"Oh my..." I moaned, feeling my sex tighten almost painfully as the orgasm built to a pinnacle point.
"Fuck yeah, fucking come for me, Kennedy," he growled as he slammed into me again.
I wasn't sure it was possible before, but I both soared and crashed simultaneously, the sensation a pulling, pushing tug of war through my entire system as the waves of pleasure crashed through me.
His name cried out from between my lips.
He came with me, brought to the edge himself, leaning into my knees until they slid numbly open, burying his face in my neck, coming with my name on his lips.
And nothing in the world had ever sounded quite so right before.
My eyes shot open at that, staring up at the high ceiling of his bedroom, realizing too late, as I often did in life, that I had made a mistake.
Not because I regretted it.
Actually, it was anything but that.
But that was precisely the problem.
It was a risky game I had chosen to play- pitting my mind against the worthy opponents known as my body and heart.
And as much as my brain had a running monolog of: we aren't going to catch feelings, we aren't going to catch feelings, wearen'tgoingtocatchfeelings!
My body and heart pretty much flipped my brain off and said: oh yeah? Just watch us.
Great.
Just great.NINEPaganAbout, say, oh, point-two seconds after I came, I realized I was glad I agreed to a fuck buddy situation. Because I was going to need a whole hell of a lot more of her.
I had barely caught my breath, but thoughts of bending her over, getting her on her knees, or eating her sweet pussy until she fucking screamed, had my cock stirring again already as I moved off to the bathroom.
I knew going in that she wasn't a hookup girl, but I had no idea she was fucking shy about sex. I also had no idea that I would find that shit ridiculously hot. How could I? Pretty much all I had known in my life were women who viewed sex as casually as I did.
For me, it was a physical act. Nothing more, nothing less. It was needs satisfying needs. Any woman was just as good as the next for that. Sure, some fucks were better than other fucks, and that meant I had them multiple times during a one-time encounter, but I had never felt the need for a repeat past the one night.
A large part of that, admittedly, was the fact that I didn't want anyone trying to sink her hooks into my dick and reel me in. And the best way to avoid that was to avoid any type of confusion about the situation at all.
It was easy to have a fuck and know that was all it was, for both men and women alike.
The fuck buddy situation, yeah, not as cut and dry. Some could pull it off, some couldn't. It was smarter to avoid it entirely.
I dealt with the condom and washed my hands, careful not to scrub the scabs on my knuckles, not wanting to break them open again. I healed fast thanks to all the years of toughening up. By morning, I could loosen them up. In another day, the scabs would be gone and I would be ready to go again. You know, not that the scabs would have stopped me if the need for a fight arose in the meantime. But knowing Kennedy was squeamish meant I was going to try to keep my blood inside my body around her.
For sex like that, it wasn't too much to ask.
I rolled the tension in my shoulders from the fight, flicked off the light, and headed back into my room to find her sitting off the bed with my sheet mostly covering her, like she was torn between whether to go find her dress and acknowledge that the fucking portion of the night was over, or if maybe she was staying.
"Fuck you doing? Get on the bed," I said, walking back toward it, watching as her eyes got big, worried almost. Worried about what? Fuck if I knew.
"I thought you would be taking me..."
"Won't be taking you home 'till I'm done with you," I said, stopping in front of where she was still sitting off the side of the bed, raising a brow at her until she finally shifted and moved up onto the center of the bed, leaving space for me to climb in. I did, snatching the sheet she was holding to her body like a fucking thermal blanket in a blizzard, and climbing under as well.
The after fucking thing, yeah, that was new. Usually, it involved hastily redressing or, if I needed a round two, me disappearing outside for a smoke then finding a drink somewhere, then going right back in, fucking until my heart's content, then getting the hell out of Dodge.