I straddle him, my thighs tight around his hips. He holds me as I sink back onto his hard, ceiling-pointing cock.
The burn turns into heat and the heat turns into something that has me aching to get fucked properly.
His hands rest on my waist.
“Your pace. Your way. You've always been in control.”
With my face buried in his shoulder, I start moving instinctively, chasing whatever has me feeling this good, because fuck knows what else I’m supposed to do.
“Easy,” he whispers. “Take your time.”
My arms go around his shoulders, cradling the back of his head as I continue to move, going shallow, finding a rhythm.
His hand slides between us, wrapping around my cock. His fist works in time with my hips. I feel him dragging me to my orgasm. My head tips back, a curse spilling out.
“Fuck, love…”
“Fuck, Tom, I’m so close. I’m going to fill you up so fucking deep.”
Hearing that fuels all my senses and I go all in, his hand wanking me more desperately now.
He’s getting there. I can tell by the way his breath hitches, the tremor in his thighs, the frantic thrusts losing their rhythm.
A moan without restraint rips out of him as he comes. The sound, the heat of his orgasm, it’s all too fucking much.
His hand keeps working me, and I come hard between us, shuddering, clinging to him as the world turns teal and indigo, not a single pill involved.
Our noses touch a we catch our breath. I laugh against his lips. He starts to laugh too.
Then we kiss. One last time, a slow one, closing off this whole new feeling of intimacy.
He lifts my hand, kissing my knuckles. “Hope it felt good.”
“Hope it felt good? Hope it felt good for you, because this is going to be it from now on.”
He scoffs. “Don’t think so, McKenna. You’ll have to fight me on that.”
“Gladly. Throw me on the ground and I’ll submit.”
“Okay,” he whispers, a little smitten. Easy win. Must be the haze.
I’d forgotten what it’s like to be ice-cold in bed, the sheets tucked up to my shoulders instead of lying loose around my hips. Old monumental buildings come with single glass and leaky window frames. I swear, sometimes I can feel a breeze tickling my nose.
They keep promising restoration next year, but you know how it goes with these places. Paperwork. Committees. Eternity.
Yosh is shivering. I nudge his feet with mine and trap them there until warmth starts to spread. He’s smiling, I can tell. I’ve learned how to read him from my position in our spoon.
I press my chest to his back, arm protective over his waist to warm him.
We both like to fall asleep like this. I have the instinct to hold him, and he wants to be held. That wordless agreement says a lot about us and the way we’ve been shaped.
I know what shaped me into needing to hold him, and sometimes that knowledge makes my heart as icy as this room, because I can only guess what shaped him to need to be held.
Just as my thoughts start getting heavy, he suddenly laughs.
I grin. “What?”
“You and your chaotic life.”
