Catch my breath and reach for one of the condoms in my purse before things go further.

1 Breedmore Lane, Maplewood Suburbs, at 8:35 PM on Friday October 31, 2024

I'm still trembling — my thighs shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my pussy pulsing with aftershocks that send little jolts through my clit every few seconds. The couch cushion beneath me is soaked. I can feel my juices cooling on my inner thighs, sticky and obscene. But even through the haze of the most powerful orgasm of my life, some tiny rational part of my brain is still functioning — barely — and it's screaming at me to prepare.

My hand reaches blindly for my purse, which I dropped somewhere beside the couch when Derek pulled me down onto it. My fingers find the strap, and I tug it closer, fumbling with the clasp. My hands are shaking. Everything is shaking.

Derek watches me with those silver eyes, his chin still glistening with my cum, his expression shifting from satisfied to curious. "What are you doing, baby?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

"Condom," I manage, my voice wrecked and breathy. "I need — I should —"

My fingers close around one of the three foil wrappers inside my purse. I pull it out, holding it between two trembling fingers like a talisman. The little square feels impossibly small and fragile in my hand.

Derek's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. His smile doesn't falter, but something shifts behind his eyes — a flicker of calculation, quickly smoothed away. He leans forward on his knees, his broad chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, and reaches out to brush a strand of damp purple hair from my face.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Still thinking straight enough to be responsible. That's adorable." His hand slides down my neck, over my collarbone, his touch feather-light and maddening. "But I haven't finished with my mouth yet, Luna. I told you — more than one."

His hand drifts lower, fingertips grazing the swell of my small breast, circling my still-hard nipple without touching it. My breath hitches. The condom wrapper crinkles in my grip.

"Put it down for now," he says softly, his gaze holding mine. "Let me make you cum again first. You're so sensitive right now — I can make you feel things you've never felt before. And when we're ready for more..." His eyes drop to the condom in my hand, then back to my face. "We'll use that. I promise."

His other hand settles on my bare knee, warm and heavy, his thumb tracing slow circles on my inner thigh — inches from my swollen, dripping pussy. The touch sends a fresh wave of heat through my core, and I feel myself clench around nothing, my body already aching for more stimulation despite having just shattered apart seconds ago.

"Unless you want me to stop," he adds, and there's something challenging in his tone — not threatening, but testing. His thumb slides an inch higher. "Do you want me to stop, Luna?"

The condom wrapper is warm from my palm. I have three. Just three. And eleven more houses to visit after this one. But my pussy is throbbing — empty, desperate, clenching — and his mouth was so good, so impossibly good, and he's promising more...