Chapter 5

Sarah’s fingers slid lower when I pressed her hand. She found me still wet and open, and the quiet sound she made against my shoulder was almost a laugh.

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

She turned onto her side, propped on one elbow, and watched my face while two fingers pushed inside. Slow. Testing. I exhaled through my nose and let my knees fall open wider.

“You’re sore.”

“I know.”

“Want me to stop?”

I shook my head once. Sarah kissed the corner of my mouth, then reached over to the nightstand. A drawer opened. Plastic clicked. She came back with a slim vibrator, the kind that fit in one hand. She didn’t ask again. She simply switched it on. The low buzz filled the quiet room.

She settled between my legs, cock already hard again, and rubbed the head through my folds until I lifted to meet it. When she pushed in this time the stretch burned sharper than before. I gritted my teeth. Sarah paused halfway.

“Breathe.”

“I’m trying.”

She waited, one hand steady on my hip, the other resting the vibrator against my clit without turning it higher. The dual sensation made my thighs twitch. After a few breaths she gave me another inch. Then another. When she finally seated herself fully I let out a short, broken sound.

“Too much?”

“No. Just… full.”

Sarah started moving in short, careful strokes. The vibrator stayed pressed exactly where I needed it. Every thrust dragged against the sore places and still somehow fed the heat building under the buzz. I reached up and gripped her shoulders.

“Harder.”

She looked at me for a second, then gave me harder. The wet sound of it filled the room. The headboard tapped the wall in a steady rhythm. I kept my eyes open and watched the way her face changed when she sank deep. Concentration. Hunger. Something almost tender that she didn’t voice.

“You’re so fucking tight like this.”

“You’re not exactly small.”

A real smile flickered across her mouth. She angled her hips and the next thrust hit a spot that made my back arch.

“There?”

“Yeah. There.”

She kept the angle and the pace. The vibrator’s buzz climbed one setting when her thumb adjusted it. The pressure on my clit turned sharp and perfect. My hands slid down her back and dug in. Sarah’s breathing roughened.

“You gonna come again?”

“If you keep doing that.”

“Not going anywhere.”

She fucked me through the rising tension without mercy or rush. When the orgasm finally broke it was lower and longer than the earlier ones, a rolling wave that made my legs shake around her waist. I heard myself make a sound that was almost a sob. Sarah rode it out, hips still moving, vibrator still pressed tight, until the pulses slowed.

She didn’t pull out.

“Again.”

“Sarah—”

“You can.”

She switched the vibrator higher and changed to deeper, slower strokes that forced me to feel every inch. The oversensitivity bordered on too much. I turned my face into the pillow. Sarah reached up and turned it back.

“Look at me.”

I did. Her eyes were dark and steady. She kept the rhythm exact. The second climax after the first arrived faster than I expected, sharper, almost painful in its intensity. My nails left fresh marks on her shoulders. Sarah’s control finally slipped. She dropped the vibrator, gripped both my hips, and drove into me hard enough that the headboard knocked a steady beat against the wall.

“Fuck—”

“I know.”

She came with a low, gritted sound, buried as deep as she could go, cock pulsing while her forehead dropped to mine. We stayed locked like that until her breathing evened out. When she finally pulled free the emptiness made me flinch. A slow trickle of wetness followed.

Sarah rolled onto her back beside me. For a while the only sound was the two of us trying to catch our breath. The vibrator lay quiet against my thigh, still warm.

She spoke first, voice rough.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Lying?”

I turned my head on the pillow and met her eyes. “A little sore. Not lying about the rest.”

Sarah reached over and brushed damp hair off my forehead. The gesture was careful. Almost at odds with how hard she had just fucked me.

“Mark texted me earlier,” she said. “Asked if we were having fun.”

I stared at the ceiling. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were trying on attitudes instead of dresses.”

A short, unwilling laugh left me. Sarah’s mouth curved.

“Too soon?”

“Probably.”

Silence settled again. Outside the loft windows a siren rose and faded. Inside, the sheets smelled like sex and her skin. I could still feel the ghost of her thickness with every small shift of my legs.

Sarah spoke without looking at me.

“You can stay. Or go. I’m not going to make the choice for you.”

I watched the rise and fall of her chest. The engagement ring on my finger felt heavier than it had all evening. I didn’t take it off. I also didn’t reach for my clothes.

“I’ll stay a little longer,” I said.

Sarah nodded once, as if she had expected that answer and its opposite in equal measure. She switched off the lamp. In the dark her hand found mine on top of the sheet and simply held it. No pressure. No further question.

I lay there listening to her breathe and to the quiet of a city that did not know what we had done. The guilt was still present. So was the want. They sat side by side in the dark and neither one left.

Tomorrow I would have to go home and look Mark in the eye. Tonight I stayed exactly where I was, sore and open and unwilling to move yet.