“Give me another minute.”
My hand stills on its path back down her body and I frown. The unspoken words are “and then it’s your turn,” and that won’t do. Good sex is not a tit for tat, not an obligation. I got mine so now you get yours.
I scoot closer, pressing my stomach against her back. If she was facing the other way, my dick would be right in her face, but it’s not.
I lift my head and wedge my left hand between Rory’s thighs from behind to give myself some space. Her body’s limp and pliable still, making it easy for me to slide my right hand over her belly and find her clit again.
She jerks. “What are you?—?”
I stop. “Too sensitive?”
“A little.”
“Want me to stop?”
There’s a pause, and then she relaxes back down. “No.”
I press against her, the pad of my fingers trapping her clit while I circle against her. With my mouth free, I press kisses on her hip and the outside of her thigh. As she starts to squirm, I rest my cheek on her and watch.
It’s more subtle this time; a bitten lip, her fist gripping the comforter, and then the press of her hips forward, dislodging my headrest while she comes against my hand.
Okay, I can’t take it anymore. I roll to my back, away from Rory, and take my cock in my hand, pumping an embarrassingly few times (not that she’s going to notice) before I get my own release, spilling on my chest.
We lie there, both of us quiet and catching our breath. I should be exhausted—I was up late and it’s still early for me—but I’m wired. I want to do that all over again now, and then every day for as long as Rory will let me.
But Rory might be asleep next to me. She’s gone still and her breathing is even. I sit up, looking down at her, and contemplate sneaking out of bed. As if in agreement, my stomach rumbles, and Rory’s eyelids flutter open.
I bend down and kiss the closest skin—the side of her knee. “I’ll make breakfast.”
Morgan
* * *
“You want me to ride that?” Rory asks.
Boing.
“Hey, she may not look like much, but she’s perfectly safe,” I say.
Boing.
Rory does not look convinced.
Boing.
“Everyone else is already at the top,” Hunter says helpfully from the control box.
Boing.
“Kit is keeping an eye on us from there,” Hunter continues, “and I’ll ride up right behind you.”
Boing.
“So I’m supposed to get on this metal death contraption?—”
Boing.
“—with you and a hyperactive dog?—”
