blankets, still warm from where I had been sleeping. I dribbled lube over the cleft of his ass, more than I needed but wanting to make a mess. Gently, even though he was verging on madness, I slid my fingers inside of him, scissoring, stroking, slow but steady, relentless as I curled them over his gland, feeling him jolt under me, twist and squirm with shallow breaths.
“Can’t make me yours; I won’t be. I’ll find someone that won’t pay attention to stupid girls who say they’re cold.”
“Idiot,” I told him, adding a third finger, pushing deep, circling wide, adding my thumb from my left hand. He was whining, the words incoherent but pleading, writhing under me, and the mantra of my name became demanding. I didn’t slide my fingers free. I yanked back, and he gasped in outrage before I grabbed his tight, firm ass, spread the cheeks open, and thrust hard and deep in one long, smooth glide.
He howled his rage and drowning, devouring pleasure.
“Oh fuck!”
His muscles were like a fist closing around me, holding tight, rippling and hot. My whole body tingled as I eased back and thrust in again, deeper, shifting my angle, finding the spot that made him scream. There was the first thump of poor Mrs. Chun’s broom against our floor. We had woken our neighbor yet again.
I smiled as I pumped in and out of my boyfriend’s ass, pounding him down into our bed, bucking as hard as I could so he’d know it was only him I wanted to fuck.
“Trev!”
I knew.
I pushed my fingers through his hair, made a fist, and jerked up, arching his back, lifting his ass, putting him into a position of submission, taking away all his power. He was there only for me to use.
He was sobbing, I could hear it, and I wasn’t sure what was most needed.
“Shall I come on you or in you,” I asked, my mouth next to his ear as I reached under him and squeezed his rock-hard shaft.
Between the panting and gasping and crying, I understood that I needed to fill him up; he wanted it to leak out of him for hours.
I was too close, my control was gone, so I grabbed his shaft, stroked and pulled, and when I felt his muscles clamp down, I plunged into him, lifting him with the force.
We were a bad porn movie together—not pretty, not gorgeous, but loud and messy and sticky with fluid and awash in tears.
My orgasm was endless, and I held him tight until it was done, until the flood receded and I could realize where I was again and care. We were covered in lube and cum and sweat, and I wiped my hands on the comforter and laughed huskily in his ear.
“Jesus, Trev, I think I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead,” I told him, chuckling, kissing his ear, his cheek, licking the salt from his skin, dabbing at the blood on his lip. “But you’re gonna feel like shit in the morning when all this nice euphoria bails and all you’ve got are bruises and laundry to do.”
He shivered hard.
“Hold on, lemme move so you can—”
“No,” he stopped me, reaching back, fingers grazing over my ass. “Stay there. I can still feel your dick pulsing inside. It hurts.”
“Well if it hurts, idiot, lemme pull—”
“I’m stretched and full and fuckin’ sore, but ohmygod how bad did I need that? How bad did I want it? Jesus.”
I was basically lying on top of him; I needed to move. “Baby, I have to be crushing you, and your ass needs a break.”
But he clenched his muscles just to make sure I didn’t move, which almost killed me, my skin overly sensitized, my penis slowly softening inside of him.
“I’m sorry I gave that girl my sweater. I’ll never do it again.”
“I wouldn’t have cared about the sweater if she knew you were fuckin’ mine.”
“Honey,” I soothed him, my voice hoarse and low, freeing myself from his still clenching channel, the tightness and heat too much to bear. “Everybody knows I’m yours.”
“They will once I carve my name into you.”
He sounded crazy again, but I was beyond being scared because I
“Can’t make me yours; I won’t be. I’ll find someone that won’t pay attention to stupid girls who say they’re cold.”
“Idiot,” I told him, adding a third finger, pushing deep, circling wide, adding my thumb from my left hand. He was whining, the words incoherent but pleading, writhing under me, and the mantra of my name became demanding. I didn’t slide my fingers free. I yanked back, and he gasped in outrage before I grabbed his tight, firm ass, spread the cheeks open, and thrust hard and deep in one long, smooth glide.
He howled his rage and drowning, devouring pleasure.
“Oh fuck!”
His muscles were like a fist closing around me, holding tight, rippling and hot. My whole body tingled as I eased back and thrust in again, deeper, shifting my angle, finding the spot that made him scream. There was the first thump of poor Mrs. Chun’s broom against our floor. We had woken our neighbor yet again.
I smiled as I pumped in and out of my boyfriend’s ass, pounding him down into our bed, bucking as hard as I could so he’d know it was only him I wanted to fuck.
“Trev!”
I knew.
I pushed my fingers through his hair, made a fist, and jerked up, arching his back, lifting his ass, putting him into a position of submission, taking away all his power. He was there only for me to use.
He was sobbing, I could hear it, and I wasn’t sure what was most needed.
“Shall I come on you or in you,” I asked, my mouth next to his ear as I reached under him and squeezed his rock-hard shaft.
Between the panting and gasping and crying, I understood that I needed to fill him up; he wanted it to leak out of him for hours.
I was too close, my control was gone, so I grabbed his shaft, stroked and pulled, and when I felt his muscles clamp down, I plunged into him, lifting him with the force.
We were a bad porn movie together—not pretty, not gorgeous, but loud and messy and sticky with fluid and awash in tears.
My orgasm was endless, and I held him tight until it was done, until the flood receded and I could realize where I was again and care. We were covered in lube and cum and sweat, and I wiped my hands on the comforter and laughed huskily in his ear.
“Jesus, Trev, I think I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead,” I told him, chuckling, kissing his ear, his cheek, licking the salt from his skin, dabbing at the blood on his lip. “But you’re gonna feel like shit in the morning when all this nice euphoria bails and all you’ve got are bruises and laundry to do.”
He shivered hard.
“Hold on, lemme move so you can—”
“No,” he stopped me, reaching back, fingers grazing over my ass. “Stay there. I can still feel your dick pulsing inside. It hurts.”
“Well if it hurts, idiot, lemme pull—”
“I’m stretched and full and fuckin’ sore, but ohmygod how bad did I need that? How bad did I want it? Jesus.”
I was basically lying on top of him; I needed to move. “Baby, I have to be crushing you, and your ass needs a break.”
But he clenched his muscles just to make sure I didn’t move, which almost killed me, my skin overly sensitized, my penis slowly softening inside of him.
“I’m sorry I gave that girl my sweater. I’ll never do it again.”
“I wouldn’t have cared about the sweater if she knew you were fuckin’ mine.”
“Honey,” I soothed him, my voice hoarse and low, freeing myself from his still clenching channel, the tightness and heat too much to bear. “Everybody knows I’m yours.”
“They will once I carve my name into you.”
He sounded crazy again, but I was beyond being scared because I
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