“Fuck,” I whimper.
She hums in approval. “You sound so desperate.”
I swallow thickly. She’s not wrong. I am desperate. Very. Fucking. Desperate.
With lips drawing closer, her breath ghosts over my pierced tip, teasing me. “You want me to make you come?”
“Yes.Please.”
The way her hips arch and her ass pokes up in the air as she finally takes me into her mouth ignites something in me. I sit up just enough that when I take one hand to her hip, I’m able to slide her off to the side without breaking the seal her mouth has on me.
As she gives me head, I keep my thumb on her clit, circling it as I glide two fingers into her.
I’m so close to coming, I can feel it, but I refrain, waiting until I feel her clench around my fingers before I allow myself to come.
She moans and whines her way through her orgasm, while she rides the euphoric wave of her release, with her mouth occupied by my dick.
It’s only when her trembling has subsided and her lids pop open that I spill my release into her mouth.
Greedily she takes every ounce of me down her throat. Watching her do so, humming in pleasure as she leaves none to waste, has me coming undone.
When she releases me from her mouth and goes to sit up, I can’t seem to retract my fingers from her. If anything, I slip a third inside her and softly pump it in, loving how sexy she sounds when she moans for me.
“What are you doing? I came already.”
“I want more of you. Lie down.”
Without a fuss, she listens, and I continue pumping my hand, soft and slow, in and out of her pussy until she comes again.
A bashful smile spreads on her face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I kiss her abdomen before resting my head on it. I’m not sure what comes over me but as I slip my fingers out from between the apex of her thighs I move so I’m hovering over her, close enough to kiss, taking my hand, wet from her orgasms, and ghost them overtop her skin.
“Pick a shape,” I whisper. The words slip my lips before I have a moment to process them. And much to my surprise she responds without question.
“Square.”
My heart feels like a drum in my chest as I paint a square onto her abdomen using her arousal lingering on my fingers. It’s not until I’m done that it dawns on me why I asked. After my father passed, my mother wore her engagement ring and wedding band for years, until one day she gave me her engagement ring, so if I chose to marry, I’d have it to propose with. It’s a simple ring, beautiful in its simplicity and nostalgia. And the shape of her engagement ring was the shape Sarina answered. A square.
“Why?” I ask, needing to know there’s more behind this seemingly coincidental reply.
“Symbolism. Squares are supposed to represent stability and reliability.”
“Sounds kind of boring,” I joke, although those are two things that if she let me, I would gladly be more than capable of adding to her life.
Her lashes flutter and just like at Luxe, when I could’ve sworn that I saw sadness in her eyes, it rises to the surface once more. “There’s nothing boring about stability. Not in life or matters of the heart. I also chose it because it was the shape of my grandmother’s wedding ring. It was nothing flashy. Even when my grandfather made more money and begged her to upgrade it, she refused. It was her prized possession.”
I add in silence to the short tally of things we have in common.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say with sincerity.
“She was like a mom to me. It still doesn’t feel real that she’s not here anymore. Now all I have left of her are memories.”
“Cherish them. Better to have memories than nothing at all,” I tell her, needing the reminder myself.
Maybe that’ll help make this hurt less when it’s over.
The memories.
