He pulls me up by my hair and crushes his mouth to mine. Oh, man. This is going to be some serious get-back-together-now-I’m-his-girlfriend sex. He must forget that his pants are still around his ankles, because he stumbles and has to shuffle to the bed. We fall in a heap on the mattress. My comforter is a rumpled mess, and I didn’t even bother to put my suitcase on the floor before I went to bed last night, so I had to sleep on an angle.
We slither-flop up the bed so half our bodies aren’t hanging off the end. Randy’s heavy on top of me. His cock is nestled in tight between my legs. And of course, he’s already started with the wet-humping.
At this point I’ve stopped being surprised by how quickly he makes me come. I think it’s just the way we are together. With the next roll of his hips, the head rubs my clit. I dig my nails into his ass and arch. He slips low. The head breaches the Vagina Emporium’s front door.
Randy breaks the kiss, and we do the stare off. We don’t need actual words to convey the question we’re both silently asking. Is it okay? Can we do this without a condom? He hasn’t had sex with anyone else in a long time.
“I’m clean.” Randy cringes, embarrassed. It says more than his reassurance. “I’ll get a condom.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re sure.” He sinks in a little more.
“I’ve been on the pill forever.”
Randy’s hands are on my face. He goes deeper, maybe testing out whether or not I’m serious. I don’t stop him, so he keeps going. His groan is loud and low. “Don’t judge me if I come fast.”
“As long as I come before you do, we’re good.”
“No promises.”
His back expands and contracts with every breath. He’s definitely not in control. His entire body is trembling. I lock my legs around his hips and skim his cheek with my fingertips. “Hey.”
His eyes flip up to mine.
“Be with me.”
He releases a sharp exhale and starts to move. It’s not some gentle, let’s-make-love bullshit. It’s hip-slamming, bed-creaking, full-out make-up fucking. There’s no way we’re being quiet. I’ll be surprised if we don’t break my bed. Thankfully, I don’t need it in Chicago.
We can’t kiss because the pounding is too vigorous. All I can do is hold on while he goes ballistic. It’s awesome. I come twice and bite the shit out of his shoulder. We’re rocking the bed so much my suitcase falls to the floor with a loud crash.
Randy slows down with the knock on my door. “Everything okay in there?” It’s Tim-Tom. I guess he’s out of the shower.
“It’s fine. I dropped my suitcase!” I call.
Randy’s face is buried in my neck, and his shoulders are shaking.
“Need any help?”
“Nope. I’m good! Thanks, Tim!”
“Okay. I’m going to work. See ya later.”
Randy circles his hips, slow and tight, while we wait for Tim to leave, but even after the door closes he doesn’t go back to the vigorous, intense pounding. Instead he stays close and kisses me deep. When he comes, it’s like he’s trying to climb inside my body and stay there forever.
I run my hand down his back, smiling at the shiver I create. Randy lifts his head from the crook of my neck, eyes soft and warm. “That was a lot of fun.”
I laugh and touch his lips, brushing over the scar. “It sure was. We should do it again.”
Epilogue
Couch Confessions
LILY
Three months later
I drop down on Randy’s couch and throw my legs over his lap, cradling my snack bowl.
He leans over and peers inside. “What the hell are these? Why’re they red?”
“They’re ketchup chips.”
Randy makes a face. “Ketchup?”
My mom sent them in a care package. I love living in Chicago, but there are a few things I miss about Canada. Ketchup chips are one of them, my mom is another, and maple-flavored bacon completes the list.
I pop one in my mouth and make a sound similar to the one I make when Randy’s face or fingers or incredibly amazing cock is between my legs. “They’re so good.”
He stares at my mouth, watching while I chew. I swallow, then take a sip from the glass of cider he’s poured for me. It’s my favorite kind—not too sweet, with the perfect level of dryness. As soon as I put my glass down, he lifts the bowl out of my hand, sets it on the coffee table, and tackles me, taking me down to the cushions.
He’s got some serious skills with the way he’s able to get his knee between my legs without me even realizing it until I start auto-humping. He cups the back of my head, his fingers pressing in. I don’t know why it makes me so hot; it’s like he’s holding on so I can’t get away from his mouth. Not that I’d want to.
He presses his lips to mine, sniffing. He backs off, giving me the funky eye. Then he goes in for another kiss, a little longer this time. He sucks my lip, running his tongue along it, and pulls back again.
“Ketchup?” he says.
“They’re the best.”
Randy resumes kissing me, and this time he slips his tongue into my mouth. After a few seconds of exploration, he breaks the kiss and shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t like it. You need to brush your teeth. That tastes like shit.”
He’s still got a knee between my leg, and he’s kind of thrusting against my pelvis. I can feel his hard-on. He can’t be all that negatively affected by my bad breath.