We move together like this is something we’ve always done, like we were made for this.
It doesn’t take long before we’re both right there again; breathless, tangled, falling apart at the same time.
When he pulls out, places his cock between our stomachs, his cum splatters all over the both of us.
And when we’ve recovered, with the movie still playing in the background and my body humming, I look at him through half-lidded eyes and smile.
I could seriously get used to this.
I love not having to fake an “O.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go shower again,” Aspen says.
“Okay. I’m too lazy, so just throw me a towel so I can clean up,” I reply.
“Got it,” Aspen says before carefully getting up and placing a quick kiss on my forehead.
He rushes over to the bathroom and closes the door after throwing me a towel. I clean myself up and go wait for him in bed. I could get used to this life.
Sex.
Aspen.
His bed.
It’s the perfect daily routine.
While I lay under the sheets, I look up at the ceiling. I didn’t notice before but I think I see stars.
I head over to the door all excited and flick off the light. When my eyes adjust to the darkness, I look up and see the dull star stickers. Just like the ones I wanted to have so badly as a little girl but never got.They didn’t match the layout of the house- magazine ready.
I jump back in bed and stare at the ceiling. I try to make out any constellations. I spot Cassiopeia immediately. What were the odds he had that constellation up there.
Aspen comes out of the shower, naked again and gets in bed with me.
“Watcha doing, Snowflake?”
“Just looking at the stars.”
“Oh yeah, I just rearranged them. Spot any constellations yet?”He just rearranged them?
“Did you… add Cassiopeia… for me?” I ask.
“What if I did?” He asks.
I blush, but he can’t tell. It’s too dark out.
“You really know how to make a girl fall, don’t you?”
“Honey one thing about me is if I fall, you’re coming with me.”
And I smile the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled over some silly little plastic glow in the dark stars.
Aspen shifts beside me, resting on one elbow as his fingers trace lazy shapes along my arm, then drift lower.
He finds my wrist and he stills.
“What’s this?” he asks, gently brushing his thumb over the thin scar.
