“We’re together sexually but not romantically?” He undid the tie of my hoodie. “I’m just clarifying.”
“We’re nottogethersexually. I mean, we’re sleeping together, but out of expediency.”
“Maybe some mutual attraction is involved, too?” He looked amused. “Just a smidge?”
“Of course it is. But you know what I mean. There’s a difference between having sex and ‘being together’ sexually.”
“I see.” His smile grew wicked. He slid his fingers under the ruched edge of my hood. “May I de-hood you now?”
“You may de-everything me now.”
He did, and holy shit, I was afraid that from this day forward, the sound of a zipper slowly being lowered was going to send me into a fit of lust. He kept eye contact the whole way as the metallic zipper teeth gradually clicked open, and I swear, that mofo slowed down even more just to torture me.
I wasn’t wearing anything under the hoodie—hope had sprung eternal back at my cabin when I was waiting my five minutes—and when he finally deigned to finish with the zipper, he drew open the two sides of the hoodie.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and he looked angry as he stared at my chest. Which was, somehow, flattering.
“That’s the idea,” I said with exaggerated cheeriness, purely because I knew the juxtaposition with his cranky intensity would annoy him.
There was a moment where we stared at each other, teetering. Then it started. I wasn’t even sure how, or who fired the starting gun, but the rest of the disrobing was as fast as the unzipping had been slow. We were jointly tearing at clothing—our own, each other’s. I was frantic with a lust that was almost menacing, feeling like if I didn’t get his skin on my skin—if I didn’t get him inside me—it was going to be bad news. He must have felt the same—he was shoving everything that was in our way to the floor.
“Hurry,” I panted as he slid out from under me and off the bed so he could struggle with his swim trunks. “The condom is in the pocket of that hoodie you yeeted across the room.”
He stumbled away, tripping over his trunks, which were still on one leg, cursing like a sailor. It would have been comical if I hadn’t been so wound up.
Then he was back, trunksless and condom-ified, and his eyeswere smoldering. Like he was Fabio or something. I reclined, and he paused, hovering over me. He actually looked kind of distressed, but I glanced down at his erection and decided he couldn’t bethatdistressed. So I grabbed him around the waist with my legs and pulled him toward me.
“We should kiss this time,” he said through a groan. “On the mouth.”
“We should kiss next time,” I said, pulling harder, causing him to groan harder.
“But dude,” he said, sounding rather strangled. “Foreplay.”
“But dude,” I echoed, shaking my head. “No thanks.”
He slid in, and I swear to God, his eyes started to roll back into his head, which made me positively giddy with the sense of my own power—or it would have if I hadn’t been so flattened by lust. It made my brain heavy, my thoughts slow.
There was something about Teddy—well, let’s be honest, there was something about Teddy’s dick—that was just right. It was the angle between us, maybe. Or it was the way that instead of hovering over me and doing the classic jackhammer, he lay on top of me and rocked with relatively shallow thrusts. Whatever it was, it created a continuous pressure on my clit that had me so agitated I almost—almost—wanted to get away. But there was no getting away; there was just more of that relentless heaviness. The only thing to do was surrender to it… and come.
Oh! And come again!
“Fuck.”
He was back to swearing, but I couldn’t concern myself with him, beyond making sure that he didn’t stop, that he didn’t change anything about the angle or the pressure or the magicor whatever the hell it was that he was doing. “Keep going!” I ordered. “Don’t change anything.”
“Uhn,” he grunted—in a way that seemed to signal acknowledgment.
Oh holy God, I was having a third orgasm. “Three!” I exclaimed in disbelief as my hips shook. Except they didn’t shake. They were still pinned by Teddy’s hips, which I suspected was part of what was making this all happen. They were shaking and still at the same time. Like there was a shaking inside me that he was… in charge of, somehow.
When the shuddering stopped, I was able to be less ruthlessly inwardly focused. I eyed him.
I hadn’t realized he was watching me like a hawk. I grinned, and though I was pretty sure it was a goofy grin and not a sexy one, it seemed to summon something inside him. He shouted, “God damn it, fuck.” With a great big groan to end all groans, he froze, and his body quaked with… I wasn’t sure what. An orgasm, obviously, but it seemed like more than that. The effort of holding himself up on his arms over me all this time. Or maybe of holding back while I came—three!—times. I actually had no idea how long that had taken. Time had ceased to be real for me while it was happening.
With a final, soft “Fuck,” he heaved himself to his side, but he left one leg and one arm slung over me. He was sweating—we both were. We were breathing heavily, too.
“That was fast,” he panted.
I guess it hadn’t taken very long. Wait. I started to worry that my three—three!—orgasms had looked too good to be true. They’dfeltthat way. “What are you implying?”
