Round two, turn up the heat

You lie tangled together for a while, sweat cooling on your skin, breaths slowing into something almost peaceful. Alex’s fingers trace lazy circles on your back; every now and then he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder or the curve of your neck. The ache between your legs has quieted to a warm, satisfied glow—but only for a few minutes.

It doesn’t take long before you feel that familiar heat building again, slower this time, deeper. You shift against him, letting your thigh slide over his, and feel him already half-hard against your hip.

“Ready for round two?” you murmur, lips brushing his collarbone.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You roll apart just long enough for him to reach the nightstand again. He grabs another condom, tears the packet open with his teeth—but you stop him with a hand on his wrist right as he’s about to roll it on.

“Wait.”

He freezes, looking up at you, brow raised.

You bite your lip, heart thudding. It’s been well over ten minutes now—more like thirty. You feel fine. No cramps, no weird sensations, nothing. The cream has to be working by now.

“We don’t… we don’t have to use that,” you say, voice softer than you intended. “You could just… pull out. I trust you.”

Alex hesitates, eyes searching yours. “You sure? I don't mind using the condoms, so long as I get my best friend back.”

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. It’s supposed to work instantly. We’re good.” You lean in, kissing him slow and deep until you feel him relax. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

That seems to decide it. He tosses the condom aside and pulls you back into his arms, kissing you like he’s starving again.

This time there’s no rush. You take your time exploring each other—hands roaming, mouths trailing over newly discovered sensitive spots. Eventually he guides you onto your hands and knees, settling behind you. You feel the blunt heat of him sliding along your folds, teasing, coating himself in how wet you already are.

He presses in slowly—agonizingly slowly—letting you feel every inch as he sinks into you bare for the first time. No latex, no barrier, just hot, velvet skin dragging against your walls. You both groan at the difference; it’s overwhelming in the best way.

“God, Jen,” he breathes, hands gripping your hips. “You feel incredible.”

He starts moving—long, deep strokes that make your toes curl. It’s deliberate, passionate, almost tender. Every thrust rolls through you like a wave, building that sweet pressure higher and higher. One of his hands slides up your spine to tangle gently in your hair; the other slips around to circle your clit in slow, perfect rhythm.

You push back to meet him, moaning into the pillow, completely lost in the sensation of him filling you again and again with nothing between you. The room fills with the sounds of your bodies coming together—wet, rhythmic, intimate.

“You’re so deep,” you gasp, trembling as he hits that spot inside you over and over. “Don’t stop—please—”

“I won’t,” he promises, voice rough. “Not until you come for me again.”

It doesn’t take long. The slow build tips over into a long, rolling orgasm that leaves you shaking and crying out his name. You clench hard around him, milking him with every pulse, and you feel him swell, his rhythm faltering.

“Jen—fuck—I’m close—”

You push back harder, instinct overriding everything else. “Inside,” you whisper, breathless, ****. “Come inside me. Please, Alex—I want it. I want you to fill me up.”

He groans your name like it hurts, hips snapping forward one last time. For a heartbeat you think he’s going to give in, bury himself deep and let go completely.

But at the last possible second, he pulls out with a strangled curse, hand wrapping around his slick length. He strokes himself twice, hard and fast, and then he’s coming in thick, hot ropes across your lower back and ass.

You whimper in disappointment, thighs trembling, still clenching around nothing as the aftershocks ripple through you. “Alex…” you breathe, half-protest, half-plea.

He collapses beside you, chest heaving, pulling you down with him into a messy embrace. “Sorry,” he pants against your hair, voice thick with regret and lingering heat. “I—I couldn’t. Not after everything. Just… couldn’t risk it. It's still a trial Jen. What if it doesn't work?”

You bury your face in his neck, frustrated but oddly touched. The cream is supposed to be working. It has to be. But even so, you can’t deny the tiny thrill of danger that lingers in the air between you.