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“You want to talk about why you don’t like to be on top?”
He arches a brow. “You really want to talk about my sexual history when I’m still inside you and we’re both rocking afterglow?”
“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?”
He looks to the side. “It’s not my favorite topic.”
“Your sexual history as a whole, or why you’re so afraid of losing control?” I trace the outline of his collarbones.
“Both, I guess.” His fingers trail up and down my spine.
“Should I assume that in the past you’ve caused one of your partners some discomfort and that’s stuck with you?”
“In a nutshell, yeah.” His gaze goes to the ceiling.
I caress his cheek. “Sex is a two-way street, and it requires a lot of communication. I love that you’re careful and considerate, but whatever happened in the past, it’s not all on you to be the one making sure everything is okay. It goes both ways. So, in the future, unless I tell you otherwise, you’re more than welcome to pound me into the mattress like you’re exorcising demons out of my pussy, okay?”
He laughs and cups my face in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Noted. Does that mean you’re ready for round two?”
“Absolutely.”
He wraps his arm around my waist, rolls us over so he’s on top, and drops his mouth to mine. And we start again.
Twenty-Two
Space I Don’t Want
Maverick
Iwake up the next morning to the feel of something tickling my stomach. I blink a few times, my brain slow to come online—especially since I’m not in my own bed, or my house.
It only takes a few seconds before last night comes rushing back. Me showing up at Clover’s unannounced. The sex. So much sex. I figured after the first time she’d need a break, or some pillow talk, or maybe some sleep. But no.
All those months of avoiding, then dancing around each other made us voracious.
And she’s currently naked, kneeling beside me, hair sleep-messed and sex wild, her tongue pushing at her top lip. She runs a finger along my cock, which isn’t quite awake yet either, but will be soon.
“What are you doing?” My voice is raspy and thick with sleep.
She startles and gasps. “Oh my God! I thought you were still asleep.” Her cheeks flush with color.
“I was. Why are you creeping on my business?”
“Your business?” She arches a brow.
“Less-evolved head, penis maximus, Thor’s hammer—pick your preferred name for my favorite appendage.” I point to my cock, which is lying on my stomach, angled toward Clover.
She grins. “Thor’s hammer? Is that what you call your fuck stick?”
I bark out a laugh. “Fuck stick?”
“It’s actually more like a fuck log, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so nicely.” She strokes a single finger from the tip to the base. “You know, this is like false advertising.”
I fold an arm behind my head. “How so?”
“Your soft is someone else’s generous hard.”
“I’m a grow-er who should be a show-er, is that what you mean?”
