I wake up with her hair in my mouth and my dick rock hard.
In the soft glow of the streetlamp through the window, I can perfectly make out her silhouette. The bare curve of her shoulder. The elegant line of her bare thigh. The curl of her fingers against my red, scabbing chest. Her tits are mashed up into my side as she sleeps, breaths steady through parted lips against my throat.
I reach up slowly, brushing my knuckles along the swell of her breast. When she doesn’t move, I carefully—so fucking carefully—roll her to her back. She makes a sleepy, plaintive sound, curling back into my warmth. I shush her by hovering close and pausing, waiting for her to fall back into the deep sleep that makes that unhappy divot in her forehead disappear.
When it does, I dip in to whisper against her lips. “I love you.”
It feels perverse to speak the words aloud—more perverse than my fingers sliding between her legs.
She’s still slick, and when I extend my tongue, painting a wet strip across the crease of her mouth, I imagine she can still taste herself on it. Her thigh shifts, opening for me, and my dick throbs. She looks like an angel when I let myself take her in, and it’s almost exactly what I said before. Paralyzing. In no universe should I have dominion over something so painfully sweet.
But that’s exactly what I have.
Breathing hard, I fumble for my pants, unbuttoning them and shoving everything down my thighs. My cock springs free, hard and angry, bouncing against her hip. I have to force myself to slow down, to be quiet and placid, to not wake her up by slamming between her thighs like an animal.
Delicately, I knee in between her open thighs, balancing myself so the bed won’t rock her awake. My cock brushes over her inner thigh, light enough to be a tickle, and it makes her twitch away, opening up wider for me. I spend a long moment slowing my breaths, because even though it’s winter and her fan is running in the corner, sweat is still springing up on my neck.
Before I can even get inside her, my hand directing the base of my dick to her folds, pre-cum is already leaking out of the tip, threatening to drip onto the bed below us. But she doesn’t want it there. She wants it inside her—nowhere else.
So I hastily burrow the head of my cock into her hole.
Her fingers twitch against the sheets, as if they’re grasping for something. Unthinkingly, I reach for them, lacing our fingers together as I remain suspended, barely inside of her. I wait a long moment for her to fall back into slumber, and then give my hips a nudge, sinking in deeper.
I wasn’t lying before, about her being more to me than some risky, illicit, midnight fuck. That doesn’t mean the thrill isn’t there, though. The fact that Tristian and Rath could be watching just makes it that much more heady, the way I screw my hips down into hers. I play it like a game—dig and wait, dig and wait—wondering how long I’ll be able to do this without waking her. It makes my blood zing, electrified by the slack line of her mouth and her eyes moving beneath her eyelids.
When I finally bottom out, I curl over her, lifting our linked hands to her chest, nestled between us like a precious, secret thing. I don’t know what it means to make love to someone, but if this isn’t it, then I’ll never be capable of it, because it hurts. It hurts to keep it slow as I rock my hips into hers, but the thought of disturbing it all hurts even more.
I kiss her lips just the way she’d touched my sore knuckles earlier—feather-light, gentle. The only time she stirs is when I try to force my tongue inside, so I don’t. Not until I push the weight of my pelvis into hers, pressing against her clit and making her jaw go slack. It’s all so easy then, licking into her mouth, tongue pushing between her teeth to seek the softness within. She’s so wet and tight around me, and everything is so fucking perfect and soft and sweet that I doubt I can last much longer, already feeling my balls draw tight.
I know when her tongue moves against mine that she’s waking, slowly rousing herself from the fog of sleep to curl her fingers, squeezing our linked hands. It’s not like it used to be. There’s no swoop of disappointment at the realization, no nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I’ve lost the game, no stab of insecurity that she’s felt something too substantial, too tender.
There’s no fear.
There’s just me, moving inside her as she sleepily kisses me back, pushing a moan from her throat. I know then that I can finally pull my hips back and fuck her, and even if I keep it light and slow, her body still rocks with the force of it.
The shift from sleep to wakefulness gives me the best of both worlds, making my dick impossibly harder. Her legs coil around my waist, her fingers bend and clench, holding tight. The breathy moans, the precipice of her orgasm, heats my skin and Jesus, she takes it, the relentless pounding, the hungry kisses, everything I throw at her. She takes it all.