“We can arrange that after. I think we should finish this first.”
“You. Have. Work. Soon.” She dropped her head to her crossed arms. “God, what am I saying? No, you don’t. You’re my love slave. My fuck slave. Damn, that feels good.”
“Not too hard?”
“Hell no. Harder. My bed frame’s not in pieces yet.”
His laughter vibrated through his chest and into her, somehow intensifying the pleasure blossoming in her core. She’d never had laughing sex before. Not even close. He shifted to lick her shoulder blade, unintentionally tickling her, and he laughed again as she tried to wriggle away, clamping a big hand on her hip and surging into her pussy with the force he usually restrained. She reached down to massage her clit and the dynamic duo prodded her to the edge in ten thrusts or less.
“Please.” It was all she could manage. “Please. Please.”
“Oh damn, that’s right. Get me wet. Hear that?”
Impossible not to, with the wild slapping sounds their bodies were making. Damp flesh grinding together, hot and tight, spiraling them both into nirvana.
She hoped it was working for them both. Holding back was rapidly turning into a non-option.
“Yes. Oh yes.” She wasn’t going to announce she was coming. That was sophomoric. She was a mature orgasming lady—
“Fuck, I’m fucking coming,” she panted, ripping her nails through the sheets and over the pillows, trying to get purchase. But there was none to be had, because he was plunging in and out of her like a piston, shoving her legs wide, making her burn from the stretch of his cock and his relentless strokes. She buried her face in the pillow and screamed out her release, her body shaking from the powerful contractions.
His shout swiftly followed, partially muffled into her back. His teeth grazed her and she quivered anew, still trapped in the last dregs of her climax.
Oh what a climax it was.
He slumped on top of her, trapping her hand between her thighs. Mindlessly, she continued to pet her pussy, since the now mostly softened cock inside her was nicely positioned for an afterquake. An afterquake—aka an afterglow orgasm—was unfortunately rarely spotted in the wilds of sex with most men. Tonight could be her lucky night. She wiggled her hips, jostling him slightly, getting into a better position—
“Fuck slave. Fuck slave. Fuuuuck slave.”
Kim stilled. Michael, who had been kissing her hair, also stopped moving. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.
“You’re my love slave. My fuck slave. Fuuuuck.”
She started to laugh, hard, her shoulders shaking with her attempts to muffle the sound. “Somebody must’ve wanted to get busy.”
“Slave?”
“Okay, clue me in on the joke.” Michael shifted off of her, breathing unsteadily. He slumped on his stomach. “What the hell?”
“Slave?”
“That’s Telly,” she managed between snorts of laughter. “Sara’s bird. He’s very sexually inclined. That’s why they move him out of their room when they want to screw.”
“And when you want to make lo—screw, tough cookies?”
She turned her head, unable to stop her grin. Amazing how a couple of excellent sex sessions could ease her concern about certain phrases. Damn those happy pheromones. “I’m guessing they don’t know you’re here. I haven’t had a lot of overnight visitors lately.”
“Really?” The approval in his tone made her grab the closest pillow to whale on his back. He laughed. “I mean, sorry. That’s too bad.”
“You are so busted.”
“Fuuuuck?”
Michael shook his head. “That is seriously creepy. He repeats sex stuff? Is he really horny or what?”
“Not just sex stuff. He’s a conure and they can be taught to talk. Sara began teaching him early so he’s really advanced. He also says normal things like window and cracker and the occasional name.”
“But he especially likes sex talk? Weird.”