The first contact makes me jolt. I’m still sensitive, every nerve ending buzzing, and the pulsing vibration against my swollen clit is almost too much.
“Too much?” he asks, watching my face.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
He grins and presses harder. The vibrator pulses against me while his mouth works my nipple through the jersey fabric, and the combination is obscene. I’m gripping the sheets with my good hand, my back arching, the heels digging into his mattress.
“I want to be inside you when you come this time,” he says against my breast. He reaches for a condom from his nightstand, rolls it on with one hand while keeping the vibrator steady with the other, and I’m impressed by the coordination. He pushes inside me in one smooth thrust, and I cry out because the stretchcombined with the vibrator is overwhelming. He starts to move, deep and slow, while holding the vibrator against my clit.
“Look at you,” he breathes out, staring down at me. “In my jersey. In my bed. On my cock. You’re everything, Lettie.”
“Harder,” I beg.
He picks up the pace, the vibrator pulses, his hips slam into mine, the jersey is bunched up around my ribs, I’m in heels on his bed being thoroughly destroyed, and I’ve never felt more beautiful or more wanted in my life.
“You’re mine,” he growls, thrusting deeper. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Justin. All of me.”
“Fuck.” His rhythm falters for a second, and I can tell he’s close. He increases the vibrator’s speed, clicking it up to five, and the faster pulse pushes me over the edge without warning. I come hard, clenching around him, screaming into his pillow, my legs locking around his waist, heels digging into his back. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, a groan ripped from his chest that sounds like it started in his soul.
We lie there tangled together, breathing hard, the vibrator still buzzing between us until he reaches down and turns it off, the sudden silence is deafening.
“The heels are going to leave marks on my back,” he says, his face buried in my neck.
“Good.”
“I’m keeping this jersey.” He chuckles.
“It’s your jersey.”
“I mean with you in it. I’m keeping this image.Forever.”
I laugh breathlessly and push the hair off his forehead. He looks up at me, blue eyes soft, that crooked grin, and my heart does the thing it always does when he looks at me like this. The thing that tells me I’m in way over my head and I don’t care.
“We should shower,” I say.
“Together?” he asks.
“Obviously.”
“I like this new you,” he says, pulling me off the bed. “The one who shows up at my apartment with a vibrator and lets me put her in my jersey.”
We shower together, and it takes twice as long as it should because his hands are everywhere and so are mine. The water goes cold before either of us cares. I borrow another one of his shirts to sleep in because I’m building a collection at this point. We climb into his bed, and he pulls me against him, my back to his chest, his arm heavy over my waist.
“Lettie?”
“Mm?” I’m half asleep, it’s been a long day.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being brave. For choosing this. For showing up.” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “I know it’s scary.”