It didn’t stay soft for long.
No, he didn’t get it on with her at a cinema. But they most certainly made out in the back row for more than a few scenes. And later that night, once Carly was in bed, they did a hell of a lot more.
11
Julia used to wonder who those people were. The ones you hear about in Facebook groups or surveys. The ones who skew the studies on frequency of sex to the point where others whisper skeptically, no way are the Smiths doing it every night.
Now she knew.
She was one of the lucky ones. The outlier. The end of the bell curve. The exception.
She didn’t know what it was like to go to bed without touching her man. That would be like going to sleep with unbrushed teeth, or leaving the house each morning without a shower.
Sex with Clay was part of the routine, though by no means was it routine. It was anything but. It was nightly, it was daily, it was regular, it was necessary, and it was heavenly. Sure, they sought ways to keep their sex life fresh and exciting, like their “stranger sex on the boat” role-play, and other naughty encounters in public places. Other times, they tried new toys, new surfaces, new ways to tie her up, since she’d always been thrilled at being restrained by him, whether with a tie, a belt, a scarf, or his hands. Every now and then, he teased her in forbidden ways, his tongue or finger exploring her in delightfully dirty places on her body, giving her new reasons to say Oh god, that’s so good. More often than not lately, she fantasized about exploring further in that direction, but that night she wanted something straightforward.
Sometimes simple was the best, and sometimes it was all you really needed, anyway.
Lying on her side, she slid a hand beneath the sheets, danced her fingers down the firm planes of Clay’s chest, over the grooves in his abs, and to the trail of hair that led to the happiest place.
His breath hitched, and he shifted from his back to his side, as if his body sought hers. Facing him now, she pressed her lips to his mouth, dusting a soft kiss as her hand traveled lower still, until she found the bounty—his growing erection.
He groaned his appreciation as she wrapped her hand around his thick cock. Stroking him, she marveled at the feel of the velvet-smooth skin that covered the steel length of him. She didn’t comprehend not wanting to touch him. That simply made no sense to her. How could she share a bed with this man and not crave his body? She wanted him now. Badly. A few strokes, a couple lingering tugs on his dick, and she was wet and needy, desperate to be filled. Like that, she molded to him, slinging a leg over his hip.
“It’s my favorite time of day,” he murmured.
“Mine, too,” she whispered, as she guided him closer.
Most of the time, he was a demanding lover and a commanding man who told her what he wanted and what he’d do to her. Like that, he was mouth-wateringly sexy, devastatingly handsome, and so damn intoxicating. Like this, as he let her lead, he was all those things, too.
She dipped her head to his neck, sniffing that enticing, masculine scent of him then rubbing her cheek against his stubbled jaw. A bolt of heat shot through her body. She could literally feel her sex turn hotter and wetter. A pulse beat between her legs, and she longed to draw him into her.
She smothered his neck in kisses, thrilling at the throaty groans and husky murmurs that fell from his lips as she kissed him and stroked him, his dick thickening with every touch. His erection throbbed in her palm, and she guided his length between her legs, rubbing the head against all that wetness. Sliding his cock against her. Playing. Touching. Teasing.
A groan ripped from his throat. “So fucking wet,” he said, like he was admiring her.
With her hand wrapped around the base of him, she rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, moving his thick cock against her wet lips in the most delirious bit of foreplay she could imagine. He wasn’t inside her; he was simply stroking against her, his erection sliding over and back, across and around, turning her on wildly.
She arched against him, moaning like a cat, her desire morphing to full-bore need as she gripped his cock and dragged him between her legs.
She flipped to her back, and he followed her, their moves like a carnal ballet as she spread wide for him and he slid his cock deep into her.
Sometimes they fucked like porn stars, on all fours, dirty words spilling forth from their lips. Sometimes he spanked her, bit her collarbone, pulled her hair. Sometimes, he bent her over the couch, screwed her on the balcony, or nailed her on the kitchen counter.
Other times, they did it like this. Basic missionary. But there was nothing basic about this love. It was elemental and primal, and to Julia, it was beautiful.
She stretched her arms over her head, and he knew what she wanted.