Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Movies...Leah stays for another round...(Luck: +10, Lust: +10, Suspicion: +5)

Leah leaned over, grabbed his cock, and stroked it with an idle, catlike patience that was more teasing than tender. The thing was, Daniel hadn’t really deflated much, even after the first round—he lay there flushed, looking equal parts sheepish and thrilled, as the post-coital glaze in his eyes shifted back to a hungry, almost boyish gleam.

She gave his cock a light, dismissive slap and then watched with a mean little smile as it twitched and filled out beneath her hand. “You’re such a pervert,” she whispered, but if he was a pervert, she was the one orchestrating the entire perversion. Daniel gave a mock-wounded pout and then shuddered as she ran her palm from tip to base, so slow it was almost comical. He whimpered. Actually whimpered. She couldn’t help herself—she started laughing, but kept jacking him off all the while, never breaking eye contact. His face was a cross between “please keep going” and “I know I’m being made fun of but can’t stop enjoying it.”

They started making out again, this time less feverish and more controlled, as if both wanted to savor the filth they’d just indulged in. She loved the way he always got handsy and grabby in that eager, adolescent way. He squeezed her breast, then pinched her nipple until she yelped, and she responded by biting his lower lip and then rolling him onto his back.

“Just lie there,” she ordered, and it sounded almost maternal except for the way her voice dropped on the last syllable. She straddled him, not quite sitting, more like hovering, letting her soaked pussy drag up and down his cock, not quite letting him in, just teasing the head. Daniel made a noise like he wanted to protest, but she overrode him by reaching down, squeezing his cock, and pressing it to her slit. She looked him dead in the eyes as she sank down, inch by inch, until he was buried inside her. The sigh they both let out was pure, obscene harmony.

Leah rode him slow at first, grinding her hips in lazy figure-eights, the way she knew would drive him out of his mind.

She leaned forward, letting her tits hang in his face, and he wasted no time in sucking a nipple into his mouth.

She slapped his cheek lightly, “Careful, no marks,” but he just grinned, tongue still lapping at her.

She upped the tempo, throwing her hair back and arching her back, bracing her hands on his chest. Daniel’s hands found her ass and squeezed, digging in as if trying to claim her. She bounced on him, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin filling the air along with wet, lewd noises that would’ve gotten them both kicked out of a church. He tried to thrust up into her but she held him down, riding him with punishing, almost cruel control.

Leah was playing for herself now. She used him like a vibrator, chasing the precise angle that would rub her clit perfectly against his pubic bone. She closed her eyes, lost in the raw friction, and let the noises she made grow louder, almost animal. He watched her, totally mesmerized, as if she’d conjured some kind of pagan sex goddess right there in his shitty, bachelor-bedroom.

It didn’t take long. She came hard, the orgasm hitting in violent, juddering waves that left her doubled over, nails in his shoulders, mouth open in a silent scream.

Leah collapsed against his chest, breathing in short, shivery gasps, her vision blurring at the edges from the aftershock of her orgasm. For a moment, the world narrowed to the sticky heat between their bodies and the throb in her thighs. But Daniel wasn’t done—she could tell by the way his arms wrapped around her, greedy and possessive, his cock still rigid and twitching inside her.

He growled into her ear, sharp teeth grazing her lobe, and rolled her off him in one smooth, practiced motion. She landed on her back, dizzy and laughing. Daniel loomed over her, dark hair wild, chest heaving, and something wolfish in his eyes. He lined himself up and drove back in, missionary this time, fucking her with a rhythm that alternated between tender and nearly punishing, as if he wanted to memorize every texture of her insides. He kissed her, slow and deep, then broke away to watch her face as he fucked her. “God, I missed this,” he said, voice wrecked and hoarse.

Leah tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him down, biting his lip when he got too sentimental. “Shut up and fuck me,” she said, and he responded by hooking her legs up over his shoulders and slamming into her so hard the headboard rattled. She shrieked a laugh, a sound equal parts surprise and delight, and dug her heels into his back, urging him to go harder. He obliged, hips pistoning, sweat slicking their bodies together. She could feel herself getting close again, sensation blooming dangerously fast.

He didn’t give her a chance to brace herself: Daniel pulled out abruptly, flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her ass into the air.

“I want to fuck you doggy,” he snarled, and there was nothing romantic about it—just raw, selfish desire. She arched her back and spread for him, already aching for the stretch, and he drove in so deep she saw colors behind her eyelids. He grabbed her hair and used it as a handle, pounding her so ruthlessly the mattress shrieked beneath them and something metallic thudded out of the nightstand drawer. Leah’s sounds went from breathy whimpers to hoarse, feral moans. She clawed helplessly at the sheets, every thrust forcing the air out of her lungs.

She felt another orgasm cresting—hot, jagged, and mean—and rode the escalating ache until it broke, her entire lower body seizing and then dissolving in helpless spasms. Daniel fucked her right through it, relentless, and when her body finally stopped shaking, she could feel him swell and pulse inside her.

He came with a groan that sounded almost like a sob, hands locking tight on her hips, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep inside her.

He collapsed on her back, both of them spent and panting, glued together by a patchwork of sweat and cum. They lay tangled up for a long, stupid minute, everything sticky and a little gross, but perfect in the way only truly filthy sex could be.

They sprawled out, a mess of limbs and sweat, words hanging in the air with nowhere to land. It was Daniel who broke the silence first, running a damp palm over his face, a crooked grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

“So, I guess you’re not staying for breakfast?”

Leah snorted, dragging herself upright with every muscle in her body howling protest. “I think I’ve had all the salt and butter I can take for one night, thank you.” She pointedly glanced at the slime trail glistening on her stomach and her pussy which would be leaking ever so slightly, then at the sticky towel half-heartedly tossed onto the carpet.

“Jesus, Daniel, you’re like a defective fire hydrant.”

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up, unabashedly watching as she started to collect her scattered clothes.

“You’re the one who keeps yanking my hose,” he shot back, voice thick with mock innocence. “Honestly, no one’s forcing you to drink from the tap.”

She flicked her bra at his face—a futile gesture, it barely made it past her own thigh.

“Crude, even by your standards. And that’s impressive.” She sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her ruined panties and wondering if it was even worth the effort to put them back on.

Daniel caught the look and waggled his eyebrows, then shifted gears without warning. “Jonathan ever get suspicious when you come home late and…sweaty?” he asked, tone light but eyes too keen.

Leah flinched at her fiancé’s name, but tried to play it off with a groan. “He thinks I’m just hanging with girl friends or coming back from gym.”

Daniel’s laugh was sharp and mean—he liked the game, maybe too much.

“You’re terrible at lying sometimes,” he told her, “but you’re even worse at staying away.” He reached out and traced a lazy circle on her thigh. “What’s the cover story tonight?”

She considered, briefly, making up something elaborate. But the mental image of Jonathan’s sincere, painfully trusting face killed the impulse. “Probably just say I had to do something with a coworker—grabbing drinks,” she said, then snorted. “That’s not even a lie. Just, you know, a very creative interpretation.”

“Well that is one way to do it…” Daniel repeated, as if savoring the plural. “You’re not even going to pretend you were working alone?”

“Nah, probably not the best way to go” Leah replied, but her voice faltered at the end.

Daniel watched her get dressed, the way her hands trembled a little when she buttoned her blouse.

“You’re not going to ghost me, right?” he asked, softer now, insecurity bleeding through the bravado.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder, and gave him a look that was part affection, part profound exasperation. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “If I wanted to ghost you, I’d do it the old fashioned way—by showing up in your kitchen at 3am and rattling your pans.”

He barked a laugh, that big, ugly sound she always tried to hate and never quite managed.

“You’re gonna text me when you get home?” he pressed. “Just so I know you didn’t drive into a ditch thinking about my cock.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but there was a flush in her cheeks that wasn’t from the sex.

“I’ll text you. Maybe I’ll even send a picture if you behave.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” he said, almost a whisper. Daniel’s smile softened, almost tender.

She didn’t answer. She just grabbed her keys, her purse, and her dignity (or what was left of it), and made for the door with as much swagger as she could muster.