“Jesus,” I breathed, my thighs trembling as I pulled out slow and eased back in.
My hands slipped under her thighs and brought them up parallel with my body, her calves tucked between my ribs and arms. I felt her feet stretch out to a point as I pulled out and slammed in.
She lay down flat, chest heaving as one hand worked her nipple and the other founding the piercing between her legs, rubbing a circle in time with my hips.
She felt like heaven, soft and wet and tight, and as I watched her touching herself, I was too close, too soon. I wanted to fuck her all night, all day tomorrow, all week. For a year. For as long as she’d have me.
I slowed my pace and pulled out, eliciting another whimper from her — this time, in mourning — but I ignored it, grabbing her thighs to scoot her back until her hair hung over the edge, giving me room to crawl up with her. I pushed her thighs apart with my knees, and she lifted her legs, opening them up, hooking them around my hips as I positioned myself to slide into her again.
“Come on,” she said hotly. “Fill me up.”
So I did, not at all gently that time, not stopping until there was no space between us.
I caught sight of the jelly jar and smiled, slowing my hips so I could reach for it. She peeled her eyes open and looked over, wickedly smiling back.
“Still hungry?” I asked.
She nodded.
I dipped my thumb into the jelly and brought it to her lips, parted and so full, smearing it across the bottom one. Her pink tongue slid out to lick it clean, and I cupped her jaw, slipping my thumb into the heat of her mouth. She closed her lips and sucked, wrapping her wet tongue around it.
I hooked the digit and forced her mouth open so I could take it with my own, wanting her tongue against mine.
My hips took control, rocking and pumping and fucking her, unaware of anything before or after, only that moment, only her body.
She bent her legs wound around my hips to force me to get as deep as possible, holding me there as she twisted at the waist to guide me onto my back. I did, not caring that I was lying on a sandwich, not caring about anything outside of the feeling of being buried in Penny.
She sat up and rested her hands on my chest, her eyes down and lips parted, and when she moved, when she shifted her hips and moaned, my head kicked back, my hands gripping her tattooed thighs like she’d fly away if I didn’t hang on to her.
“Bodie,” she called.
I found myself enough to open my eyes and sit up, wrapping my arms around her to crush her against me, to bury my face in her neck, to twist her hair in my hands as she rocked against me making the sweetest noises I’d ever heard.
“I’m gonna come,” she whispered, her hips moving faster with every rotation.
I let her go, leaning back enough that I could watch her with my hands on her hips, guiding her as she ground and bounced harder against me, the slap of her ass against my thighs speeding my pulse, speeding time. And when she came, breasts jostling, a cry on her lips, eyes pinched shut, I kept her hips going as I came so hard, I thought my chest was going to explode from the force.
The sight of her coming would be burned into the back of my eyelids for the rest of my life.
She collapsed on top of me, and I lay back, taking her with me. She pulsed around my cock, slowing with each heartbeat, and I pumped inside of her lazily in answer.
“Hey, Penny?” I asked, my voice low and rough.
“Hmm?” she hummed against my chest.
“Are you the square root of negative one? Because you can’t be real.”
She laughed, nestling a little deeper into my chest, and I tried to pretend like she wasn’t already finding her way into my heart.
Fuck you, Brad
Penny had left that night with a long goodbye kiss and a smile full of promise, and since we’d seen each other twice in twenty-four hours, I figured I’d hear from her soon.
Wrong.
The first day hadn’t been so bad although I ended up in the gym twice to try to get my mind off of her. The second day, I’d tried to satiate my thoughts by watching her show. I’d avoided it because I thought it might be creepy, and when I’d turned it on, it was with the intention of watching a single episode. Eight hours later, I’d made it almost through the season and had Cheetos dust all over my T-shirt. And I’d felt a zillion times worse. I’d even picked up my phone to text her enough times that I threw the fucking thing in my nightstand drawer so I’d stop thinking about it. That had lasted a solid hour before I’d caved and retrieved it and commenced staring.