Not in.
Along.
The wet heat of her split over me, the head rubbing her clit, the shaft trapped between her lips, her weight, her waist in my hands. She slid the way a woman grinds on a doorframe, on a thigh, on a rule. Her breasts hung in my face. I took one in my mouth because she put it there. She braced on the headboard I had had since college and worked herself on me, sliding, sliding, the sound filthy and small.
“See. This is also sex. This is also enough.” Her voice shook. “Your friend goes in. You get this. Don’t you dare say it is nothing. It is taking my brain.”
She lifted off before it became the thing we had banned, and she put her breasts around me.
Soap-clean skin. Heavy. She held them together with both hands and looked at my face while she moved, and the sight of my cock disappearing between the same breasts I had come on an hour earlier pulled a groan out of me that made her smile, tired and wicked.
“Boobs also his. Tonight also yours. Look at me while I do it.”
I looked.
Then she left the breasts and took me in her mouth.
Not the shy first suck she had given him on Father’s bed. She knew my cock now. She had jerked it. She had worn it. She sucked with a purpose that was almost kind, almost greedy, hand at the base, slow, then not slow. I warned her. She made a small negative sound around me and stayed.
I came in her mouth.
She drank it.
I felt the swallow. I felt the second swallow. She came off with wet lips and showed me her tongue like a proof, then shut her mouth and sat back on her heels, naked, throat working, a thin shine at the corner that she wiped with her thumb and, after a pause, licked.
The collection was dark.
My room smelled of us.
She crawled up and lay half on me, hair on my chest, one leg thrown over mine, her cunt still wet against my hip, my cock softening between us, the line uncrossed and everything else crossed.
“No one is sleepy,” she said into my skin.
“No.”
“Good. If we sleep we will wake up as other people.” Her fingers drew something shapeless on my stomach. “You have a mouth I will think about in school. That is a problem for Monday. Tonight it is only the problem of this bed.”
Outside, Aundh had not noticed.
Inside, we breathed like two people who had kept one promise and broken a hundred quieter ones, and the laptop sat shut on the desk with a collection that had already become too small for the room.
She got off the bed to go.
That was the plan her mouth had — back to the flowered sheet, back to being a woman who would face a cupboard alone. She picked up nothing. She walked to my door naked, hair still twisted up, the line of her back still marked by a night that would not end, and I watched her ass move because there was no other religion left in the room.
The gym had made it honest. The plug had made it remember. Each step pulled a heavy, working sway, the split of her, the faint shine still on the inner thigh that my mouth had left. She put her hand on the latch.
Then she turned.
She saw what I had not bothered to hide. I was hard again. Stupid. Obvious. Sitting on my own bed like a boy who had not come twice already.
