felt him pulsing somewhere in the middle of my chest.
"Ride me," he ordered, moving my hips to match his thrusts. "I want to watch those tits bounce."
My tits were not the variety to bounce but I couldn't tell Ash this because his cock was splitting me in half and my clit was rasping against the base of him and his fingers were digging cruel divots into my skin. Every snap and jerk of his hips sent electricity spiraling through me, each jolt stronger and sharper than the one before.
"Ash," I gasped, my hands flat on his chest for balance though I knew he wasn't about to let me fall. "Ash."
"Do you think you're ready to come for me, love?"
Some wailing, hysterical sob burst up from my chest as I nodded, saying, "Yes, please."
"Then I'll get you there." The muscles in his jaw and neck coiled and jumped as he deepened his thrusts and he moved me faster, his thumbs drilling into my bones as he made me work for it. I closed my eyes because I couldn't keep them open, couldn't experience these sensations and watch the bunch and stretch of his abs, the hard line of his shoulders, the greedy, molten way he gazed at the place we were joined.
The orgasm took me by surprise, one brutal clench of my core followed by a rolling wave of sensation that started small and didn't stop until I was sprawled out on Ash's chest, gasping and shuddering and shivering from the force of it.
Though I hadn't caught the particulars, I remembered Ash squeezing my ass and chanting my name as he came. He hadn't said anything since, only folding me into his arms, smoothing back my hair, kissing my forehead. He held me tight for a long time and that was when I heard the words gathering in my mind.
I could love him.
I might already love him.
I wanted to press my face to his neck and deliver him these confessions and then I wanted him to return those confessions to me. I wanted him to know he was wrecking and ruining me because he knew down to the decimal what I needed and now I was a wrecked, ruined mess of woman who only wanted more, all of it, everything.
"I don't believe you're disappointed now," he said, his voice hoarse.
"How did you know I needed it just like that?" I asked.
He ran his fingertips between my shoulder blades as he said, "Because I know you. I don't have to think. I touch you and I know."
I blinked up at him, wondering if he also knew he'd ruined me.
22
Zelda
One thing you probably didn't want to know about me was the hellacious nature of my premenstrual syndrome. You could set a watch by that bitch. Without fail, ten days before my cycle was due to restart, an eighteen-wheeler of symptoms backed right over me.
There was the infamous duo of cramps and moods, and I always had a day or two of exhaustion before it was on to headaches and hunger, chills and digestive wonkiness, and loose clothes on account of the bloated belly and milkmaid boobs.
Oh, and the horny thing. That part was extreme.
At this point in my reproductive life, I was well acquainted with the way my body worked and I knew how to manage through. It was an inconvenience, for sure, but I knew enough tricks to keep going.
Except when everything hit at once. It was only on special months when those symptoms converged on the same day rather than ambling out over several.
That was why Ash found me draped over the printer on Thursday afternoon like I was washing ashore after a shipwreck. In truth, he first passed without looking up from his phone but then jogged backward, asking, "What's happening here?"
Still flopped over the machine, I said, "It's warm. Like a heating pad."
He reached out to settle his hand on my back but changed his mind at the last minute, shoving it in his pocket instead. "Are…are you all right?"
"Yep." The machine's heat offered such glorious relief. "Just taking a minute."
"With the printer?"
"Yep."
Finally, he brought that hand to the small of my back and I almost cried with joy because the light pressure he offered was perfect. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
"Because I'm all good. Promise." I pushed off the machine and forced my shoulders back. What I wouldn't do for a big, slouchy sweater right now. Something fuzzy and gray and shapeless. The best slouchy sweaters