“Oh…fuck…” I mutter, only a moment before I lose the capacity for coherent speech.
My legs are going and I’m riding him harder and harder and I just keep coming harder and harder until it feels like it’s never going to end, and for the smallest moment, I get a little scared, and that’s when the foundation shatters.
I roll over to the side of Damian and ask if he could just give me a minute.
He says yes, and I can see the concern in his eyes. It’s not helping.
This is stupid, oh God, this is so fucking stupid. It’s stupid, but I’m lying on my back with my forearms crossed over my face to hide the fact that I’m crying.
“Can I get you anything?” Damian asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, but quickly realize the mistake I’m about to make and change my mind. “Actually, could you possibly grab me a glass of water? I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I think I’m just a little lightheaded, that’s all.”
I think I’m a little lightheaded? What the hell does that mean? Who has to think about it? It’s one of the more easily recognized health issues.
“Sure thing,” Damian says, and I try not to laugh as he jogs, still completely erect, across and out of the room.
I close my eyes and try to dry them with my hands.
What the hell is going on with me? Yeah, the sex is incredible, but it’s not like I have this huge emotional attachment to the guy.
Maybe it’s not even about him. Maybe they’re tears of joy at the relief I can still feel joy after everything Ben’s been doing.
Whatever it is, it really needs to stop in a hurry because the tap in the other room just turned off and Damian is on his way back.
I dry my eyes as best I can and I sit up a little, leaning back against the headboard.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I think I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I probably just got a little overexcited, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” he says, “you seemed to really be enjoying yourself there. I was glad to be a part of it.”
“You’re a smug bastard, do you know that?” I ask.
“I am well aware,” he says, and hands me my water.
I take a drink and glance down, away from his eyes.
“Looks like you’re down to half mast, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “In here, there was plenty to keep me going, but the kitchen turned that right around.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who’s afraid of being naked in the kitchen,” I sigh.
“I don’t think it’s a fear so much as it is a rational instinct,” he answers.
“So, from what I’ve observed, there seem to be two main camps among people like you,” I start.
“People like me?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him, “freaks. Anyway, so are you in the camp that says that being naked in the kitchen is unhygienic, or are you one of those guys that says they don’t want to get any kind of grease or food particles on your body?”
“’Grease or food particles?’” he asks.
I was attempting to sound like an expert, though I lack the credentials, and I think he’s onto me.
“Or whatever,” I answer.