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“You’re so big...”
“You’re so tight.”
“It hurts,” I gasp.
He pauses his thrusting, long enough to look me in the eye.
“It’s good,” I moan.
“It hurts me good, too.”
His arms around me squeeze a little, and he clasps his mouth down on my throat. His thrusts are hard—so hard and deep. I feel the frenzy of his breathing in my breasts.
He thrusts harder, and I groan.
He squeezes my hips as his cock plunders me, moving with strong, punishing strokes. I’m so aroused, I feel almost ill. Then he slides his hand down my flank, walks his fingers over my ass cheek, and pushes his palm hard against the end of the dildo.
I see stars.
He barks, low and loud, and I can feel his dick surge inside me, followed by the warm rush of his cum filling the condom.
He lowers me onto the mattress and then frees me from the harness. He licks me up and down my swollen slit, and then he wipes me with a warm, damp cloth.
He rubs my temples and my forehead. He kisses my hair, and whispers, “Thank you, Cleo. Sloth.”
And when I’m half asleep, he leaves.
>
He doesn’t know I’m awake when he comes back. He doesn’t know I feel him wrap his arms and legs around me.
IF THAT WAS NO-ATTACHMENTS sex with an acquaintance, I don’t want to make love, ever.
I wake up like a Georgia kid on a snow day: excited as hell, a little daunted—oh, and really sore everywhere below the belt from kinky sex and a big dildo.
For a while I just lie there, looking at the canopy and wondering what it says about Mr. Perfect that he bothered to put the damn thing back up after harness time was over. When I finally get the energy to roll from my back onto my side, I realize I really have something to chew on.
I’m not crazy. I swear. But... these sheets are not the same as they were. Right, like I’m saying they are not the same set of sheets I last saw on this bed. Those were cream. These are brown.
No, like seriously.
Oh my God, did he change them? Because of me? The thought makes my cheeks burn.
I throw an arm over my head, and wonder if I can sneak out of his house and run away.
Where is he now?
I remember him slipping onto the bed with me and curling himself around me. I was almost asleep at the time, but I held off going totally under for a little while, just so I could feel him tucked around me. Brennan didn’t do that. He never wanted to touch me unless it was for sex.
But... Kellan clearly did. He might have waited until I was asleep to do it, but he needed that. He needed to be close to me. He didn’t get the pleasure of my arms around him, making him feel held and sheltered, but he got whatever pleasure can be derived from sheltering another.
Why did he do it?
Was he feeling lonely? Sad? After our sexcapade, did he simply want to pay some kind of homage to my body?
I slip out of bed and cool air wraps around my skin. I look around the bedroom, cast in shadows, and then walk over to the balcony and pull the brownish curtains open. Sunlight soaks the room in gold.
Something about the sunlight jars my memory, and my mouth drops open as I remember what I learned about Kellan before going to sleep the first time last night. I inhale deeply, still shocked. Kellan was a quarterback. A freshman at the University of Southern California, an alumnus of some swanky Beverly Hills high school, and when the star QB got hurt after USC’s first game of the 2010 season, the Trojans’ coach let Kellan start. And he was crazy good. I read his stats. Once I started looking at his pictures, with that black hair, I even kind of remembered a beautiful, blue-eyed player with “DRAKE” across his back.
