Every single fiber of my being wants it, almost like some other force has completely taken control of me. Even though not an hour ago, he told me himself exactly how bad that idea is.
The head of his cock bumps against my thigh, slick with precum, and I stroke him one more time, nearly trembling as my self-control shreds.
Then he pushes himself away and kisses me.
"You've got condoms, yeah?" he murmurs.
I swallow and nod.
"Yeah," I whisper, and get off the floor, taking a deep breath.
I've had sex before, and I've been horny as hell before, but never like this. This feels like some other force has taken me over completely, so much that I'm nearly powerless against it.
I grab a condom out of my underwear drawer, glad that at least one of us can still think straight, and glad that I stay prepared.
When I turn, Gavin's sitting in my desk chair, cock sticking straight up, massive and proud, his fist closed around the base. It's sexy as hell, and for a moment I can't believe that this is real, that this incredibly hot man is in my apartment, with that body and that dick, hard like that for me.
Then he strokes himself and I walk over and straddle him, condom in my hand, his thick cock sticking up between our bellies as I wrap my fist around it. He kisses me yet again, hard and deep and I rock into him, tempted to put him inside me right this second, even though I'm actually holding the condom.
I don't. Gavin kisses my neck and takes the foil package from me, rips it open, and bites my collarbone a little too hard as he unrolls it onto his length, my fingernails digging into his shoulder.
He lifts me, my toes barely on the floor, my face against his as I guide him to my entrance, so wet I'm nearly dripping. I've got my forearms on his shoulders, holding myself up, my whole body coiled and tense with desire, with the promise of what's about to happen.
"Say yes again," he whispers.
"Yes," I breathe.
In that instant he lowers me and I let myself down, finally taking his length inside me in one slow, long stroke. We both groan as he hits every sensitive spot inside me and suddenly I'm sitting on him again, our hips together but now he's buried inside me and Jesus Christ it feels good.
"God, you feel fucking perfect," he growls, his face in my neck.
I'm panting, eyes closed, and I move my hips so that Gavin rocks inside me as he wraps one hand around my shoulder from the back, the other on my hip, shifting me back and forth.
We move together like that, harder and faster, and it feels so good I can't think. I can only hang on, holding Gavin to me as tight as I can, my lips against his ear as I moan louder and louder.
"Fuck, Marisol," he whispers, kissing my neck as he holds me, thrusting hard.
I swear he's found a deep, primal spot inside me that I didn't know was there. He's hitting it over and over and it feels so fucking good I think I might lose my mind, spiraling up and up, threatening to explode as our bodies move together in a furious, delirious rhythm.
Then suddenly I'm at the top and everything is pure white light for a single instant.
"Yes," I whisper into Gavin's ear, and I explode.
I feel like I'm on fire, bursting into a million pieces, and all I can do is hang on, still moving against Gavin as I moan uncontrollably and he holds me so tight I think I might burst. He groans again and pulls me down as hard as he can, his face in my neck, then against my ear and he growls something I can't even understand.
Gradually, it fades, and even though I'm still gasping for breath, my heart beating out of my chest, my hands nearly shaking, I kiss Gavin on the temple, hands in his hair. He turns, my face in his hands, and kisses me full on for a long, long time as we sit there, him still inside me.
After a long time I pull back, resting our foreheads together, and I touch his face, his chin, letting my fingers trail down his neck. I can feel his pulse, beating fast and hard, and I take a deep breath.
"Did you, uh..." I say, and let the sentence trail off, because suddenly I have no idea what to say. I'm not exactly a dirty talker.
He laughs softly, stroking my back.
"Achieve orgasm?" he teases. "I did."
"Me too," I say.
He kisses me.
"I was hoping that's what happened when you clawed the skin off my back and nearly screamed in my ear," he says. "Otherwise I'd be a bit afraid to see what it actually looks like."
"Shut up," I say.
We kiss again.
27
Gavin
We sit in Marisol's office chair for a good while. I'm a little afraid she'll cut off the circulation to my legs, but I like this so much, being inside her even soft, being this close to her that I don't say anything until she finally gets up.
I throw away the used condom in her bathroom, and when I come out into her still-dark apartment she's lying on her belly on her bed, sprawled like a starfish atop her covers, blinking at me sleepily. I crawl onto her bed as well, kiss her on the temple, and lay on my back.
Marisol scoots over. I put my arm around her and she rests her head in the hollow of my shoulder, one arm draping across me.
"This was more or less my plan to seduce you last night," she says.
I look down.
"You were going to flop on me naked?" I ask.
"Something like that," she says. "I think my plan was to get naked while you were turned around, and then when you looked at me, say, 'This is my pajamas.' And then I didn't have a plan from there."
"You probably would have asked me to wrap you in a sheet so your body parts would all stay attached."
"Well, I couldn't remember my master plan long enough to make it happen," she says.
"I'm quite glad you didn't," I say, lightly stroking her back with my hand. "I nearly caved undoing your zipper."
"And that's bad?"
"You thought you were dissolving," I say. "I'd have been taking advantage."
She's quiet for a moment, and then she looks up at me, her dark eyes deep in the dim light of her flat.
"Was it hard?" she asks.
I grin.
"If you mean my cock, yes," I say.
Marisol scrunches her face up, and I laugh.
"Cock," I say, just to watch her squirm. "Cooock."
"Okay, okay, I get it," she says. "I meant was it hard being sober while I was high? I know that's supposed to be a trigger."
I glance over at the books on her dresser about addiction, which are still there in the same order. Even though we've just been quite close, for some reason that's the thing that makes my insides turn to goo right now. Her research.
"Only a little, but due mainly to the particulars," I say carefully. My fingers trace a slow oval around a midsection of her back, her wild, curly hair tickling my face. "If you'd been having an excellent time I'd have been quite tempted, but given that you were miserable and didn't even have the pot on you any longer, the idea wasn't terribly alluring."
She sighs.
"I can't believe I just ate those gummi bears after specifically noticing that they tasted weird," she admits. "I had common sense once, I think."
"It's been pushed out of your head by all that book learning," I say.
"I think I've just gotten soft in college and law school," she says. "I used to be a street-wise badass."
I just laugh.
"Okay, I used to be more street-wise," she says. "I did grow up in East L.A."
"I can't imagine you walking around with brass knuckles and punching the snot out of your rivals," I say.
"I did punch a punching bag with brass knuckles once," she says. "It didn't go that well, I wasn't holding them right and I managed to bruise my hand really bad. I was actually afraid I'd broken it."
"Such a badass," I murmur.
"I kicked a boy in the nuts for bothering Brianna," she goes on. "And the only reason his friends didn't come after me was because they thought it was hilarious that a girl had taken him down like that."
"Brianna," I say. I know I know that name, but I can't place it.
"Larry's wife," Marisol says. "The blond who invited me to your secret show."
"She's from your neighborhood?"
"She grew up down the block from me," she says. "We used to play Barbies together. Well, knockoff Barbies."
"And now she's married to Larry?"
Marisol just laughs and rolls over until her chin is propped up on my chest and she's looking at me.
"Her dad's... Salvadorean, I think," Marisol says. "She dyes her hair blond and wears blue contacts so she can pass for white."
"I really thought she was a spoiled rich girl from Beverly Hills or something," I go on. "Though it does explain why you're friends in the first place, I always found that a bit strange."
"When I went to college, she started getting low-level modeling jobs," she says. "She'd waitress at clubs, be that girl who walks around half-naked with a tray of shots, and eventually she started getting hired for private parties and... poof, now she's married to a rich lawyer with fancy celebrity friends."
"I think clients is the word you're looking for," I say. "Larry and I aren't exactly getting pints down at the local together."
"She would be very upset to hear you say that," Marisol murmurs, rolling her cheek down so now she's on my chest, looking at me sideways, the upper half of her body draped across me.