“Feel how wet you are for me? That’s all mine. Hold it for me. Don’t you dare let go.”
He picks up his pace. Rough and deep, hips slamming, filthy praise pouring from his lips.
I match, legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper.
“Now, baby. Show me how pretty you come for me. Give it up. Give it all to me.”
He pounds into me, thumb circling my clit, never breaking eye contact.
I break, coming so hard I scream his name, everything inside me snapping loose as I clamp around his cock.
He buries himself to the hilt, shuddering, spilling deep while his hands grip my hips and he chokes out praise, eyes staying on mine.
Seeing me. Holding me. Keeping me real.
He collapses on top of me, sweat-slick, still inside, holding me like I’m oxygen.
I’m wrecked. Full disaster. I can’t move. My legs are noodles, my brain’s melted, and if I tried to get out of bed I’d probably slither straight to the floor.
This is not an exaggeration. I’m physically incapable of regret, shame, or coherent thought. I’m post-orgasmic soup.
Pretty sure I said things that would make my therapist retire, but whatever. I can’t remember them, and even if I could, there’s not a single ounce of shame left in my bloodstream, just sugar, Dario, and a medically alarming amount of serotonin.
“He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Stay put.”
“Like I have a choice,” I say. “You’ve ruined me for all horizontal surfaces.”
He shakes his head, leaves for the bathroom, comes back with a warm cloth. Cleans me up like he’s performing a sacred ritual, except I keep trying to squirm away and make jokes and he keeps shushing me and doing it anyway.
Then he pulls on a robe, picks up the phone, and speaks quietly into it. Room service. Because apparently we’re starring in our own luxury porn.
“What did you order?”
“Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.” He climbs back into bed. Pulls me against his chest. “How do you feel?”
“Like a Picasso. Nothing is where it used to be. Also? You owe me a new spine.”
“Good then?”
“Good. So good. Dangerously good. You should get a certificate for that shit.”
He hums. “I aim to please.”
I nuzzle into his neck, inhale his scent, still trembling. “I swear, if you ever stop, I will haunt you.”
We lie there in silence for a few minutes. Breathing together. His hand stroking my hair.
“Thank you,” I say eventually.
He tilts my chin, teasing. “For what?”
“For, uh… keeping me anchored. Sometimes I go AWOL up here.” I tap my forehead. “You called me back. That’s new. That’s…nice. Weird. Overwhelming. I like it.”
He smiles, all soft edges. “I want all of you. Even the parts that try to run.”
