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Then, right when I felt like I might start to tip over the edge, I felt Castiel’s lips on my nipple again.
I detonated.
Shattered.
Exploded.
Poof.
There wasn’t a single cell in my body that didn’t ignite right along with my orgasm. I felt it everywhere. In the tips of my toes, at the point of my nose.
I squeaked and tossed my head back, practically force feeding Castiel my breast, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
I was coming and coming hard.
Everything stalled, and I found myself stopping.
Castiel cursed and started to force his hips up.
Where once he allowed me to control the pace and the depth, now he was in control. He took me, much harder than I’d been previously doing. Slamming into me so hard that I was sure that I’d be feeling it tomorrow.
But I didn’t care.
Didn’t care that I’d have bruises on my hips. Nor that I’d be walking funny for the rest of the night, let alone the following week.
All I cared about was making him come now.
Oh, and coming right along with him.
Which surprised the hell out of me.
One second it was feeling good, little sparks of my release still coursing through me, and the next I was clamping down on him so hard that I screamed.
Thank God there was music on outside, because I was fairly sure that I’d have announced exactly what we were doing in here if there hadn’t been.
I slumped forward just as Castiel’s body started to jerk, his cock jumping and flexing inside of me as he followed directly behind me.
What felt like forever later, I opened my eyes and found my mouth inches away from his neck. I could see his pulse still jumping there, causing me to grin.
“I think that was the best experience I’ve ever had in my life,” I admitted. “Is sex always like that?”
He was quiet for a long second before he shook his head.
“No,” he confessed. “It’s never been like that for me.”
His hand was slowly moving up and down the length of my spine as he whispered the words in my ear.
I felt my heart swell at his words.
“Castiel…”
“Turner Hooch!” I heard Jubilee screech through the door. “You open this door right the fuck now, or I’ll bust it down!”
I sat up and stared at Castiel in silence.
“She found out,” he said.
“She found out,” I agreed.
He helped me stand up off of him, and I laughed quietly when I felt my legs wobble like a newborn’s.
He steadied me and then moved around me, ripping the condom off of his cock as he went.
Moments later he threw it into the toilet and flushed it, causing me to wince.
“You do realize, right, that those aren’t meant to flush?” I called to him.
He turned around and shrugged, then threw the door partially closed as he took a seat on the toilet, then tucked his still semi-hard cock inside of the rim.
Curious, I walked to him.
“You’re telling me our sex causes you to have to poop?” I asked as I lifted my dress over my breasts.
“No, I don’t have to poop,” he laughed. “But it’s incredibly hard to piss through an engorged cock, so I sat down so I didn’t make a mess.”
“Oh.” I grinned. “I was about to say.”
He rolled his eyes and came to a stop on me. “I closed the door for some privacy.”
I looked through the half-open door in surprise. “If you wanted privacy, you should’ve probably closed it all the way instead of leaving it halfway open.”
I mean, what did he think I was going to do? Discreetly look away? I wasn’t a normal person.
“I didn’t know that you were a curious little shit then, either,” he countered.
Snickering, I walked to the mirror and looked at my appearance.
“I’m not kidding, Turner! Open this door right now!”
Castiel sighed.
Then he peed a little bit.
And a little bit more.
Once. Twice. Five times.
It was the sixth little spurt of pee that had me doubling over in laughter.
“Shut up,” he grumbled, trying hard not to laugh himself. “I’m telling you, this is hard shit. You have no idea what it’s like.”
I wiped the unexpected tears from my eyes and looked down at him, still spurting little streams of pee, and leaned forward to drop a kiss onto his mouth.
“This isn’t weird at all,” he mumbled, pausing in between spurts to allow me to kiss him. “Now go away. I’m getting performance anxiety.”
“If I go, I’m going to close the door—all the way—and let Jubilee in,” I told him.
He looked me up and down as I backed away, then gestured to my face with a jerk of his chin.
“Your lipstick is smeared, and you have sex hair,” he informed me.
I turned back to the mirror and touched my hair.
He was right. There would be no fixing the hair.
I started pulling out bobby pins, not stopping until my entire mass of hair was finally free of the torturous devices.
