Page 52 of Theta

"I—" a quick, sharp sigh. "Shut up."

"Brutal honesty, Story."

"I couldn't handle it anymore, okay? I didn't think it was possible, but I just couldn't come anymore. It was too intense." She buries her face in my chest, her words muffled. "It felt like I was gonna—"

"Gonna what?"

"Like something was going to—break." She rolls a shoulder in a tiny, vague approximation of an embarrassed shrug. "It felt like something inside me was gonna snap. It was—I had to stop."

I gather her closer. "Next time, don't stop me. Trust me."

"It was kind of a scary feeling, Killy. Like I was gonna pee. This isn't a hotel, this is someone's home. And we're not alone. I do trust you. I just—that was—"

"You do understand you almost squirted, right?"

She nods. “Yeah, obviously. But I need time and privacy to be able to let myself go like that. It's not that I don't trust you, but I can’t…I can't let my guard down that far in circumstances like this."

There's a long silence as she catches her breath.

"Killy?" Her voice is small, once again.

I kiss her temple. "Yeah?"

"That was incredible. No one has ever made me feel like that before in my life." She reaches up, turns my face down to hers and kisses me softly and deeply and slowly. "I can't thank you enough for giving that to me."

Breaking the kiss, I give a quiet bark of laughter. "I was just trying to make you feel as good as you made me feel. Because same."

"To be clear," she says, grinning up at me, "I've never thanked anyone for orgasms before."

"Me neither." I groan, then. "We should get dressed."

She gives a little shake of her head. "No," she whines. "I don't wanna."

"Me either," I answer. "I just want to stay naked with you forever. But I don't want to be caught, literally, with my pants down if someone were to have followed us here somehow."

She giggles. "You can't literally be caught with your pants down, Killy," she says, cupping my cock and balls in one hand. "You're not wearing any."

I move her hand away. "If you get me hard again, I won't be able to stop myself."

"Oh no?" She breathes the question, fighting my grip to get another touch. "Then—what would you do?"

"Bend you over this couch," I answer immediately. "Put my cock inside your tight, hot, wet little pussy and fuck you until you forget my name, your name, and everything else that's not my cock inside you."

She groans, bites my pec, clutches my cock. "I'd kill to be able to have that right now," she whispers. "I fucking need you inside me in the worst way.”

I stagger to my feet with her in my arms, carry her to the door where our clothes are, and set her on her feet. She whimpers, her shaky legs not able to take her weight for a second; she braces herself with a hand on my shoulder. I snag her panties, orient them correctly, and then grasp her ankle and lift her foot, help her step into one leg-hole and then the other, and then I tug them up, standing as I go. Next, I tug her sports bra over her head; she smiles softly at me and lets me guide her arms through, and then I let her do the adjustment of her breasts inside the garment. I help her into her scrub bottoms and then the top.

Dressed, Story gives me a tender smile so soft and affectionate that my heart flips, cracks yet again, and seems to swell inside my ribcage, as if my poor heart can’t contain the totality of what she's directing at me. "Now I help you." She kneels at my feet and guides my foot into my underwear; she doesn't tug them all the way up, though, her eyes locked on my semi-erect member. "Do you even know how tempted I am to suck you off again?" Her gaze flicks to mine as she asks the question.

I scrub my face with both hands, swallowing hard. "We've tempted fate enough as it is," I murmur.

She makes a disappointed sound as she finishes covering me. A minute later, we're both dressed, and we sit down on the couch.

"I'm wired and tired at the same time," Story says, eventually. "And we still have”… she checks the Apple Watch on the inside of her wrist, which is on low-power mode, only showing the time—5:03—in red numerals. "At least another four or five hours to kill."

I sniff a laugh, shaking my head. "We've only been here an hour?"

We're side by side on the couch, legs extended, half-reclining. She rolls her head to one side and gazes at me. "Right? Feels like a lot longer."