After dinner we didn’t go to the couch or pretend we were going to do an activity for a bit. We went to my bedroom. We kissed like we hadn’t kissed in forever — long, deep, high-school kisses. He walked me back to my bed and laid me down beneath him, kissing my collarbone and murmuring sweet nothings between breaths. He slid a finger inside me and held his face above mine, watching my reaction, cherishing my reaction. He told me I was beautiful, that he loved watching me respond to him.
His confidence at this point was intoxicating. He knew I was on board with whatever he wanted to do and instead of it turning him into a greedy tyrant, it relaxed him, it opened him up. I felt closer to him than ever before.
When he pulled me to the edge of the bed and entered me, it was slower and more lust-filled than usual. This wasn’t get-it-over-with sex. This was vacation sex on a Tuesday night. He took a pillow and I obligingly lifted my hips so he could place it underneath them and return to pushing himself into me, deeper now. He places his forearms next to my arms as he leaned over me, maximizing our skin-to-skin contact.
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