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He keeps that perfect speed until I release his back, then he moves a little faster, a little harder, the rhythm he needs.
There's something sexy about knowing he's close, feeling the change in his breath, the shudder of his thighs.
Then he's there, groaning against my neck, pulsing inside me.
He works through his orgasm, shifts off me, takes care of the condom, dons his boxers.
"Thanks." I don't move. I don't want to move. I want to lie here and absorb this.
"Thanks?" He laughs again. "You're different."
"What do people usually say?"
"Thanks is good." He takes a long look at me.
"You, uh, you can stay if you want," I say. "But I have an early class and my roomie will freak if you're here alone, so…"
"Do you want me to stay?"
No, but—"I won't kick you out of bed."
"Until tomorrow?"
"Basically."
He smiles. "Next time, we can do this when you don't have class. Go for round two in the morning."
Hmm. Is that why people spend the night after a booty call? "I've never had morning sex."
"I'll pop your cherry sometime."
Sometime. In the future. He wants to do this again.
"If you want." He pulls on his jeans and his t-shirt. "If this was a one-time-thing, I'm happy to be used."
"Is it that untoward?"
"I like thinking of it that way. It's sexy." He finds his socks and shoes and sits on the bed to don them. "But I'm happy to be used again. If you're game."
"If I'm what?"
He smiles, proud he wore me out. "Exactly."
He is handsome. And this was amazing. But it's overwhelming too. And seeing him again… that sounds like a relationship. The start of a relationship. And that's messy. Too messy.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asks.
"I'm just going to sleep here."
"In that case—" He gathers my sheets and drapes them over my body. "Good night, Imogen." Patrick leans down and presses his lips to mine. "Call me if you want to go again."
"Just sex?"
"Just sex." He says it casually, as if he's said it a million times before.
Maybe it's casual for him.
But for me?
