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“Why so surprised? I like mine too.”
“I feel like guys like it without hair. I usually wax, but since?—”
“You’re married now.” He doesn’t let me finish the actual thought:since I haven’t been getting naked with anyone else in the past few weeks.“And you don’t have to worry about that crap anymore.”
I smile, thumbing his head through the silky fabric of his briefs. His eyes go hazy. “Exactly. Since I’m married now, I let it grow out.”
“Do you like it?”
I have to think about this for a minute, which is a little depressing. “You know, I’ve spent so much time and energy thinking about what other people like, I’m not sure. I think I do, yeah. I definitely don’t love getting waxed.”
“That shit sounds like torture. Speaking of.” Abel removes my hand from his dick. “I’m coming in you this time, baby, not on you.”
Then he puts his hand on the inside of my thigh and moves it, opening me. My eyes nearly roll to the back of my head when he presses the washcloth, still warm, against my pussy. I don’t know why he’s wiping me down here—there’s no cum to clean up—but I’m not complaining.
“It is torture.”
“Don’t do it, then.”
I grab his forearm as he runs his fingers along my slit through the washcloth. “I think—I won’t. Wow, how am I—already?—”
“You on birth control?’
My heart seizes at the question. There’s so much packed into those four words. “I have an IUD, yes.”
He’s massaging me now. The washcloth’s nubby fabric catches on my clit, sending sparks through my bloodstream.
Am I really ready to come again?
Does Abel really like the fact that I didn’t prepare at all for this? That I showed up just as I am?
He leans down and sucks my nipple into his mouth. Thequick, hard pull of his mouth is painful, but then he gently laps the flat of his tongue against my tight bud.
Pure pleasure.
Maybe that pleasure is made all the sweeter by the pain.
The nagging question that’s been looping through my brain all night comes back around. WhyisAbel being so thoughtful and considerate with me?
Truly, why be such an overachiever? He’s gorgeous. Successful. He doesn’t need to be generous in bed. He could just take what he wanted—be truly selfish—and no one would bat an eye. Most guys I’ve been with are like that.
But Abel is different. It’s like he gets off on gettingmeoff. Yeah, his tastes are anything but vanilla. But that doesn’t mean they’re dirty or wrong or villainous.
“Good. I’ll be right back.”
I nearly cry out when he removes the washcloth from between my legs. I’m clean now, all traces of his orgasm wiped away, but I find my body pulsing with the desire for him to make a mess of me again.
Abel returns a minute later with a bottle of Advil, a tiny plastic cup of water, and a handful of condoms.
Ahandful. He sets everything on the bedside table next to me.
“I like knowin’ we got back-up with the IUD in case something goes wrong,” he explains, reaching behind him to grab the collar of his shirt. “Take the Advil. Three of them.”
I laugh. “Three? Really?”
“Really. Do it now, Jen.”
I do as he tells me, mouth going dry as I watch him take off his shirt, his abdominal muscles contracting in a way that makes my brain short-circuit. His chest is covered in whorls of dark hair that narrow into a prominent happy trail that disappears into his jeans.
