Page 69 of Afterglow
The tip of my cock swirls through the wetness, grazing over her clit quickly before settling at the entrance of her perfect cunt. I push in. We gasp. “Fuck.”
“Keep going, Fletcher.” I drive into her further, letting her relax and accommodate my size. “Little by little, just…like…that.”
Every inch is a welcome torture, the stretch of her around me too close to ecstasy. “So fucking snug,” I mumble through hurried kisses, a layer of sweat forming between us. “You feel too fucking good, taking it…me so well.”
“More,” she urges. “Tell me more.”
I do, giving her another inch as she clips a moan short. “Like bliss.” Her walls pulse and tighten around me, and my headwhips back, releasing a feral groan, pleasure ready to spiral free from any restraint. “Fuck, I love you.”
“I love you.” Bea dotes on my neck, my collarbone. “Need you to move. I’m…so full.”
I retreat, then plunge my cock deeper and deeper with each subsequent stride.
“Harder.” My body obeys, pliant at her mercy. The next snap of my hips has her feet curling against the backs of my thighs, nails digging into my back.
It’s too much, every sensation heightened and barreling me towards a peak of pleasure I didn’t know existed. The way she looks beneath me, glowy and unreal. The smell of us, musty and heavy. The taste of her sweet cunt pooling in my mouth. The feel of it, hot and tight and beyond imagination.
There’s a cliff, and I teeter at its edge, desperate not to fall but knowing a drop is inevitable. “Bea,” I moan, my eyes darting in manic lines between hers. “I can’t—I’m gonna come.”
“Yes.” Her hips move in tandem with mine. “Come inside me.” She cups my face in her precious hands, slotting our faces together. “Please, Fletcher. Let go.”
My thrusts go ragged, sloppy, unable to hold on any longer. And then I rupture into a million pieces, bellowing as if I’m being ripped apart by ecstasy itself, exploding into stars and in a place where time and space don’t exist while spilling every shattered shard into the only person who can piece me back together. And she does.
I collapse and she catches me, whispering life into my incapacitated form with praise and awe, adoring me with endless, undeserved kisses and cooling strokes against my heated skin.
“Don’t pull out, okay? I wanna feel you a little longer.”
I nod with an inhuman grumble, speech beyond my ability in this pivotal moment.
“Shhh. You did so good, sweetheart. Fucked me so good.”
I don’t know how many minutes or hours pass as we lie together, as connected as two people can be, but I don’t fight it when she rolls us to our sides to dismount from me. The loss of contact chills me to the bone.
Bea returns with a warm, damp washcloth, wearing my flannel, haphazardly held shut with askew buttons. I hiss and sigh as she cleans the skin between my thighs and groin, and thank God there’s no way I could get hard after all that excitement. She rejoins me on the bed, positioning herself parallel to my useless body and playing with the sweat-dampened hair stuck to my forehead. Her sweet face is propped on her elbow when our gazes reconnect.
“Well? Did I kill you?”
I deny it with a smile, shaking my head, despite how full my heart is. “I’ve never felt more alive.”
Chapter 24
The Hope of Accomplishment
Behraz
August
Fletcher Donovan is pure magic.
I know, I know. Logically, I know it’s not his cock or mouth that somehow fixed my brain. I know it’s the therapy, the curated studying methods, the color-coded tabs to keep important material organized, and of course, it’s the accommodations provided to manage my learning disability and ADHD. I know the extended time and frequent breaks will help. But it’s alsohim. I memorized so much content because it’s in his voice. Its relaxing tone clears my mind of everything else, fading the multitude of noise and static until all that’s left is him. And the law, of course.
My attention drops from the folded-over prep manual to a shirtless Fletcher snoozing and curled into my side, arm draped around my belly. He’s so fucking beautiful, so serene, so at peace next to me. I never thought I’d bring peace to anyone. He sighsthrough his nose when my lips skim across his hairline and over his temple. “Sweet man,” I coo.
He hums back, content, and sighs again when the capped Sharpie in my hand draws a wayward path up his muscular forearm. Goosebumps appear and disappear from his fair, auburn-speckled skin.
On impulse, I open the permanent marker, wanting to ink him up, connecting those glorious freckles with swirling lines. Lines take shape into leaves and vines, flowers and birds, much like the rich embroidered tapestry on the purple heirloom Gara sari Granny used to wear for Nawroz. Every time she wore it, she reminded us it had been in the family for 250 years.
I don’t stop until he stirs with a yawning whine, glancing down at my handiwork.
