His hoarse, nasal voice makes me warm. I move my hand lower and cuff his erection.
Shifting his body, he spoons me. He cups my pussy, his erection resting against my lower back, and curling his fingers, he slides them into me.
“Someone had a wet dream,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair.
“There wasn’t that much of a dream. I’m always wet when I’m around you.”
“Sounds like a great foundation for a long-lasting relationship.”
I chuckle.
He pulls his fingers out, slides his hard cock into me, and rocks his hips.
He kneads a breast before circling my clit, and pressing his lips against my shoulder.
“You’re the best I’ve ever had,” he murmurs.
I clutch his thigh, clenching around him.
“And the only one who gets off from words...”
“It’s not only the words you say.”
“Yeah… I’ve never seen someone craving it as much as you do... Having your mouth and pussy filled at the same time.”
“No, no… ” I say, shuddering in his arms.
And then he plunges into me, giving me the pleasure that I need.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says after a few moments, breathing heavily like me.
Later, we walk into the shower, and half an hour later, we pull some clothes on and stroll into the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you kept my clothes,” he says, glancing down at his sweatpants.
“I don’t know why I kept them.”
He gives me a lopsided smile.
“Don’t get cocky with me,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
He flicks his hand up and spins toward the fridge when a new tattoo catches my eye.
“New ink?”
He glances at me over his shoulder, his smile fading.
He stays silent, and then I remember. Every scar renders a new tattoo. I erase the space between us and study his ink.
“Is there a new scar?”
I trail my fingers across his shoulders, following the intricate design of a bird unfurling mythical wings over his back.
“I don’t feel anything,” I say, inspecting his skin.
“It’s not on my body,” he says, pulling away from me. “How do you like your eggs?” he asks, swiftly shifting the topic.
He opens a couple of cabinets and pulls out pots and pans.