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“Fuck,” she rasped. “That feels so good.”
She let go of my hands, leaning over to rummage in the bedside drawer. Again my heart fucking dropped. A stash of rubbers, ready for whoever was sharing her bed. Tonight it was me. Maybe tomorrow it wouldn’t be.
She tore open a packet and rolled it on, dainty fingers so fucking nice. Then she rode me, groaning like a whore as she leaned back, hands on my knees as she circled her hips, round and round and fucking round, her tits bared to the ceiling, the dainty curve of her waist so inviting.
I grabbed hold of her, gripping her tight and forcing her in wider circles. She moaned as I encouraged her efforts on my cock.
She felt perfect around me, tightening in all the right places. I closed my eyes in concentration, trying to delay the inevitable, but she felt too fucking good to resist for much longer.
“More...” she hissed. “Please...”
I didn’t need asking twice. I bucked against her, slamming my cock all the way inside, and she jerked and she jiggled and she moaned my name, diddling her little pussy while my hands mashed her tits.
“Fuck me, Cal. Fuck me!”
I rammed in and out like a fucking piston and her eyes rolled up into whites.
“I’m coming,” she breathed. “God, Callum, I’m fucking coming...”
I wasn’t far behind, grunting and groaning and pumping my spunk right into her as she shuddered. My heart was pounding, breath frantic, chest clammy with sweat as she collapsed onto me. I smoothed her hair, landed kisses on her face as my cock slipped from her sopping cunt.
“That was so good,” she whispered. “Really fucking good.”
“Didn’t hurt you, though, thought you needed that shit.”
She slid to the side, head on my chest as she snuggled up against me. “So did I,” she said. “I guess we’ve both learned new something new tonight.”
This time around sleep found me quick, and it felt fucking sweet.
***
Sophie
I was used to being woken up by an alarm clock, not a wet nose. Certainly not a wet nose in my face on a Sunday morning. I opened my eyes straight into Casey’s dark brown stare. She whined her approval, licking at my face before I could stop her. I giggled, trying to fight my way out from under my furry assailant.
Callum bolted upright, eyes startled as he adjusted to his surroundings. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but once he did he grabbed for Casey, shunting her off onto the floor.
“Jesus, Soph, sorry. Don’t know how she got in.”
I pointed to the open bedroom door. “I guess she learned how to work the handle.”
“Too smart for your own pissing good,” he said to her, ruffling the fur on her neck.
He slipped out of bed, taking just a second to pull his jeans on. I admired his skin and the tightness of his ass in the morning light, the muted sun through the windows casting him in a beautiful glow.
“No need to get up yet,” I said. “It’s a Sunday.”
“Gotta check on Case, see what she’s been doing.”
I followed him, wrapping myself in just a satin slip as I padded my way through to the living room.
Callum stood rigid in the hallway, hands on his temples in mortification. The place was a tip. A cushion from the sofa shredded across the coffee table, some torn up letters from the dresser by the main door. The worst was in the kitchen. The bin lay fallen, lid off and the contents strewn over the floor. She’d been in the cupboards, too, judging by the torn up cereal boxes and the scattering of cornflakes and Cheerios.
“I guess we’re having toast for breakfast,” I smiled.
“She’s had the door,” Callum said. His expression was heavy, really bloody horrified. I followed his gaze, and sure enough the living room door had been lacerated, strips of paint missing from the woodwork, the bedroom door hadn’t fared much better. “Must have shut herself in and panicked.”
“Oh well, now she’s learned to open doors I don’t imagine there’ll be much more scratching.”
