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“And yes, please,” I add, my voice hoarse, mouth dry. “Come for me. I want you to come for me.”
Before his lids get too heavy to battle, his eyes go doughy, soft and detached as his orgasm roars through him. His hand stops just before the red rim of his crown. His belly tightens, knotted with muscle and a sprinkling of trimmed hair.
His eruption marks the mirror, cum dripping down the faucet, streaking the tile counter. His fist twists around his crown as more release scatters over the sink, dropping with weight into the basin. Cum rolls around the curve of his knuckle, dripping from his fist.
My stomach bottoms out as my kegel muscles seize, my pussy clenching, desperate to be full, achy from emptiness. I press my lips to his back and reward him. “You were so hot. I got so turned on watching you. You’re…” I sigh against his back and enjoy the sinking of his shoulders as he relaxes back against me. “You’re so fucking good, Cohen. Everything about you is everything I’ve always wanted, and started to worry never existed.”
He turns in my arms, forgetting the mess in his hand, his eyes clearly captivated by my words. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for giving me that.”
Then he turns, and twists the sink knob, gushing water eating up the post-orgasmic haze, leaving us in light and clarity. “You’re welcome.”
He turns back once the sink is off, and drops to his knees carefully, bending down. His lips land on the top of my foot, and work their way up my ankle then around my calf. He kisses his way up, getting to his feet, pressing his lips to the top of a hand. He pulls me to him, kissing my neck, then jaw, and finally, my mouth.
His cock twitches against me, and my reaction is a soft smile, and nuzzling deeper into his lips. We break apart, and Cohen asks if he can help me get dressed. I don’t have much, so he loans me one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. I let him dress me, loving the attention. Loving how my body warms as his hands graze my center, slipping his t-shirt on me. How the backs of his fingers slide up my legs as he pulls up his boxer shorts.
He dishes up dinner, and fills his new dining table with plates of delicious, homemade food. Two glasses of wine and a bottle are there, along with a basket of warm bread and napkins. With silverware. Hallelujah to no more plastic utensils.
Before we dig in, and because I don’t think I can eat without knowing, I clear my throat.
“If I were ready, I mean, if I were to be completely sure I was ready to have… sex with you… would you be ready? Could you?”
His Adam’s apple jumps and his nostrils flare just slightly. “Yes.” His answer comes relatively quickly, and I wonder if all he needed to end his celibacy was hearing from someone that he’s worthy.
He’s punished himself for so long, deprived himself.
He needed to know he was worth more than that, because that was the key to moving past his grief. Feeling that there was a purpose for him here.
I feel so much for him, and what he's been through. And I want him. I want to use my body to bring him so much pleasure that he’s drunk off of me. Intoxicated, fully addicted to me and only me.
He’s beautiful and flawed, but perfect. And mine.
“Are you ready?” he asks, voice strong and steady, like him.
“I’m ready, Cohen. I want you. And you’re ready, too.” I swallow, and brace myself for a strange reaction, but I have an idea on how we can have our cake and eat it, too. Something I learned at Crave.
“But… to ease into things, there’s something we could do where…” I swallow and look down at my plate of warm, homemade food, and something ignites in my chest. I hope he gives this a chance because just the thought has me drenched. “You would be inside of me. But we wouldn’t have sex. We’d just…be.”
His lips twitch.
“What?” I ask, brows dipping. Is he laughing at me? I can’t believe Cohen would. Now he’s full blown smiling.
“Cockwarming,” he says, and Jesus Christ, my burnin’ loins and my achin’ ovaries. A man like Cohen saying dirty things? I may come right here, right now, swear to God.
“Why are you smirking?” Not that I don’t like it, I just don’t know what it means.
“I know what it is. You didn’t think I would.”
I don’t disagree. “You’re right. I didn’t. And you do?”
He nods but his smile is gone, his focus already back on the issue at hand.
“Sit in my lap,” he offers, voice rocky and raw, but low, too, scraping the nerve endings from me. My nipples are hard, my skin is covered in goosebumps, the back of my neck is moist from sweat and my cunt is pulsing so hard. “And I’ll feed you your dinner.” He pushes back from the table, moves his plate aside then leans over, tugging my meal to him. He pats his leg, and I go to him slowly, dragging my nails along the curved edge of the table, my tongue sweeping my bottom lip as I eye him.
“You like the idea?” I ask, my voice unexpectedly smoky.
“I think it’s a good way to see how you’ll feel,” he says, his tone serious. “But I do only what pleases you.”
I take a seat in his lap, legs draped over one side. With one shoulder partially leaned against him, he slides his hand up my back, under my shirt. He keeps me steady as he reaches between us, sliding his cock from his sweats. I tug my panties and shorts aside, and let out a whimpering moan as he notches himself at my wet hole.
