“You know my name looks real good on you,” I say, admiring the way her back arches as I thrust into her, slow and hard.
She tries to speed things up, rocking her hips into mine, but I slow down again. Torturing her. Reminding her who’s in control tonight.
“Maybe we should make this a permanent fixture,” I mutter as I drag one hand along the curve of her back, up to her spine, then grab her beneath the ribs and haul her upright until her back is flush with my front.
She grips the edge of the bed for support, breathing hard.
“Please don’t tell me you just proposed to me while you’re fucking me?”
Her head falls back. Her eyes are closed. If she's pissed off about the question, then she's not showing it. In fact, it seems like the exact opposite. Her hips roll, and there's a small smile on her face while I continue to thrust into her.
“I've asked you plenty of times before. This should come as no surprise.” I lick away the sweat at the nape of her neck, kissing her skin before letting my hand trail up the jersey so I can play with her nipples.
She groans, and I nibble at the section of her collarbone that I know elicits the loudest moan. I've done this so many times—I’ve practically memorized every part of her body now.
My balls tighten, and I can feel a tingle of my climax starting to build, but she needs to have another orgasm first, so I let my other hand slip to her front and toy with her clit.
I work my hand faster, thrusting deeper.
“Are you going to come for me, Honeycomb?” I whisper. I only get her choked cry as a response.
I can feel it. Her body is like a tightly stretched rubber band ready to break, so I keep going.
Slipping my hand out of the jersey, I cover her mouth, and she immediately bites down on it, trying to stifle any moans. It works.
“Come,” I growl. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock while I come inside you.”
Her body stiffens, and I know I've gotten to her because with one final thrust, she breaks apart in my arms, coaxing my own climax.
I slam into her once, twice, before spilling inside her with a groan so low and guttural it makes her shiver.
I close my eyes, thrusting until the pleasure leaves my body and then gently guide her to the pile of pillows below.
Panting, sweaty and sticky, Honey relaxes into the pillows, and I drag the jersey over her ass before gently pulling out of her.
“The offer still stands,” I say, pushing off the floor and making my way to the tiny sink she insists on calling a “kitchenette.” I grab a clean washcloth, soak it in warm water, and return to her.
She’s sprawled on the pillows like a goddess. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips kiss-bruised, and her eyes are closed, but she’s smiling.
I kneel beside her and gently apply the warm washcloth to her center. She flinches, her body still sensitive.
“You know, if you lived with me, you could have your own bathroom and you could soak in the tub for hours after this.”
“Mhm, maybe. But then you wouldn't get to clean me like this.”
She rolls her hips into the cloth, and I press harder, my fingers teasing her clit again.
“Don't tempt me, Honeycomb. I'm riled up and always ready to rail you.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“This is your five-minute warning,” a stuffy voice from behind the door says. “All guests must be out of the dorm prior to checks.”
I roll my eyes and glare at my girlfriend, who just remains stone-faced and unbothered.
“I get that you wanted the dorm life, but why did you pick the strictest one on campus? It's like you're living at boarding school.”
She shrugs. “I don't know. I liked the rooms because they’re so much smaller than my room at home.” She pauses for a second before giving me a small, blissed-out smile. “And… I might also like the whole sneaking-around thing.”