A Deeper Blue(8)

By: S.E. Harmon


I flat-out refused to spend any of the little time we had left rehashing old arguments.

“Yeah?” I took his hand and put it where I wanted it most. “What else can you feel?”

His chuckle was muffled in the pillow as he gamely slid his hand up and down my dick. “I don’t know… an angry banana?”

“You’re a funny guy.”

He turned his head to the side, and I watched his expressive face as he fisted my dick. I knew his face as well as I knew my own—the sly curve of his shapely mouth, the slightly winged shape of his eyebrows—which he absolutely did pluck, even though he said he didn’t—the glint of a thin silver hoop at the edge of the left one, the long sweep of his dark lashes against high, creamy cheekbones, and the delicate three studs down the length of his ear. I loved everything about his face, everything about him. I kept hoping the intensity of that love would fade, just for my sanity’s sake, but it hadn’t.

He had created quite a rhythm with those clever fingers at that point, and I finally knocked his hand away with a groan. I rolled him on his back and kneeled between his thighs, which spread almost automatically to accommodate me. God knew he’d had enough practice by then. We were like two sex-crazed animals sometimes. Our sex life was comprised of a strange kind of greedy math—the more we had, the more we fucking wanted.

I looked down his body at what was entirely, wholly mine—long, beautifully shaped legs with strong thighs that held me easily, a stomach he bemoaned because it was a little soft, but I secretly liked it. I would never, ever, even under threat of torture, admit I enjoyed watching that little bit of softness jiggle when I fucked him.

He would put a hit out on me within the hour.

I rubbed my hand over his stomach just then, and the creamy softness of his skin blushed in the wake of my hand like a magical human watercolor. He glared at me. “I’ve taken up jogging, you know. Just ask Waffles.”

I tried not to smile. I knew better than to question him about his exercising habits when he’d named our dog after a breakfast food. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I leaned down then, when he would’ve kept talking and maybe gotten us in the world’s stupidest argument—it had happened before—and took his mouth with mine. Everything was just right—the slide of his tongue against mine, the scrape of his tongue ring against my teeth, the vague taste of minty toothpaste that hadn’t yet dissipated.

I kissed him softly for a while, just enjoying his mouth and the softness of his lips against mine. I’d flown over two thousand miles for that moment—worth every mile. My mouth quirked then, just thinking of how sentimental he’d accuse me of being if I said something that fucking sappy out loud.

“What’re you smiling about?” he murmured against my mouth, and I pulled back and sat on my haunches.

“You.”

I didn’t clarify any further. That was all I needed to say.

He watched me, unsmiling and intense, as I drizzled lube on my fingers and prepared him, working and scissoring my fingers. “Gotta have you,” I muttered. “Gotta get inside you.”

Then I was sliding inside him, all the way in, and it was fucking unbelievable. I’d never been gladder that we’d stopped using condoms—sex with condoms had been fantastic, but this… this was something else entirely. I don’t know how much of it was actually tied to the physical condom itself and how much of it was because the lack of one meant that we trusted each other. No matter who knew and who we had to hide it from, we were committed. It was real…. We were real.

I was seated so deep that I was almost afraid to breathe. If he made me stop, made me pull out right then, I was pretty sure I would die.

“S’ good,” he slurred, almost drunk with it. “Now fuck me.”

“I am.”

“Do it,” he goaded me. “Hard.”

What started out as romantic and easy had turned dark and dirty and sweaty. The room was silent except for the sound of our skin slapping together, the rhythmic rocking of the headboard against the wall, and our harsh breathing. I tried to remember a time when my happiness wasn’t tied to being buried in Kelly’s tight ass, but I came up blank.