Finally fuck your girlfriend

She's still laughing when I kiss her again, and the sound vibrates against my lips like a struck bell. Her hands are in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make my scalp tingle, and I'm already hard, already aching, already drowning in the smell of her perfume and the heat of her body and the impossible fact that she's here, in my childhood bedroom, dressed like a goddamn superhero.

"Someone's eager," she murmurs against my mouth, and I can feel her smile.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I do. I kiss her harder, deeper, my tongue sliding against hers, and she moans—a low, throaty sound that goes straight to my cock. My hands find her waist, her hips, the bare skin of her thighs above the red boots. The skirt of her costume is bunched up around her waist, and I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her underwear.

She breaks the kiss, gasping, and pushes me back against the mattress. I go willingly, my head hitting the pillow, and then she's straddling me, her knees on either side of my hips, her hands braced on my chest. The tiara is gone, but the rest of the costume is still intact—the bustier pushing her tits up and together, the skirt fanned out around her thighs, the boots gleaming in the dim light from the window.

"God," I breathe. "You're so fucking beautiful."

She smiles down at me, and there's something almost predatory in her eyes. "I know."

She leans down and kisses me again, slower this time, her hips grinding against mine in a slow, deliberate rhythm. I can feel the heat of her through my jeans, the wetness already soaking through her underwear, and I groan into her mouth.

"Briana—"

"Shh." She presses a finger to my lips. "Let me take care of you."

She sits up, her hands going to the laces of the bustier. I watch, transfixed, as she loosens them one by one, her fingers moving with practiced ease. The fabric loosens, and then she's pulling it down, down, until her breasts spill free—full and round and perfect, her nipples already hard in the cool air of the room.

"Fuck," I whisper.

She grins, tossing the bustier aside. "You like?"

"Come here."

She leans down again, and this time there's nothing between us but skin. Her breasts press against my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat, fast and wild, matching my own. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, and she makes a small sound of surprise that turns into a moan as I roll us over, pinning her beneath me.

"My turn," I say.

I kiss my way down her body—her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. She arches into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, and she cries out, her hips bucking against mine.

"Please," she whispers. "Please, baby, I need—"

"I know what you need."

I slide down her body, kissing a trail across her stomach, her hipbones, the inside of her thigh. She's trembling now, her whole body taut with anticipation, and I can smell her arousal—sweet and musky and intoxicating. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pull them down, slowly, savoring the way she gasps when the cool air hits her wet skin.

"God, you're soaked," I murmur, and she laughs—a breathless, desperate sound.

"Whose fault is that?"

I don't answer. I just lower my head and taste her.

She cries out, her hips bucking against my mouth, and I hold her steady, my hands on her thighs, my tongue working her clit in slow, deliberate circles. She's always been responsive, always been vocal, but tonight she's something else entirely—wild and desperate and utterly uninhibited. Her fingers twist in the sheets, her back arches off the mattress, and she chants my name like a prayer.

"Don't stop," she gasps. "Please, don't stop, I'm so close—"

I don't stop. I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she comes apart with a scream that echoes off the walls of my childhood bedroom. Her whole body convulses, her thighs clamping around my head, and I hold her through it, my tongue still working her, drawing out every last tremor.

When she finally goes limp, I crawl back up her body, kissing my way along her stomach, her breasts, her neck. She's still trembling, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted. She looks wrecked. She looks perfect.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi," she breathes.

"Good?"

She laughs, weak and shaky. "You know it was."

I kiss her, and she tastes herself on my lips, and the intimacy of it makes my head spin. Her hands find the button of my jeans, fumbling with it, and I help her, shoving them down along with my boxers. My cock springs free, hard and aching, and she wraps her hand around it, stroking slowly.

"I need you inside me," she says, and her voice is low and rough. "Now."

I don't make her wait. I position myself between her legs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance, and then I push inside.

She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I groan at the tight heat of her. She's always tight, always perfect, but tonight she feels different—hotter, wetter, more alive. I thrust slowly at first, savoring the way she clenches around me, the way her breath hitches with every movement.

"Harder," she whispers. "Please, baby, harder."

I oblige. I fuck her hard and deep, the way she likes it, the way she's begging for. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall, and I don't care who hears. I don't care about anything except the feel of her body beneath mine, the sound of her moans in my ear, the way she looks up at me with those big blue eyes, dark with desire.

"You're so good," she gasps. "So fucking good, don't stop, please don't stop—"

I don't stop. I can't stop. I'm lost in her, drowning in her, and the rest of the world has ceased to exist. There's no party, no mess, no father waiting downstairs. There's only this—only us—only the frantic rhythm of our bodies and the desperate sounds we make together.

She comes again, her whole body clenching around me, and the sensation is too much. I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck, groaning her name as I spill inside her.

For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled together, breathing hard. The room is quiet except for the sound of our hearts pounding, and I can feel the sweat cooling on my skin, the pleasant ache in my muscles.

Briana shifts beneath me, her hand coming up to stroke my hair. "That was..."

"Yeah," I agree. "It was."

She laughs, soft and content. "I'm glad we did this. The party, I mean. Even with all the drama."

"Me too."

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. Then she says, "Your dad seems nice. Underneath all the... you know."

I stiffen, just slightly. "Yeah. I guess."

She must sense the shift, because she tilts her head to look at me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I roll off her, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. "I just... I don't want to talk about my dad right now."

"Okay." She turns on her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "What do you want to talk about?"

I don't answer. The truth is, I don't want to talk at all. I want to stay in this moment, in this bubble, where nothing exists but the two of us and the lingering warmth of her body. But the real world is pressing in, as it always does, and I can feel the familiar anxiety creeping back.

"Hey." She touches my face, turning me toward her. "Look at me."

I do. She's still flushed, still beautiful, her hair a mess and her lips swollen from kissing. The Wonder Woman costume is gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, but she doesn't need it. She's always been a superhero to me.

"I love you," she says. "You know that, right?"

"I know."

"Then stop worrying. Whatever's going on in that head of yours, it's not worth it. We're good. We're really good."

I want to believe her. I do believe her. But there's a part of me—the part that's been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the moment I met her—that can't quite let go.

"I love you too," I say, and I mean it.

She smiles, and it's the real smile, the one that makes my chest ache. "Good. Now come here."

She pulls me close, and I let her. I let her wrap her arms around me, let her press her body against mine, let her warmth chase away the cold that's been creeping in. For a while, it works. For a while, I'm just a guy in bed with his girlfriend, and everything is simple.