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“You did,” I whisper. “It’s do-over night, remember? And tonight, you’re going to stay.”
“All night,” he promises, setting me down just long enough to grab the key card from his pocket and press it to the door outside our room.
Then, I’m back in his arms, being carried over the threshold like a bride on her wedding night.
Barrett
I want to go slow, to savor her, to show her just how vividly I’ve imagined being with her again by driving her gradually, deliciously wild. I want to make her writhe and moan and beg for me the way she did that night in her hallway, but this time, I won’t rush the foreplay or the aftercare.
Aftercare is a concept from the kink community that I came across in a sexual health newsletter a couple months ago, but the more I read about it, the more I realized aftercare should be for everyone.
It’s a time to touch base with your lover, to make sure everything was good for them and to ensure they know how good it was for you. It’s a time to show them how much you appreciate their vulnerability, not just sexually, but emotionally.
And it’s something Wren sure as hell deserved the first time around.
As I lay her down on the bed and stand, tugging off my jacket, I silently promise myself that I won’t fuck this up.
“What are you thinking?” She slips her jacket off, tossing it onto the floor as she toes off her shoes. “You have a very intense look on your face.”
“I have very intense feelings about you in that dress,” I say, unbuttoning my shirt, needing to feel her skin against mine. “And I’d very much like to get you out of it. With my teeth.”
Heat flaring in her eyes, she whispers, “Yes, please.”
“Roll over,” I murmur, shucking my pants, shoes, and socks as she shifts over onto her stomach and pulls her hair to one side, revealing the long silver zipper I glimpsed earlier.
Climbing onto the bed, I straddle her petite form on all fours and bend, trapping the zipper with my teeth. I drag it down slowly, inch by inch, relishing the way she shivers beneath me as I reach the small of her back and drag my tongue across the newly bared skin.
“Barrett?” she murmurs, her hips shifting against the mattress.
“Yes, Wren?” I ask as I gather the bottom of her dress in my hands, slowly baring the bottom of her ass, my breath hissing out as I realize she’s wearing a thong. I lean down, nipping at the curve of her bottom, making her moan and shift again.
“I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone,” she says, her thighs parting slightly. “And I’m still on the pill so…”
“No condom, got it,” I say, my voice deeper, thicker as I kiss my way across to the other side of her bottom, relishing every dip and curve, but deliberately avoiding the already damp crotch of her panties.
But I can see the darker fabric there, smell the scent of her slick heat, and it makes me crazy, even before she says, “Just so you know, you’re the only one. The only one I’ve ever asked not to use one. I’ve always hated them, but…it just didn’t feel safe with anyone else.”
Only me.
The only one.
I want to be her only one for a hell of a lot longer than three months, but this isn’t the time for that conversation. It isn’t the time for conversation at all. Somehow, I know all I need to say is, “You are safe with me. You always will be. I promise.”
She sighs and softens beneath me. Then, I pull her thong to one side and glide one finger over her clit as I press another inside her and she starts making those sounds I love. The sounds that drive me crazy. The ones I’ve dreamt of so many times since she left only to wake up aching and alone and pretty sure I’d stay that way for the rest of my life.
But maybe not…
At least for now, for tonight, I’m not alone.
I’ve never felt less alone. It’s so easy with Wren, so seamless. As she rolls over and we kiss until we’re breathless and the rest of our clothes vanish beneath our eager hands, I realize I feel safe with her, too.
I don’t have to put on a show or worry that I’m not doing sex right or be anyone but myself. Leaning in to the vulnerable space we’ve both inhabited tonight, I whisper against her breast, “I used to worry I was missing cues here, too.”
“Boob cues?” she asks, raking her fingernails through my hair, sending a delicious shiver across my skin.
“No.” I smile and flick my tongue over her nipple. “In the bedroom. I had a girlfriend in college who would get so frustrated with me, but she never said what I was doing wrong.”
