She garbled something over my fingers but snaked her hand between us, her knuckles digging low against me every time I buried myself into the depth of her.
“I’m close, Saylor, make yourself come.”
I held back my orgasm, somehow, and waited for her. Beneath me her back arched, her head tipping back making my fingers slip from her mouth. She cried out my name, her pussy clenching over and over, crushing the tenuous grip I had on my self-control. I came right after her. Ball-breakingly hard and fast, giving her every ounce of pent-up pressure I’d contained since I saw her the first morning at the door of the kitchen wearing nothing more than a too-short T-shirt. I cursed and shouted her name as she laughed.
Drained, I rolled to the side and pulled Saylor on top of me. Something shifted. Fucking Saylor wasn’t a one-off event because of circumstances, it was a beginning. I couldn’t leave this alone. Walking away would be impossible. Sure, she had this solo thing she wanted to do herself, and I’d support her through that, but I also intended to be there when she was ready for me.
“Thank you,” I said, the two words loaded with more meaning than I could articulate in that moment of pure contentment.
“Thank you, too.” She gave me a cheeky wink.
“I really mean thank you. I’m not talking about the fuck—though it was awesome, thanks—but I mean for trusting me, and loosening the tight constraints of your sologamy. My intention wasn’t to come here and bust that, and I hope you can rewrite your rules, or your marry-yourself vows—”
“I guess I cheated on myself,” she giggled.
I pulled her down for a kiss. “You make me want to be bad,” I said against her lips.
“Apparently Santa is a myth, so you can be as bad as you want. It won’t affect your Christmas morning.”
“Good, because I intend to be very bad. And Christmas morning will blow your mind.”
“Yeah, well, marrying yourself will do that.”
I had a different idea for Saylor for Christmas morning, but it would take some planning to pull it off. “We’re going to get cold pretty quick so let me wrap you in this blanket and carry you to bed.”
She put her arms around my neck and placed soft kisses at the base of my throat as I carried her inside.
“Do you need water, or anything?” I asked as we neared the kitchen.
“I need to pee so you’d better carry me to the bathroom.”
“So romantic, Saylor.”
“It’s the girl in me,” she teased. “You’ll get used to it.”
I intended to.
She peed, and I waited for her, then I carried her to bed. She softened in my arms, and rounded into me beneath the covers, sighing as I stroked her back to put her to sleep.