And so I feel a strange sadness.
That his dream won’t be able to come true.
Because I’m on the pill.
But it’s okay. At least I gave him this. And he seems to like it. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and he’s jerking and shuddering over my body.
Much like his cock inside of me.
When his climax is done, he opens his eyes and whispers, “Mine.”
My pussy clenches over his length again and I whisper back, “Yours.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
He’s playing with my hair.
I feel the strands being tugged at my scalp and turn my face to look at him.
Lying on the grass under the stars, his eyes are closed and his mouth’s relaxed. His chest goes up and down so gently that he might as well be sleeping.
But he’s not.
The fingers of his outstretched arm — which is also acting like my pillow — are working.
Sifting through my wayward strands, curling them, pulling them lightly.
Like he was doing last night.
So I do what I did last night as well.
I open my braid for him.
So he has more room to play with. So his fingers can frolic and dance all over my hair.
“You have a hair fetish,” I whisper, glancing up at him.
He opens his eyes, his lips quirking up lazily. “I have an Echo fetish.”
My heart skips a beat, both at his words and at his voice that sounds just as lazy as that lopsided smile on his face.
I turn on my side, feeling his biceps flex beneath my cheek.
Putting a hand on his face, I say, “You look so pretty.”
I know pretty isn’t a boy word per se. But he looks so beautiful like this, all relaxed and drowsy. His eyes shiny and his mouth all plump and wet from our kisses earlier.
He licks that plump mouth of his. “And you look so fuck-struck.”
What?
“What is fuck-struck?”
“A girl who’s struck by fucking. Also known as sex-struck or sex-drunk or just plain starry-eyed.”
“First, that’s so not a word. And second, I am so not.”
“First, I just made it a word. And second, you are because we both know my dick makes magic.”