deep voices in the dark

You settle for the night.

Nude, both of you, because you already know you will not keep your hands off each other in the morning and clothes would only be in the way.
At least you do not fuck yourselves to exhaustion today. You just spoon.
Tomorrow is the last full day before her parents return. There will be plenty to do, including the animal heat you have been living in.
Tonight you choose the other thing.

You already miss holding her like this while you are still doing it.

Her hot, sexy body pressed along yours. Your arms around her. The way she makes herself as small as possible so she can be engulfed, knees tucked, spine curved into your chest. Your cock resting between her cheeks, not working, just there, claimed by the shape of her.
This is how you want every night to look, as long as the AC allows it in this summernight heat. You both know it probably will not be possible—separate beds in separate houses, lectures, parents, the world getting its vote back.
The knowledge sits in the dark with you and makes the hold tighter.

You fall asleep like that.

You wake later, somewhere around four in the morning, the sky still dark outside the window.

Sandra is calling your name. Gentle. Trying not to startle you out of whatever you were in.

The dream you leave has no edges you can name. What you wake into however, has a very specific shape.
Her shape to be precise.
One of your hands is on her throat. The other is on her breast, kneading even as your brain comes online.
Your cock is not between her cheeks anymore. It is pushed between her thighs, the head slick against her cunt, trapped in the heat she makes when she is wet.
She looks like she has already come once or twice—flushed, glassy, breathing uneven, a little wrecked in the moonlight.

Apparently you have been Daddy-talking in your sleep.

Grabbing her without the intent to let go. Low voice, words you do not remember choosing. She just let it happen.
Did not wake you. Did not shove your hands off. Rode the accident as if she hoped for it and only then said your name like a kindness.

“John.”
Soft.
“Hey. You’re—you’re grabbing pretty tight.”

You loosen the hand on her neck at once, horror and heat arriving together.
A small protest escapes her lips, and a whisper follows.
“not that hand.... that was...”

“I was asleep. I didn’t—”

“I know.”
She catches your wrist before you can fully retreat, leads your palm on back to her throat like the retreat is the only part she objects to.
“You didn’t hurt me. You were just… talking. And not letting go. I could have stopped you. but i don't want to.”

Your cock twitches between her thighs at that, traitorous. She feels it and huffs a tiny, wrecked laugh.

“You said I was good,”
she whispers into the pillow.
“You said I was yours. You said I could take it. I came. Then I came again. Then I thought I should probably tell you before you actually pushed in without knowing you were awake.”

You make her tell you in detail.

Not a summary. The filthy things, between kisses, while you try to line your cock up with her entrance without using your hands. You want to know what your sleeping mouth did with her.

The first attempt slides too high, smearing through the wet on her clit. The second catches and slips. Sandra reaches down with one hand and helps—fingers wrapping you, angling, guiding you into her in one slow, sleeping-warm slide that punches a sound out of both of you. Her other hand finds yours on her throat and presses, a clear signal. Tighter is okay. Tighter is wanted.

You tighten.

She talks.

“I woke up to you already going,”
she whispers against your mouth, then kisses you, then keeps going.
“You were praising me. You said I was such a good girl today. On the bus. At the stop. You said good girls like me make Daddy proud.”

Another kiss. You rock into her, shallow, listening.
“You were just talking at first, but when i pushed back into you, your body reacted and your hands found me on their own”

“You said good girls get knocked up.”
Her voice frays on that one.
“You said they get kept. As a wife. Forever. You said that part twice.”

You thrust deeper. Her hand stays on yours at her neck.

“And you said bad girls stay sluts. Playthings. They get used and they don’t get the ring and they don’t get the baby, they just get fucked. You weren’t even mean about it. You were just… sorting. Like you were explaining the rules to me in your sleep.”
She laughs, wrecked and quiet.
“I came when you said wife. I came again when you said I was good. I didn’t know which one I wanted more. I still don’t. Both. I want both. I want to be your good girl who gets kept and I want to be the slut on the bus. You were saying I could be both if I behaved and I just—let you keep talking. I let you hold my throat. I let you rub on me until I soaked the sheets. I should have woken you. I didn’t. I’m not sorry.”

“Why should my good girl be sorry, she just answerd to daddys calls as she should” you let out low, making her moan long in desire, which you could feel vibrating in your hand.
You kiss her through the rest of it—the fragments she remembers, the way your sleeping voice dropped on Daddy, the way your hand had kneaded her breast like it already belonged there. She tells you you promised to put a baby in her before her parents got home. She tells you you called her property and then called her love in the same breath. She tells you she whispered yes into the dark and you did not hear it because you were not awake to hear it.

Now you are awake.