“Well then,” I say, clearing my throat. “I guess you have your work cut out for you.”
One side of his lips lift in a cocky grin. He nods toward the door. “You want me to take you home?”
“No.” It comes out automatically, like I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t been.
“No?”
I shake my head. “No.” I inhale, and before I let the breath out, I know what it is I want. “I want a redo.”
“A redo?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
He chuckles. “Sorry, what do you mean by redo?”
I shift on the bed and pick at my nails, but I never take my eyes off Settimo. “I want to have sex… but not the way we were doing it. I um. I want…”
“I get it,” Settimo says.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. You want the sweet and classy experience. Eye contact and all.”
I’m tinged with embarrassment, but Settimo quickly swats it away when he leans over and presses his lips to mine. He scoots so he’s closer to me, and he cups my face in his hands, deepening the kiss.
It feels odd at first, probably because I know it’s just an act for him, but I end up melting into it anyway. This is good. This is what I wanted. Maybe it’s fake, but it’s as close to real as I’ll ever get.
I weave my hands through Settimo’s hair and pull myself closer to him. A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, and I catch it with my tongue. He leans into me, urging me to lay on the bed, and I flatten my back against the comforter.
His hands tuck underneath me, and he scoots me closer to the middle.
Settmio’s curiosity and his hunger from earlier are still there. His fingertips roam my body, only this time it isn’t hurried. No bruises will form from this.
He kisses my neck, and I lean my head back and sigh. This. This is what I wanted.
I picture us meeting in a bar, him buying me a drink, me laughing endlessly at his quips. The bar closes, and he takes my hand, he leans in for a soft kiss, and when he pulls back he has his smile on full display, and I just stare at it, admire it, love it.
“You wanna go back to my place?”
I grab the back of his neck, pull him down to me and kiss him in response.
I’m jolted from the fantasy by Settimo’s cock entering me. He props himself on his forearms and studies me carefully.
“How’s this?” he asks.
I close my eyes, feel him inside me, filling me up. My walls squeeze, but they adjust, and my G-spot shivers in ecstasy every time he thrusts.
“It’s good,” I say, my back arching. “It’s really good.”
Settimo kisses me, and when he pulls back, he thrusts his hips harder. His pace picks up, and each time I open my eyes for a moment, I see him staring intently at me. A vicious hunger swirls in the sliver of iris his eyes show. I don’t know how or why, but it seems even more intense than before.
Settimo fucks me faster. He balances his weight on one arm and uses the other to give his hand access to my clit. He rubs me to the pace of his thrusts, and I grip his arms and moan.
I come unglued, my body quaking with my orgasm.
I have one more, simultaneous with Settimo’s before he collapses on the bed, breathing heavily and pushing sweat-slicked hair off his forehead. He rolls toward me and snakes his arm around my waist. My back to him, I fit my body to his.
He holds me tightly and breathes into my hair. It’s possessive, his hold. It doesn’t at all hint at satiation and certainly not content, but I pretend it’s protectiveness instead. I pretend no one can hurt me. No one exists outside of this room. And it feels so damn good.