I’d memorized them, my divine men, but it appeared Stavros had done his fair share of studying me in the dreams too because his fingers didn’t err, pressing directly up inside of me, pumping and twisting roughly. It was better friction than what I had, but I knew what I really wanted.
“Lemme go. I want your cock,” I gasped, which only made Stavros bite on my breast and suck and lap harder, fingers moving fast inside of me, knuckles and thumb rubbing against the lips of my sex. “Stavros, please.”
He grunted and pulled off with a wet ‘pop’, hips rising as I landed suddenly on his lap, both of us shouting as I immediately started to rock and bounce against him, the scratching of the zipper on his pants curious, and a delicious kind of bite. At least for me. Stavros winced, guiding me back on his lap and fumbling his fingers at his waistband.
“The door,” I gasped, reaching for the shoulders of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his back.
“Church is locked up, no one’s coming,” Stavros answered in a rush, pushing his pants just far enough down for his cock to bob out, smacking against his bared stomach as I yanked his shirt off and tossed it behind me.
I’d never gotten to really talk to him in the dreams, it was enough effort to create the fantasy in the first place, and it made a giddy feeling bubble up in me. This was clumsier, sloppier, the pair of us racing and stumbling to undress, but it was real.
I jumped off his lap, and Stavros yanked my shorts down, hands fisting around the backs of my thighs and pulling my hips to his face, chin and beard nuzzling against me in the little borrowed underwear.
“Later,” I whispered, pushing the underwear down. “I just want to feel you.”
Stavros looked up at me, eyes hooded, hair mussed, lips swollen from my kiss and parted on his panting breaths. For a moment, he looked as though I’d put him in a trance, the way I would’ve if I were feeding on someone who wasn’t as excited about the prospect as we both obviously were. Then he grinned, scooping me off the floor and twisting, tossing me back to the couch cushions. One hand ripped the panties away and the other pushed my legs apart, bending one knee up to spread and expose me.
“I wanted you to be real,” Stavros said, brushing his hand over my sex, testing me with two fingers and making me arch at the soft stretch.
I was made for this, regardless of what Zach thought of God’s early creation. Made to give and receive, to be pliable and embracing. At least God had done me the favor of making sure it all felt fucking delicious too.
Stavros’ weight was heavy as he lowered himself and I purred at the heat of him, until suddenly I was choking as he thrust fully inside of me.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” My hands snapped to his back, hips arching into his as he filled me.
“Deyva,” he laughed, chastising, my name strangled on a groan.
“Stavros, I think I did you a disservice in the dreams,” I moaned, spreading my legs further apart, hooking one heel over the back of the couch. Stav was thick, and even if I was built to receive, his girth still created an incredible stretch inside of me, one I wanted more of.
He laughed, breathless, hands bracing on the arm of the couch behind my head so he could hold himself up. I resisted the urge to tell him that the light from the hall gave him the effect of a halo, and instead arched my neck to nip at his jaw.
“You good?” he rasped.
I squeezed around him and started to ride him from below, humming at the buzz of the friction, the heat of his body on top of mine. The softness of it all. Stavros was hard, muscular, and heavy, but even as he withdrew and then thrust roughly in again, testing the crash of us as we both moaned, there was an undeniable gentleness. He wanted this to feel good for me, and it did. Better than good.
“Stop and I’ll suck you dry,” I growled, grinning at him, relieved when he grinned back, brow furrowing with effort.
For all his talk of being selfish, he was more focused on me than his own pleasure, eyes watching my face as he started to fuck