“You can take it,” he says in that confident way of his before he lays his tongue flat against my clit and drags it up and down.
“Yes,” I whisper, knowing he’s one hundred percent right. I can totally take it.
“Hmm, fuck you taste so good.”
His words make me tingle. The sounds as he basically devours me make my entire body tighten. And then I’m coming for the third time, this one somehow the most powerful orgasm of all. It’s like a slow wave taking me over, taking me down. My entire body is completely focused on the point where his tongue makes contact with my flesh, and I’m shaking. Shivering.
It’s like I have no control over my body anymore.
He grabs hold of my waist and flips me over with ease, not that it was a difficult thing to do, considering I’m a boneless mass of quivering flesh. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, and he’s already inside me, filling me to the hilt. Fucking me hard. He grabs hold of my hands, interlaces our fingers, and lifts our arms above my head. Keeping me pinned as he rams inside of me. Again. Again. And again. Fast. Faster. Until I’m lost to the rhythm and he’s shouting my name, just before he goes completely still, spilling inside of me. I can feel it. Feel his come and—
Wait a minute.
Oh.
My.
God.
We forgot to use a condom.
Again.
“Jordan.” I’m shoving at his shoulders, trying to push him off of me, but that’s impossible. He’s huge. Like a massive wall of solid muscle, and he’s still lost in his own orgasm, his chest covered in sweat, his muscles gleaming in the dim light, making him look like some sort of sex god. I’m not lost to the moment anymore. No, I’m totally awake, no residual effects from the drugging orgasms I had only a few minutes ago effecting me.
Nope, I’m totally, one hundred percent aware we forgot to put the condom on again, and now we just doubled our chances in getting me pregnant.
“What’s wrong?” He’s staring down at me, his brows lowered, his breaths labored. I’m still shoving at his shoulders and he rolls over, slipping out of me, and when we both flip to our sides to face each other, I can feel the semen spill from my body, leaving the inevitable wet spot on the mattress.
“You didn’t wear a condom.” My voice sounds way more accusatory than I meant it to, and I immediately feel bad.
But I shouldn’t feel bad. We’re acting foolish. Irresponsible. What the hell is wrong with us? Is our problem that we’re just too overcome by each other and so we’re acting reckless? That’s the oldest, lamest excuse ever.
“Wait, what? We forgot the condom?” When I grab his hand and bring it to the wet spot between us, he shakes his head and mutters, “Fuck.”
I crawl out of bed and go use the bathroom, remembering advice I read on a Reddit forum once. If you pee, more semen might come out and there’s less chance of you getting pregnant!
Yeah. That sounds like some piss poor advice if you ask me—excuse the pun.
But I’m desperate, so I’ll try anything.
Once I’m finished, I exit the bathroom to find Jordan sitting up in bed, the lamp on the bedside table on, casting the room in harsh light. I blink him into focus, almost disgusted by the fact that he looks so goddamn beautiful sitting there with the white sheet covering him from the waist down, the sweaty sheen on his chest and arms enhancing his muscular build versus making him just look dirty and smelly.
He couldn’t look dirty and smelly if he tried.
He’s got his hands in his hair and when he drops them to look at me, I notice his lips are swollen, his eyes full of unrecognizable emotion. He looks so despondent I can’t help but feel bad.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he spots me standing there in the bathroom’s doorway. “I’m an asshole.”
Sighing, I walk over to him and climb into bed. “You’re not an asshole,” I tell him as I slip between the sheets.
“It was totally careless of me, not to use a condom.” He slips his arm around my shoulders and hauls me in close, so I’m plastered to his side.
“We didn’t use one in the shower either,” I tell him quietly, resting my hand on the center of his chest. His heart is beating so fast. I smooth my fingers back and forth, wishing I could calm him down.
“Shit,” he mumbles, turning his head so our gazes meet. “I’m sorry.”
I lift up to kiss him. “Don’t apologize. It’s both our faults.”