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She groans and grinds her hips up, pressing herself against my hand and cupping my neck with the back of her hand. She tries to pull me down to her and I refuse, tightening my muscles so I’m as immovable as a rock as I hold myself above her. One hand is planted on the waterbed and one is between her legs, motionless.
She makes a frustrated noise, hooking her legs around my hips and her hands around my neck. She lifts herself up against me, holding tight.
We both laugh at the ridiculousness of it and then I let her flip me. She climbs on top of me, bare breasts absolutely perfect as she reaches to pull her hair out of her face. “Maybe I’m a gentlelady. Maybe I don’t want to talk too dirty about how much I may or may not like doing this with you.”
“Then I’m going to humbly dedicate myself to the art of fucking the gentle out of you.”
She bites her lip. “Isn’t it more like a pushing in kind of act? Maybe it would make more sense to say you’re going to fuck the bad into me.”
I roll my hips, easing her down on her back again and hooking my fingers around the waistband of her pajamas and panties. I give them a tug, pulling them down to her thighs. “Or maybe you shouldn’t worry about semantics at a time like this.”
She lifts her lips to my ear, voice seductive and sultry. “There’s always time for semantics.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Andi, it’s that she could talk her way through a car crash. Sometimes, the only way to shut her up is to stop engaging. In this case, taking my shirt off does a pretty good job, too.
Her eyes drift down from my face to my chest and stomach. She reaches for my jeans, fumbling with the button.
We both rush to get the pants and underwear off each other and have a hilariously hard time on the water bed. I end up falling to my side and Andi, who has her ass out and her pants down to her knees, shimmies down the bed as she tries to tug my jeans off.
“They always make this look so easy in the movies,” she says.
“What kind of movies are you watching?” I ask.
She presses her lips into a thin smile. “Don’t judge me, Jesse.”
“I would never.” I position myself above her and use my hips to ease her legs open wide. I guide myself inside her and we both sigh with relief.
“Talking semantics must get you wet. You’re fucking soaked,” I say.
“Oh, you have no idea. Talk semantics to me and I’ll be yours forever.”
I drive my hips forward, filling her. I lower my mouth to her ear. “Is a hot dog a sandwich?”
Andi gives an exaggerated moan, laughing even as her body quivers for me. “Oh, God. No, a hot dog is not a sandwich.”
I press into her again. “Two pieces of bread. One piece of meat. Sandwich,” I hiss, exaggerating the rasp in my voice.
Andi shakes her head, breathing hard and chest heaving. “One bun. The bun is split, but connected. It’s not a sandwich.”
I hook my hands behind her knees, dragging her toward me. I also can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation while fucking the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my head since we first met. “What is a hotdog bun if it breaks down the middle?” Pump. “Two pieces of bread. Sandwich.” Pump.
Andi laughs, moaning again. “Okay. You win. For now. To be continued.”
“Thank God,” I say, flipping her to her back and lifting her to her knees. I grip her from behind and rail her. There’s no restraint. No limits.
We’re both sinking into the center of the water bed and it’s not exactly easy to stay upright. I’m nearly about to climax when I get too enthusiastic and we both tip over to the side. She laughs, then turns her head to her left, kissing me and touching my face as I lay behind her. I slip into her, running my hands along her body and easing myself into her again and again.
When we’re finished, she rolls to face me in the dark. Our bodies are slick with sweat and we’re both still breathing hard. “So,” Andi says. “I wasn’t actually done with the hot dog thing. I just couldn’t think straight anymore.”
“Why is that? Because of my ‘just okay’ sexual performance?”
She grins. “Exactly. It was so aggressively average my brain was going into a kind of coma. Anyway, it’s not a sandwich. If I put a piece of ham in a hotdog bun, would it become a sandwich? No. It would be ham in a hot dog bun. A ham dog, if you will.”
I laugh. “No. It would be a ham sandwich. Is a philly cheesesteak a steakdog? No. It’s a steak sandwich.”
“It’s about intention,” she says. “A hot dog is a statement of intention. I… intend to call this a hot dog?” Andi sighs. “That made more sense in my head. And this isn’t fair because you’re over there looking like that while I’m trying to think straight.”
“You don’t even know what your point is anymore.”
