scream fades to murmurs of pleasure.
I writhe against his fingers, sending him images of continuing.
“Greedy, are we?” he teases.
“Damn straight.”
He grins at me, chuckling as his lips return to my clit, the ripples of his laughter teasing me until his tongue touches and I buck, a stream of blue coming out my mouth until I shatter again with a scream.
As I come down, Jorge slides his fingers out, kissing up my thigh and torso, then burying his face in my neck. I circle my arms around him, running my fingernails down his back. “Fuck me now.” I’m glad for our connection because I don’t think I’d be able to say the words aloud. The anticipation of his hard cock entering me sends shivers through my already-spasming inner muscles.
And then he does just that.
My legs wrap around his backside, pulling him farther into me. “Harder.”
He complies, pounding into me over and over. I feel his sweat gathering under my touch as I reach to lick at his chest, gently nipping around his shoulders.
He moans his pleasure, and I can feel him getting close. My nails dig deeper into his back as I begin to orgasm, and he bucks and groans into his own release.
Spent, he sinks toward me, lazily kissing my neck, purring in a very satisfied way. I stroke his hair and he plays his hand along my abdomen with an intimate possessiveness.
Eventually his hand stops moving, and I realize he’s slipped into sleep, his thoughts disconnected and scattered. Through it all, his mind radiates contentment, and I am in awe that I could give him that feeling. Still, I close my mind away from him, unready for that kind of openness with my guard down, and give in to my own sleepiness.
* * *
Sometime in the afternoon we get up again and Jorge makes a quick lunch of sandwiches, followed by the delectable Dalwhinnie.
I take a whiff then sip as we walk to the living room. “God, this is good. I’ve never had the thirty-six-year before.”
“I’m glad I could share it with you. Everyone should get to try this at least once in life.” He settles on the couch with more ease than any of the other times we’ve sat together on the couch. In such a short time it feels so natural to us both.
Part of me is still nervous. I am somewhat in awe at how quickly Jorge has fallen into a comfort zone with me. Perhaps like many cats, he makes a decision about a person and sticks with it.
“Agreed.” I sink down next to him in the middle of the sofa, pulling my legs underneath me, my torso angled toward him so my left arm gently touches his right side.
He shifts his glass to his left hand, so his right can rest on my thigh. We sip the scotch for a while, both of us clearly enjoying the richness.
I can hardly believe that I’m sitting here like this, barely panicking at all. I decide not to examine it too closely. I don’t want to break this spell I’ve fallen under.
I turn my attention back to Jorge, letting myself connect with the current of his emotions. Underneath the pleasure of the scotch and sitting next to me—at least, I hope that’s a reason—I can feel his growing anxiety.
When he starts tapping his fingers on my thigh, I lose patience. “Out with it.”
He looks at me, then awareness of our bond shines in his eyes and he smiles. “No hiding, I see.” He taps his head.
“Nope. You’re stuck with me. Plus,” I add, gesturing at his hand, “you were about to start transmitting Morse code through my leg with all your tapping.”
“Sorry.” He gives me a slow, chagrined smile. “But I can’t complain about being stuck with you.” Lazy cat laces his voice as he reaches out to stroke the side of my face.
“Yes, I’m aware of your charms.” I smile. “And I’m already on to your attempts to divert my inquiries. Out with it.” When he leans toward me, I add for good measure, holding up a hand, “And no kissing me to shut me up!”
He sighs, withdrawing his hand to run it through his hair. “Fine. I
I writhe against his fingers, sending him images of continuing.
“Greedy, are we?” he teases.
“Damn straight.”
He grins at me, chuckling as his lips return to my clit, the ripples of his laughter teasing me until his tongue touches and I buck, a stream of blue coming out my mouth until I shatter again with a scream.
As I come down, Jorge slides his fingers out, kissing up my thigh and torso, then burying his face in my neck. I circle my arms around him, running my fingernails down his back. “Fuck me now.” I’m glad for our connection because I don’t think I’d be able to say the words aloud. The anticipation of his hard cock entering me sends shivers through my already-spasming inner muscles.
And then he does just that.
My legs wrap around his backside, pulling him farther into me. “Harder.”
He complies, pounding into me over and over. I feel his sweat gathering under my touch as I reach to lick at his chest, gently nipping around his shoulders.
He moans his pleasure, and I can feel him getting close. My nails dig deeper into his back as I begin to orgasm, and he bucks and groans into his own release.
Spent, he sinks toward me, lazily kissing my neck, purring in a very satisfied way. I stroke his hair and he plays his hand along my abdomen with an intimate possessiveness.
Eventually his hand stops moving, and I realize he’s slipped into sleep, his thoughts disconnected and scattered. Through it all, his mind radiates contentment, and I am in awe that I could give him that feeling. Still, I close my mind away from him, unready for that kind of openness with my guard down, and give in to my own sleepiness.
* * *
Sometime in the afternoon we get up again and Jorge makes a quick lunch of sandwiches, followed by the delectable Dalwhinnie.
I take a whiff then sip as we walk to the living room. “God, this is good. I’ve never had the thirty-six-year before.”
“I’m glad I could share it with you. Everyone should get to try this at least once in life.” He settles on the couch with more ease than any of the other times we’ve sat together on the couch. In such a short time it feels so natural to us both.
Part of me is still nervous. I am somewhat in awe at how quickly Jorge has fallen into a comfort zone with me. Perhaps like many cats, he makes a decision about a person and sticks with it.
“Agreed.” I sink down next to him in the middle of the sofa, pulling my legs underneath me, my torso angled toward him so my left arm gently touches his right side.
He shifts his glass to his left hand, so his right can rest on my thigh. We sip the scotch for a while, both of us clearly enjoying the richness.
I can hardly believe that I’m sitting here like this, barely panicking at all. I decide not to examine it too closely. I don’t want to break this spell I’ve fallen under.
I turn my attention back to Jorge, letting myself connect with the current of his emotions. Underneath the pleasure of the scotch and sitting next to me—at least, I hope that’s a reason—I can feel his growing anxiety.
When he starts tapping his fingers on my thigh, I lose patience. “Out with it.”
He looks at me, then awareness of our bond shines in his eyes and he smiles. “No hiding, I see.” He taps his head.
“Nope. You’re stuck with me. Plus,” I add, gesturing at his hand, “you were about to start transmitting Morse code through my leg with all your tapping.”
“Sorry.” He gives me a slow, chagrined smile. “But I can’t complain about being stuck with you.” Lazy cat laces his voice as he reaches out to stroke the side of my face.
“Yes, I’m aware of your charms.” I smile. “And I’m already on to your attempts to divert my inquiries. Out with it.” When he leans toward me, I add for good measure, holding up a hand, “And no kissing me to shut me up!”
He sighs, withdrawing his hand to run it through his hair. “Fine. I
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