have two modes: Don’t touch me. Or … Give me an orgasm now!
Foreplay is simply an overabundance of touching.
“Put on a condom.”
“I will.” He takes his sweet time working his mouth back down my body.
I grimace, clenching my hands to prevent myself from reaching between my legs and getting myself off. Yes, something I would have done and often did do years earlier. The look of shock guys would get on their faces after I’d pleasure myself and hop out of bed before they wrapped it up and made an attempt to stick it inside of me was truly priceless.
But Eli is not just a random guy I plan on using for a quick orgasm. And I want him to think I’m good at sex—not just with myself, but with him too.
Again, he lets his mouth hover between my legs as he slides a finger under my briefs, teasing my clit. My hand covers his as I jerk my pelvis, guiding his finger inside of me.
Yes!
He’s slow. My hips rock against his hand at a much faster pace. His thumb finds my clit as he kisses my inner thigh, teasing it with his tongue.
Are we done kissing? I feel like we are. If he can add his long middle finger and move his tongue up two inches, including it in the mix, I will see stars.
“Let me get the condom.”
What?!
He sits on the edge of the bed, retrieves a condom from the drawer, and rolls it on.
I shimmy out of my superhero briefs. “Hurry up.”
His body vibrates. “We have all night.”
No. We most certainly do not have all night. There’s pizza downstairs. I have my meds to take. Face to wash. Teeth to brush and floss. And if he can work on his efficiency, we might have it one more time, but there’s no way we’re dragging out this one time. All. Night. Long.
No fucking way.
So … I attack him. That’s really the best description. I push him back on the bed and kiss him hard while lining up his cock. Then I sink down as we seethe in unison.
“Find it, Eli.” I grin, holding up my wrist and setting my sexual activity function on my watch.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not a race.”
“I disagree.” I start moving at a brisk pace.
He grabs my hips to slow me down, but I keep pace, chasing that orgasm, angling forward to keep my clit rubbing against his pelvis. And as I approach the coveted finish line, he lifts me from him, as if he knows.
“What are you doing?” I protest.
He flips me onto my back—pinning my arms to the bed beside my head—and settles his hips between my legs, sliding back inside of me. “I’m finding it, Mayhem. Better keep up.” He smirks before kissing me and seriously pounding into me.
Game on!
Until … it’s not.
Eli manages to find the perfect angle that denies me the friction I need, and he has my hands pinned to the bed so I can’t help myself.
“You’re terrible at sex.” I scowl at him as sweat beads along his brow while moving above me, clearly burning more calories and approaching the damn finish line that I can no longer see.
“I’m really not.” He grins, releasing my arms.
My hands fly straight to his hair. Balling them into fists, I jerk it as hard as possible. “Fucker …”
He cuts me off with his lips covering mine and his tongue filling my mouth as he slides his hand between our pelvises and delivers a spectacular orgasm just seconds after he climaxes. Eli just has to win.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dorothy Defined
Elijah
Well, that was a first.
Even the times I had angry sex with Julie, it wasn’t all that angry. More like make-up sex with a bit of attitude.
Dorothy Mayhem sex involves a playing field—maybe a battlefield—a time clock, and placement medals.
Before I can hook an arm around her and pull her next to me, she’s out of bed and back into her superhero pajamas, minus the tiara that fell off while she rode me like a true immortal.
“Wow …” She bends down and cocks her head to look at the stack of books on the side table by the chair in the corner of my bedroom. “You have a lot of books on autism. Do you think Roman is on the spectrum?”
I sit up and reach for a tissue, my briefs, and jeans. “No.”
Dorothy eases into the chair and inspects the books one at a time. “Autism in Heels. Sounds like something for a