A renewal of effort

They lay tangled together in the early morning light, the silence of the flat heavy and peaceful. Emma curled into Tom’s back, listening to his steady, rhythmic breathing. Her guilt felt manageable in the daylight, a sharp contrast to the dark, chaotic thrill of the night before. She brushed a hand over his chest, feeling a surge of affection. *He’s a good man,* she thought, mentally resolving to be more present, to appreciate the safety and stability he offered. She drifted back to sleep, determined to make things right.

She woke to the sensation of hard, insistent pressure against her hip. Tom was still sound asleep, but his body was clearly awake. He was hard, pressing into the small of her back. The resolution she’d made moments before seemed to fade, replaced by a sudden, demanding urge. Without overthinking it, Emma rolled over, her hand sliding down to wrap around the base of his erection.

She began to stroke him, long, slow, and deliberate. Tom stirred almost immediately, a low, guttural hum escaping his throat as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, looking confused for a second, then a grin spread across his face as he realized what she was doing.

"Morning," he rasped, his hand coming up to cup her face, pulling her in for a sleepy, warm kiss.

Emma didn't stop her rhythm. She looked into his eyes, trying to **** herself to see only him, to ignore the ghost of Ben that seemed to haunt every touch. She focused on the heat of his skin, the way he moaned when she teased the head of his cock with her thumb. She sped up her hand, guiding him toward the edge.

He bucked against her hand, his breath hitching. "God, you're amazing," he murmured, his body arching as the pleasure took him. He came in a series of sharp, quick pulses, spurting against her palm.

But as she held him, feeling his climax, her mind involuntarily betrayed her. It was... fine . It lacked the intensity that Ben had displayed at the pub. There was no overwhelming, messy volume, no dangerous, reckless danger. It was a sweet, conventional release. She felt a twinge of disappointment, a hollow ache where she wanted to feel ravaged. She kept her face impassive, masking her internal comparison with a soft, practiced smile.

Once he was spent, she pulled her hand away, wiping the sticky residue onto the towel lying on the floor beside the bed. Tom looked dazed and happy, completely unaware of the mental distance she had just traveled.

"My turn," he mumbled, his voice thick with post-orgasm lethargy. He shifted, pulling the duvet back and moving down, his hands guiding her hips to the edge of the mattress.

He was diligent, thorough, and practiced. He knew exactly where to touch, where to press, and how to use his tongue to tease her. As he worked, she felt her frustration melt away, replaced by the sensation of his mouth on her. She let out a sharp gasp, her head falling back against the headboard, her body betraying her mind as she bucked against him. She reached her climax quickly, her legs trembling as waves of pleasure washed over

[her.

It](http://her.It) was good, arguably better than what they’d had the night before, but as she lay there, panting, Tom’s hair messy and his face flushed with the effort of pleasing her.