Pillow talk

I lie down on top of Heather, propping myself up with my elbows—until she wraps her arms around me and pulls me down, squeezing me to her. I kiss her, slowly, deeply, and thoroughly; she weeps as she returns the kiss with interest. I keep kissing her until the tears stop, then gently kiss them away from her eyes. “You . . . are . . . in—fucking—credible,” she whispers fiercely into my skin. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had, and my pussy’s still empty, and all you’ve gotten out of it yet is a blowjob.”

I turn and kiss her hair. “No, love,” I murmur. “I’ve gotten the first striptease of my life—one that was created just for me; you have no idea how incredible that was, and is. And I’ve gotten to watch you cum five times already, which is wonderful. And, yes, the blowjob—titjob—was also a dream come true. I’m certainly not done with you yet, but this has all been amazing for me, too.”

When Heather speaks, her voice is thick, and I feel moisture trickling down my neck. “I called them boyfriends, but all I ever really had was fuckbuddies. That was all I ever asked for. Now I don’t just have a boyfriend, I have a lover, and I will never go back.” She raises her head, and I can see the tears flowing. “You’ve made me happier than I have ever been before. I can’t believe I have it so good.”

I kiss her tears and tell her, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, so I’m very glad you feel that way.”

“Baby,” Heather responds, “you’ve done more for me than—what are you smiling about?” From the expression on her face, she doesn’t actually think I’m laughing at her but she can’t think why else I could be smiling.

My tone matches my grin for wryness when I reply, “We sound like a bad romance novel. ‘I love you more.’ ‘No, I love you more.’”

Heather bursts out laughing, so hard the tears begin to flow again, and buries her face back in my neck. I hold her tightly and feel her body shudder and shake. Finally, she lifts her head again and says, a little shakily, “That gives me a new appreciation for bad romance novels.” She pauses to get her breathing under control before continuing, “Let’s get upstairs before I break down and fuck you into oblivion right here on the couch.”

“What would be bad about that?” I ask her with a deliberately smug grin.

“My bed is more comfortable, allows for more positions, and will work much better for falling asleep together—though that will matter more tonight. And . . . I want you in my bed,” Heather adds, almost shyly.

“Love, your wish is my command. Lead on.”