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“Maybe you impress me just by being you.” He kissed my temple, brushing my hair out of the way.
“Hey, I’m already a sure thing tonight,” I protested as I followed him into the bedroom.
“Even sure things deserve sweet talk.” After shutting the door, he backed his words up with a kiss so gentle I couldn’t help but shiver.
“You okay?” Monroe stepped back to peer at me. “I’d be fine if—”
“I want to try this.” I pulled off my T-shirt with a flourish and shoved my shorts and briefs down to show him exactly how ready I was. “I do. I need you to trust that I’ll say stop if I need you to change directions.”
“I do trust you.” The look Monroe gave me was so serious I stopped mid-naked flounce. My breath caught as I tried to decipher all the layers of meaning in his expression.
“I trust you too.” I tried to match his nuance, and in holding his gaze, each word felt like a vow. Emotions I didn’t know how to confront threatened to overwhelm me, so I looked away, glancing at the bed. “I showered earlier, but I can go—”
“Only place you’re going is right here.” Smiling as if he also needed a break from the solemness, Monroe tumbled me onto the bed.
“Only place I wanna be.” I grinned up at him, way more comfortable being playful. As soon as he was naked, I was on him, both of us rolling around on the bed, covers and pillows going every which way. We kissed and touched and laughed and tickled because that was kind of our thing, getting turned on while also having fun. I loved goading Monroe into showing me some of his military moves, tickling his sides until he flipped me onto my stomach and nibbled at my neck and shoulders.
The light scrape of his teeth made my toes curl against the cotton sheets, and I lost interest in wrestling, stirring cock reminding me what I’d asked for. But Monroe didn’t seem in any hurry, licking across my shoulder blades with the tip of his tongue like he was outlining an invisible tattoo.
“Monroe.” I tried to roll, but he gently returned my head to the nearby pillow.
“Get comfy,” he ordered as he dug his thumbs along my spine, a divine but way too damn slow massage. I made another impatient noise, which made him laugh. “I would think the king of slow could have a bit more patience.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know.” Monroe cackled and dragged his cock against the back of my thighs.
“Be serious.” I’d meant that I was way more comfortable being the one setting the pace, as with dancing. Neither of us was the leader, precisely, but in both bed and on the dance floor, I usually set the tempo. Awaiting whatever dastardly bit of choreography Monroe had planned was a new form of torture. And then Monroe slithered backward, tongue following the track his thumb had made. “Oh.”
He’d telegraphed his destination from that first bite on my neck, but knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. I didn’t always rim Monroe before we fucked, but I had enough of an oral fixation that there was usually some mouth action in the warm-up. So I wasn’t surprised to feel Monroe’s breath across my ass, but the way it made me shudder was new, this low knot of anticipation gathering deep inside me.
Unlike myself, who merely did a decent job of faking being able to wait, Monroe had actual patience, nibbling each of my ass cheeks while rubbing and massaging my glutes. He had his own style, too, different from my dive-in-and-get-to-it, which I probably also should have expected. Not knowing what he was about to do next made it easier to tolerate the delay in action.
But as it turned out, the delay was the action. Each touch and kiss relaxed me a little more until I stopped waiting for him to fuck me and started enjoying the unpredictability of his play. At some point, he’d added lube to the mix, and I barely registered the increased slipperiness of his fingers until he rubbed circles around my rim. The firm, steady pressure was familiar.
“Ah. I like this.” This was similar enough to how I played on my own sometimes when edging that I further sank into the sensations.
“And this?” He took advantage of my relaxed state, easing a finger in then retreating, teasing with a mere hint of penetration, a little deeper each pass.
“More.” The demand came from some guttural place in my throat, the same place moans kept escaping from. And then he complied, finger curving, and I braced for the pressure on my prostate, the live wire feeling my body never seemed too sure whether it liked or not. But as soon as I tensed, Monroe backed off slightly, coaxing sensations rather than pushing, a distinction I’d never made. And instead of a live wire to avoid, he gave me a damn light show. “Oh wow.”
