Page 76 of Afterglow
Our sweaty bodies collide as I collapse into a heap onto his chest, softening cock still pulsing inside me. We share a crazed, satisfied giggle, heaving under the combined weight of our slowing breaths.
I raise my head to his blinded form and admire his persistent blush through the fog of the aftermath. Pretty freckles start reappearing from the strong pink hue. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch across his heated skin. “What do you feel?”
“You.” Fletcher returns a nearly inaudible rasp.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
His obsession is intoxicating, and I can’t help enabling it. “One last taste, then?” Questioning eyebrows wrinkle his forehead above the blindfold. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.” Maybe that’s the only word left in his brain, too.
I muster up the last of my energy and straighten, lifting myself from his lifeless cock. We both sigh, but his breath ends in a choked gargle when my knees settle on either side of his face, hands curling over the top of the headboard. I relax the muscles of my core, spilling out a string of his cum. It lands on the perfect, pink seam of his lips and drips onto his inviting tongue.
Fletcher trembles, an aftershock of tension bursting across his body, and I lower, suffocating him with my cunt. He gorges on me, mouthing and licking and sucking until he’s left whimpering, simpering from desperation. The relentless devouring overwhelms me, and a secondary orgasm rockets through at lightspeed.
One set of my fingers comb through his damp hair, pulling the silk from his eyes so he can see the mess he’s made. They roll as he swallows with a satisfied rumble, and stay shut as I reposition, shifting to lick our mixed release from his ruddy cheeks and facial hair.
“Us,” he mumbles through a sigh, answering an unasked question. “We taste so fucking good.”
I chuckle, going lax post-orgasm. “You win.” My head lolls to my shoulder, allowing a hazy peek at Fletcher’s limp cock, flopped over and stuck to his thigh with a sheen of our cum.
It’s dead. I’ve managed to kill it. Poor guy can’t even leak anymore.
I can’t free Fletcher fast enough, undoing the ankle straps and using the knife to clip to the tape circling his wrists. He tears from the bind and in the next blink, I’m on my back, savoring the delicious weight of his leaden, muscled body.
“Two…minutes,” he pants between breathy kisses. His hands wander, roughly squeezing my breasts, my waist, my hips, my thighs. “Gimme two minutes. Then you’re gonna turn around and get back on this cock so I can look at your perfect ass while I fuck you into next week.”
The following morning is lazy.
I float in and out of consciousness, the only constants Fletcher Donovan’s thrumming heartbeat and his gentle touch. When I finally wake, I’m sprawled out on my front, tits pressed into his abs and my lower half outlined by his legs. The drape of a soft cotton sheet covers me, cooling me as I stretch my feet and frou-frou between the wrinkles. His fingers lace hypnotic swirls through the tangled mess of my hair. My head angles up fromthe valley of his chest, the view so spectacular, it’s almost unreal. But it isn’t.
It’s real. He’s real, exposed, and naked as I am, propped up on the headboard, his free hand holding an open book toward the light from the window.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he greets through an innocent, lopsided smile. As if we didn’t rail each other up the stairway to heaven and back into the early hours of the day. Warm lips paint a kiss onto my forehead. The dark line of his lashes flutters, batting at me with an adoring look. Like all he wants to look at is me. The warmth of our cocoon spreads, filling my chest.
And because I’m not normal, I can’t even say good morning back. “Fletcher? Why do you love me?”
“Hmm?” A dazed reply. His fingers relent from their luscious pressure on my scalp and dote on my cheeks and chin with feathery light sweeps. “Yes, I do love you.”
“Why?”
Fletcher narrows his eyes, still smiling. “Because you’re my joy, Bea. You’re my sunshine on cloudy days.”
Bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum…My mind scats along to the Temptations classic, “My Girl,” and I have to really rein it in so I don’t get carried away and belt out the lyrics.
Fletcher’s thumb grazes over my lips. “When you smile, every worry, every chest-tightening pressure of my anxiety melts away.” My closed mouth stretches at his praise. “Yeah, just like that.” I beam, crinkling my nose. “And you’re warm.”
“Oh! Sorry.” An attempt is made to detach from where our skin connects. “I know I’m sweaty from tossing and turning?—”
Fletcher doesn’t let me go. “Not like that. You’re accepting, welcoming. Patient.”
“Me?” I toss my head back to cackle. “Patient? I don’t have a patient cell in my body.”
He shakes out a denial. “You’re patient with me.”
My finger boops the adorable tip of his nose. “I could say the same thing about you.” A feeling of shame has my eyes averting downward. “I know I’m not easy to deal with…”
