“No panties?” He doesn’t sound surprised as he slides his fingers between my thighs.
“No.” I shift, spreading my legs a little bit, giving him better access.
“How’d I know you’d be so wet?” he murmurs against my forehead, his fingers gliding back and forth, searching me, penetrating me easily. He groans, his thumb pressing against my clit.
We turn into a fumbling mass of bodies, him pulling away from me, me rolling onto my back and kicking my shorts off. He rids himself of his underwear as I reach out and touch him, smooth and hard and wet at the tip, all for me. I stroke him and he strokes me, our breathing accelerating in tandem, that familiar rush already looming. I pull Rhett on top of me, his hips nestling in between my legs, and he enters me with ease.
Every time. Every damn time it’s so good, it almost pisses me off. He touches my clit as he pumps inside of me, making sure I get off. Always thoughtful, always sweet Rhett, just as concerned about my pleasure as his own.
He’s too good for me. I keep thinking this, reminding myself, but I can’t help it when he proves to me again and again just how great he is.
It’s downright annoying.
We forget all about morning breath as he kisses me deep, his tongue everywhere, circling around mine. I’m too caught up in the tingly sensation of my impending orgasm to worry about anything else. He slides, deep, deeper, deeper still, and then I’m clinging to him, overcome as every bone in my body feels like it’s going to melt into a puddle, I’m quivering and shaking and whispering his name. He follows soon after me, his hips pressed close to mine like he’s trying to burrow inside of me, his mouth against my neck as he groans.
When it’s all over and he’s rolling away from me, I murmur, “You do realize we’ve never used a condom.”
He’s lying on his back next to me, breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling. The moment the word condom falls from my lips, he whips his head to the side, his gaze meeting mine. “Fuck,” he says with a gulp.
“Yeah, we’ve been doing lots of that.” I roll on my side to face him, reaching out to touch his hair. It’s thick and soft, the strands clinging to my fingers, and he closes his eyes as I continue to play with his hair. We should’ve had this conversation eons ago. “I’m on the pill, though, so we should be good. Unless…”
His eyes fall closed. I know he likes it when I touch his hair. “Unless what?”
“Unless you’re full of STDs.”
“I’m not.” His eyes open and he stares at me, fierce sincerity in his gaze. “I get tested every year when I get my athletic physical.”
“I don’t have an STD either.” At least six months ago I didn’t, when I got my free physical and birth control prescription from the college clinic.
“Then we’re good.” He winces. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not,” I tell him, but he shakes his head, silencing me.
“I am. I’ve told myself before to grab a condom, but every single time we’re together, it’s like I can’t even—think. And that’s the lamest excuse ever, right?”
No, not really. I pretty much feel the same exact way.
“You probably think I’m a selfish asshole because I’ve never talked about any of this with you before.”
I heave a big sigh. “Rhett, you are the least selfish person I know, I swear. I guess we’re always just…too caught up in the moment.”
“Yeah. That’s not a good enough excuse, though, right?”
“You’re going to beat yourself up over it?”
“No, I guess not. Unless you want to beat me up for it.”
“I don’t.” I can’t help but smile at him.
His smile in return is boyishly sweet. “Let’s take a nap. Sex makes me sleepy.”
I laugh but don’t protest when he pulls me back into his arms.
Rhett takes me to lunch at a small sandwich shop that’s
in a shopping center with a major supermarket. The parking lot is full—everyone in the store buying all of their Thanksgiving needs before the holiday, so we have to park in the farthest corner of the lot.
“This place is insane,” he mutters as he takes my hand and leads me toward the sandwich shop.