chest rises and falls against mine, my nipples tingling from the brush of his taut skin. I can feel it, the spiral of arousal beginning to unwind slow and rich, but the shadow of pain lingers.
I put my hand on the side of Dean’s neck. His pulse beats hard against my palm. He lifts his head.
“I don’t think I—” I start.
“It’s okay.” He runs his thumb down my cleft, lowers his head to my breasts.
I let my eyes drift closed, even as I know that this desire is going to spin around inside me with nowhere to go, like an endless whirlpool. Even as my body surges, as shivers rain down my spine, I sense the blunt edge of unfulfilled lust.
“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry.”
His laugh is hoarse and hot against my breasts. “Ah, sweetie, you have no reason to be sorry.”
He pushes his hips against me, and his very stiff erection nudges my thigh. I get the message and grasp his shaft, sliding my hand up and down, rubbing my thumb across the crown. I squeeze my legs together, longing for the break in tension, the cascade into bliss.
When Dean mutters low against my throat and pumps his cock into my fist, I feel a responding surge deep in the pit of my stomach. One more pull on his shaft, and he comes between us with hard pulses, his semen spurting over my belly. I love the shuddering of his muscular body, the way he grips my waist, the rough groan vibrating against my skin.
He eases away to catch his breath, his mouth seeking mine as he slips his hand down my abdomen and into my cleft again. Again, his touch is so gentle that my body begins to relax.
“Come on, beauty,” he whispers, threading his other hand through my hair, his breath warm against my lips. “Let me see you come.”
His deep voice settles in my core. With a muffled moan, I spread my legs wider. He slips his forefinger into my slit, his thumb stimulating my clit in slow, delicious circles. Fresh tension begins to lace through me, that pull toward release that I crave and yet haven’t experienced in far too long.
“Oh, Dean.” I arch upward, pressing my breasts against him. “I feel it…”
“So fucking beautiful.” He lifts his head, his smoldering gaze on mine, his face flushed with heat. “Give it to me, nice and hard.”
He increases the pressure, lowering his head to take my tight nipple between his teeth. One teasing tug, and a thousand sparks shoot to my core. Before I can stop it, I’m straining toward the crest of bliss.
“Dean, I’m going to come.” I grip his shoulders, bucking my hips up into his hand. “Oh, God… harder, I’m… oh!”
The tension breaks. With a shriek, I come, rapture flooding me in wave after wave of exquisite sensation. Dean’s murmurs of pleasure are a steady stream against my breasts as I quake and shudder beneath him. He continues working his fingers between my legs until the wave begins to recede, leaving me panting and sated.
“Oh.” I inhale a breath, wiping a trickle of sweat from my temple. “Oh my.”
Dean straightens and slides his hand over my damp belly. His hot gaze drifts over my naked body.
“Well,” he remarks, “we might not need the pineapple after all.”
*
January 25—3:28 a.m.
“Dean? Dean.” I reach across the bed to jostle his shoulder. “Dean!”
“Hmm?” He shifts and rolls toward me, locking his arm around my chest. “Are you having a sex dream? Because I’d be happy to—”
“I’m having a contraction.”
“What?” His eyes fly open.
I put a hand on my belly. “It’s not strong, but it’s definitely a contraction. The orgasm must have worked.”
“Really? I know I get you going, but—”
“Dean! It’s a contraction. ”
He pushes up to one elbow and reaches out to put his hand on my stomach. Then he blinks. “Wait, what the hell am I doing? Where’s the stopwatch?”
He leans over to grab the stopwatch from the drawer of his nightstand. “Hold on. Tell me when the next one starts.”
We wait. And wait. When I feel another one
I put my hand on the side of Dean’s neck. His pulse beats hard against my palm. He lifts his head.
“I don’t think I—” I start.
“It’s okay.” He runs his thumb down my cleft, lowers his head to my breasts.
I let my eyes drift closed, even as I know that this desire is going to spin around inside me with nowhere to go, like an endless whirlpool. Even as my body surges, as shivers rain down my spine, I sense the blunt edge of unfulfilled lust.
“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry.”
His laugh is hoarse and hot against my breasts. “Ah, sweetie, you have no reason to be sorry.”
He pushes his hips against me, and his very stiff erection nudges my thigh. I get the message and grasp his shaft, sliding my hand up and down, rubbing my thumb across the crown. I squeeze my legs together, longing for the break in tension, the cascade into bliss.
When Dean mutters low against my throat and pumps his cock into my fist, I feel a responding surge deep in the pit of my stomach. One more pull on his shaft, and he comes between us with hard pulses, his semen spurting over my belly. I love the shuddering of his muscular body, the way he grips my waist, the rough groan vibrating against my skin.
He eases away to catch his breath, his mouth seeking mine as he slips his hand down my abdomen and into my cleft again. Again, his touch is so gentle that my body begins to relax.
“Come on, beauty,” he whispers, threading his other hand through my hair, his breath warm against my lips. “Let me see you come.”
His deep voice settles in my core. With a muffled moan, I spread my legs wider. He slips his forefinger into my slit, his thumb stimulating my clit in slow, delicious circles. Fresh tension begins to lace through me, that pull toward release that I crave and yet haven’t experienced in far too long.
“Oh, Dean.” I arch upward, pressing my breasts against him. “I feel it…”
“So fucking beautiful.” He lifts his head, his smoldering gaze on mine, his face flushed with heat. “Give it to me, nice and hard.”
He increases the pressure, lowering his head to take my tight nipple between his teeth. One teasing tug, and a thousand sparks shoot to my core. Before I can stop it, I’m straining toward the crest of bliss.
“Dean, I’m going to come.” I grip his shoulders, bucking my hips up into his hand. “Oh, God… harder, I’m… oh!”
The tension breaks. With a shriek, I come, rapture flooding me in wave after wave of exquisite sensation. Dean’s murmurs of pleasure are a steady stream against my breasts as I quake and shudder beneath him. He continues working his fingers between my legs until the wave begins to recede, leaving me panting and sated.
“Oh.” I inhale a breath, wiping a trickle of sweat from my temple. “Oh my.”
Dean straightens and slides his hand over my damp belly. His hot gaze drifts over my naked body.
“Well,” he remarks, “we might not need the pineapple after all.”
*
January 25—3:28 a.m.
“Dean? Dean.” I reach across the bed to jostle his shoulder. “Dean!”
“Hmm?” He shifts and rolls toward me, locking his arm around my chest. “Are you having a sex dream? Because I’d be happy to—”
“I’m having a contraction.”
“What?” His eyes fly open.
I put a hand on my belly. “It’s not strong, but it’s definitely a contraction. The orgasm must have worked.”
“Really? I know I get you going, but—”
“Dean! It’s a contraction. ”
He pushes up to one elbow and reaches out to put his hand on my stomach. Then he blinks. “Wait, what the hell am I doing? Where’s the stopwatch?”
He leans over to grab the stopwatch from the drawer of his nightstand. “Hold on. Tell me when the next one starts.”
We wait. And wait. When I feel another one
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