So I do. It’s unhurried, gentle brushes of lips and warm sweeps of tongue. There’s none of the earlier aggression when I wanted her worked up. A black knot of guilt settles in my stomach. For a second I worry that maybe I haven’t been fair about how we got here, maybe I’ve manipulated her into this position. But then Sunny shifts under me, circling her hips, and I forget everything but the feel of her.
We move together, and for once it doesn’t feel like a performance. It’s not about reaching the goal, about making her come—although that’s an objective for sure—it’s about experiencing her.
There aren’t any acrobatics on her part. She doesn’t try to bend herself into a pretzel, and she doesn’t scream my name, or slap my ass, or tell me how the rumors are so true. We kiss and move and groan into each other’s mouths. I never pick up the pace, I just change the angle a bit and draw her left leg up higher so I can hit that sweet spot with every slow thrust.
She gasps, and her moans get louder. I push up on one arm, holding the back of her head in my palm. I like the feel of her hair sliding between my fingers and the weight in my hand.
Sunny’s fingertips rest under my bottom lip and her palm curls around my chin. It’s intimate and dominating at the same time, both of which I’m okay with. Her eyes are locked on mine again, something like surprise or awe behind them.
She starts to tremble, her legs tightening around my hips, her left knee pulling higher. I hold it there, between my ribs and my biceps, helping to keep the angle for her.
“Oh God, Miller. I think—” The words are cut off by her ragged inhalation. Her grip on my chin tightens as her mouth drops open, and she shakes her head like she doesn’t believe it’s happening.
“Just let go, baby.” I’m right there with her, unable to look away as every muscle in Sunny’s body clenches with her first-ever sexgasm. With me.
Something happens then, and it’s unexplainable. It’s like being body-checked by all the sensations I associate with orgasms: the tingle, the burn, the tightness, the expansion, and the final explosion—all of it happens at the same time. With it comes some weird emotional cocktail that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with. It’s that high feeling again, but more extreme. I feel like I’m submerged in her. Like I’m inside her in more than just the literal sense. I don’t feel attached to my own body.
When I’m finally done coming, I struggle to keep from collapsing on top of her. I slide my arm under her and roll to the side, taking her with me.
“I don’t even know what happened there,” I mumble into her hair.
She makes this contented little noise. I feel her nose on my cheek and her lips moving along my jaw.
When her lips reach the corner of my mouth I turn my head and kiss her, going deep, holding her close. My cock kicks, like maybe he’s fighting to get hard again and keep going. It’s not going to happen right now, though. Maybe in half an hour. He kicks again, as if trying to prove me wrong.
“You still taste like me,” Sunny whispers.
“You want me to wash my face?”
“No. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
We make out until I’m on the verge of getting hard again. I’m still inside her. Usually after sex I hit the bathroom and clean up, get some distance from whoever I’m in bed with. Not tonight. Sunny’s the one who breaks the kiss. She pushes on my chest, and when she tries to wriggle out of my grasp I throw my leg over hers.
“Miller.” She giggles when I burrow through her sweet-smelling hair and nibble on her shoulder.
“You don’t want to cuddle with me anymore?”
“I need the bathroom.”
“I can come with you.”
“Ew. No thanks.”
“Not into that, eh?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I loosen my hold, but she still has to work get out of my arms, giggling the entire time. She kneels on the bed beside me, naked, her skin still flushed. She looks happy, relaxed, and tired. She wraps her index finger and thumb around the base of the condom.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of this for you.”
“You don’t want to keep it as a memento of your first orgasm during sex?”