Jan. Week 3: A Long Weekend-Saturday...Leah and Jonathan...Relax and fuck like rabbits! (Suspicion: -15, Luck: -30)

She’d pad around the house in pajama pants and a tank top, the thermostat set three degrees too low for comfort because Jonathan insisted it helped him sleep. She’d make the coffee and then crawl back under the covers, her feet icy, to savor the next hour or two of reading on her phone before the rest of the world caught up with her.

Leah lay wedged into the crook of Jonathan’s arm, her body radiating far more heat than she would have liked. His bicep was heavy across her chest, his breath slow and peaceful; he was dead to the world, and she didn’t want to move a muscle.

She dozed and daydreamed, scrolling mindlessly until Jonathan shifted and half-woke. His hand drifted under her shirt, cool on her skin, and she arched her back a little into his touch. Their sex had always been easy, a matter of grins and giggles and lazy improvisation. Leah was not the type to stage-manage her pleasure or perform for an invisible camera—she’d left that behind in a different life (mostly), one as far from Jonathan’s gentle awkwardness as a person could get. In the hazy, mostly-dark room, their bodies found each other by muscle memory. There was no rush; she let herself be slow, teasing, a little mean, enjoying the noises he made when she bit his neck or tickled his sides. He returned the favor with sleepy-throated murmurs, stroking her hair and her ass, kissing her jaw with feather-light pressure. By the time she came, Leah was laughing into the pillow at how little either of them cared about making a mess on the sheets.

They spent the rest of the day in a post-coital fog, wandering between the kitchen and the couch. She wore his T-shirt, he wore boxers, and neither of them bothered with actual pants until it was time to meet the delivery driver at the door. Takeout was Thai, per tradition, followed by an entire season of a trashy true-crime docuseries on Netflix. They didn’t talk much, just traded bites of drunken noodles and sipped beer, occasionally mocking the show’s narrator with bad accents. At one point Jonathan massaged her feet, an act of worship that felt so loving it nearly made her cry.

They made it through two episodes before Jonathan started to catch up with her. Leah felt it first in the way he touched her legs, absentmindedly at first—fingers working at the arches of her feet, then along her calves, then tracing small circles on her thighs until her body responded without her permission. He barely took his eyes off the screen, but she knew what he was doing. She made a show of scooting away, pretending that she was too absorbed to notice his hands, but Jonathan just grinned and tugged her back to the couch, where she landed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

The second time that day was no more dignified than the first. Jonathan was shy about few things, but he never quite managed to let go of the nervous energy that made him rush through each step, as though he expected her to change her mind halfway. Leah didn’t mind. She let him pull her down and toss them aside, let him think he’d surprised her with the way he flipped her onto her back and climbed on top; she let him move fast, knowing that they had all night, that it didn’t have to be perfect or last for hours.

Later, after the takeout cartons were empty and their drinks refilled, after they’d abandoned the couch for the comfort of bed, she’d pay him back for his enthusiasm. For now, Leah just closed her eyes and enjoyed the weight of him, and the knowledge that this, at least, would never be complicated.

By 10:00 PM. Leah was nodding off in the nest of blankets. Jonathan carried her to bed with surprising strength, tucking her in, kissing her hair, then her neck…Leah felt the tinge of energy arouse in her, a craving for more. Leah kissed him back and her hand caressed his manhood.

“Can he go again?” Leah asked with a smirk then a deep long kiss.

“A third go?” He said in fake exhaustion. “You might have to kiss him like that.”

“Mhmmm I can do that.” Leah said taking off her pjs while Jonathan slipped out of his with equal speed.

Leah traced her fingers down his side, slowing at every spot she knew would make him shiver or squirm. Jonathan twitched at her touch, his hands flopping to his sides in a show of helplessness that was only half an act.

She glanced up at him once, saw the vague embarrassment in his slack, happy smile, and decided to turn it up a notch. She kissed lower, tongue flicking over his navel, then licked a stripe up the faint line of hair that led to his cock. By now, he was at half-mast; she closed her hand around him and squeezed, feeling him thicken in her palm with every lazy pump.

He let out a low, strangled sound that was almost a laugh. She loved that about him—his body always telegraphed exactly what he wanted, but he never tried to hide the way it overwhelmed him. Leah had dated plenty of men before Jonathan, some who treated sex like a negotiation, or worse, a performance. It was almost a relief to be with someone who couldn’t tell a lie with his cock if he tried.

She teased him for a while, swirling her tongue around his tip, then flattening it under the shaft until he started to gasp softly and grip the bedsheets. She eased him further into her mouth, swallowing him inch by inch, letting her tongue do most of the work. His hands landed in her hair, tentative at first, then more insistent as she bobbed her head and sucked harder, letting her lips pop off him with a wet smack each time she came up for air.

“I think he is ready now.” she said pulling off of his cock with her mouth and smiling up at him.

“I think so too.” he grinned.

She crawled up the bed and turned herself around, still facing away, and eased her body onto her hands and knees. She arched her spine, the curve of her ass on full display, and looked back at him with a wicked smirk. Jonathan’s eyes went wide at the sight, and his hands landed on her hips like he was afraid she’d vanish if he didn’t keep hold.

He guided himself into her, slow at first, shuddering with every inch. Leah loved how every time he entered her, it felt like the first time all over again—like he couldn’t believe it, like he was afraid he’d mess it up, like he needed to savor every second. She pushed her hips back against him, making him slide deeper, and let out a low, happy moan.

He picked up the pace, fucking her with an unselfconscious, greedy rhythm. There was nothing acrobatic or complicated about it. He just wanted her, wanted to please her, and needed her, and she could feel the heat and the weight of his desire in every clumsy thrust. She clamped down around him, relishing the **** way he groaned and dug his fingers into her skin. It wasn’t long before she felt the first tremors of her own climax building, a low, coiling ache that radiated up through her belly and legs.

She let herself go slack, resting her head on the pillow, and just let him use her like a toy until she couldn’t take it anymore. She came with a helpless little cry, her legs shaking, toes flexing in the air. Jonathan lasted only seconds more; with a guttural moan, he slammed into her one last time and spent himself inside her, a hot, dizzying rush. He collapsed on top of her, the two of them panting, slicked with sweat, still joined together.

He managed to prop himself up on an elbow after a minute, kissing her shoulder with a damp, apologetic tenderness.

“Didn’t know I had any left,” he said, a little breathless.

Leah smiled into the pillow.

“You’re ridiculous.” She felt him soften and slip out of her, a sticky warmth trailing down her thigh. She let him hold her for a bit, his arm heavy across her waist, until she finally wriggled free.

“Bathroom,” she murmured, half asleep already. She padded to the master, wiped away the third (far smaller) load of the day, and rinsed her mouth at the sink, smiling at her own feral reflection in the dim vanity lights.

When she came back to bed, Jonathan was sprawled on his back, snoring gently, one leg thrown over the edge of the comforter. She pulled the blanket tight around her, curled herself against his side, and let herself drift away into the blackest, deepest sleep she’d had in a while.