Page 94 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

With a gentle nod, he drags the head of his cock between my folds but doesn’t push into me. Only teases me. Toys with me. As if he has all the time in the world. I’m still wet from coming, making it easy for him to slide against my entrance. But he doesn’t give in. He simply tortures us both.

“So good,” I murmur, dragging my fingers through his short hair, tickling his scalp.

He nods again and drops another kiss to my forehead. “Yeah, Mads. Real good.” The head of his cock slips a few centimeters inside of me before he pulls out and drags it back to my clit.

I moan and roll my hips against him as he dips back into my entrance.

“You know what else would be good?” I ask.

“What?”

“If you started humping me.” With a sweet, innocent smile, I lift my hips again and gasp when he stretches me a little more.

And pulls back out.

Bastard.

“Do you enjoy torturing me?” I ask, my need growing more and more with every not-so-innocent pass of his erection along my slit.

“Fair’s fair.” He dips another inch or so into me again but pulls out.

I bite my lip, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I counter, “I’ve never tortured you. Not like this.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh, really?”

Licking the column of my throat, he returns, “Every single second I’m not touching you is torture.”

“You’re touching me now, so what is this?”

“This is heaven, Mads.” He pushes into me fully. Stretching me. Filling me.

My back arches off the mattress, and another silent gasp escapes me.

“Fucking heaven,” he mutters against me, nuzzling my throat and breathing in deeply.

Then he pumps in and out. Slowly at first, building momentum as I meet him thrust for thrust. And it’s better than I remember. Better than I could’ve ever imagined. Better than when I’d touch myself, picturing our naked bodies entwined. Better than anything. My breathing quickens, and his fingers dig into my thighs.

“There,” I breathe out, squeezing my eyes shut. “Right there.”

My core tightens around his hard cock, and as he pulses inside of me, I follow right behind, soaking up the moment, not knowing if it’s my last. I savor it all. Him stretching me. His weight pressing me into the mattress. His staggered breathing. My racing heart. My thighs slick with sweat.

I soak in all the sensations.

And they’re a stark reminder it’ll only ever be like this with him.

Lights on. Lights off. It doesn’t matter.

He owns me.

And I love him for it.

Penny’s muffled cries echo from the next room, acting like a wet blanket on any residual lust hanging in the air. But it was time, anyway. Any longer, and I might’ve told Milo I’m still in love with him. Which would’ve been a bad idea.

Right?

When Milo registers Penny’s cries, he rolls off me and pushes to his feet.

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