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I felt the tip of his thumb circling my second hole, the one that made me dripping wet when toyed with. Makai understood this. He’d learned it over the last few weeks and weaponized my vulnerability to spark flames within me that neither of us could smolder.
“Cum on this dick, Glacier.”
My milkiness dripped onto the bed, making a mess beneath us. Our skin stuck together with each stroke. I was leaking like a faucet, thick, creaminess that sounded like stirred spaghetti.
I wasn’t sure if I could, again, but Makai had made me a believer enough times to know that anything was possible with him in control of our escapades.
“Arch that back and move ya fucking hand,” he grunted, slapping my hand away. “Take this dick. You got it, Mommas.”
His words.
His stroke.
His baritone.
His commands.
His encouragement.
His passive aggression.
They were a lethal combination, making my toes curl and my faucet leak. I gripped the pillows in front of me, trying my hardest to obey his rules. The pleasurable pain his long strokes caused had me dazed, dizzy, and unable to speak. Announcing my second orgasm was impossible because my head was stuffed so far in the pillow and all that occupied it at the moment was air.
“That’s it,” Makai moaned. “Shit, I’m ’bout to cum.”
Still reeling as sweat beads popped up on my chest, I managed to get a glimpse of Makai as he pulled out of me and let his soldiers march across my butt. I fell forward with ringing ears and an ultra-sensitive center. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and catch the Zs that appeared above my head. Makai wasn’t interested in sleep, though. He was ready for our day to officially begin.
“Get up,” he demanded, slapping my right cheek. “I’m starting the shower.”
I was immobile. My brain wasn’t sending the correct signals to my body, leaving me in a vegetative state. Not even words would form so I remained silent. It wasn’t until the warmth of a rag brushed across my skin did I feel alive again. Delicately, Makai removed his residue from my backside.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“The water is running.”
“I can’t move.”
Soundlessly, he lifted me into his arms and tossed me over his shoulder. As if I was a feather, he never broke a sweat. His breathing remained even.
“There.”
He lowered my feet to the floor of the shower and closed the glass door behind us.
“Are you okay to stand?”
“Yes.” I nodded, unsure how long my response would reflect the truth.
The water was therapeutic. It rained down on my skin, rejuvenating my body with each passing second. I held out my palms, allowing the drops to fall freely into my hands. There was something so special and soothing about the element that I’d learned so much about throughout school and even in college.
“Turn around, Mommas. Let me get you cleaned up.”
Obliging, I fell into the habit that Makai and I had created.
He started at my chin, working the towel around my neck and then down my chest. My shoulders were next. My breasts followed. Gently, he took his time, making sure every inch was covered in suds.
He cleansed my body with the same passion he stroked my insides. My mouth slacked as my head fell backward, feeling each passing of his hand on the other end of the towel. He was making love to me, again, which made my orgasm inevitable, especially when his bare hand brushed against my vagina.
