Fingers Deep in Heat

I was aching by then, my erection straining against my boxers. I pulled the fabric from her mouth — she gasped for air, dazed — and stepped in front of her. She looked up, still on her knees, hair mussed and lips parted. I freed myself and started stroking, slow and deliberate, right in her line of sight. Her eyes locked on me, hungry, and it pushed me over the edge fast. I came hard, ropes of it landing across her chest and chin, dripping down her flushed skin.

I helped her up, legs still shaky, and handed her the blouse to wipe off with. She managed a weak, “God, thank you,” before we collapsed back onto the futon, tangled and spent, the room spinning faintly as sleep took over.

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