my belly and hold me steady for his drives.

I got off on that, turning my head so I could get off on hearing his harsh breaths, the soft grunts that shifted to groans, until he plunged deep, squeezed my tit and tightened his hold on my middle as he came.

Hugger was quiet during sex, unlike me. He made noises, but they were soft and belied the effort he put in to making it (super) good for us both.

It was as much of a turn on as everything about Hugger.

He shifted my hair away from my neck with his chin, an effort doomed to fail as I felt it get tangled in his beard, but he kissed my neck through the tangles.

Then he slid out, shifted us back, gently placed me in bed, touched his lips to my forehead and got out of bed so he could deal with the condom.

I adjusted the covers so they were over me and stretched, languid and chill and happy.

Oh yeah, definitely yeah.

Hugger was different that day, not entirely different but different.

It was like he’d been with me, at the same time protecting me from something.

Now, it wasn’t like that.

Now, he was just with me.

I didn’t know what happened, and I wanted to know, but if he never shared, I didn’t care.

I was just glad whatever he was holding between us he’d set aside.

He’s falling in love.

If any of my closest friends, Bernie, Charlie, Mel, told me they were falling in love with a guy after knowing him a week, I’d have concerns.

But here it was, I was in it.

So was Hugger.

And zero concerns.

This was my happy thought when I noticed the light go off in the bathroom and then Hugger coming out in all his glory.

That glory was glorious, but the look on his face was not.

I was perplexed as he walked around the bed to my side, more perplexed when he took my phone off the charge, and even more perplexed when his annoyed expression turned into an out-and-out scowl when he glanced at the screen.

He put the phone back on the magnet, lifted the covers, moved in and lowered his bulk right on top on me, flicking the covers over his hips once he settled.

At least that felt good (really good).

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Your mother still hasn’t texted.”

I relaxed beneath him, smoothed my hands up his back and mumbled, “Honey.”

“It’s pissin’ me off,” he stated.

“I can tell,” I said. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

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