The Boyfriend Experience
She’s smiling up at me, her brown eyes turned slightly yellow from the glow of the lights, her cheeks pink. Flushed from the exertion of sex. Her breathing slower now, but not her heart. Because I can feel it underneath me.
Waiting for more.
Trying to match mine.
So we can keep time together.
I think that’s what hearts do. Keep time. Keep everything together. Keep this crazy thing called life in perspective.
“One more time here,” I say. “Then I’ll take you inside so I can get you naked.”
It’s too cold to make her take her clothes off. Even though I know she’d do that if I asked her to. I can already feel the chill of her beneath me. But my body heat will help. Will protect her from the cold.
The deluxe package includes a boyfriend blanket on a cold night.
She opens her legs, reaches down between them to pull her panties aside, and my hips adjust enough to allow my cock to slide up to her opening. Her fingers are grabbing my shoulder now. And even through the leather I can feel them dig.
I want to take the jacket off so she can leave marks on me. I want there to be nothing between us. But I want her to be on the bottom at least once. So she can look up and see the surreal fantasy version of the underside of her water tower just like I did. So we can share that special feeling of being with someone you adore in a way that can’t be repeated.
No one will ever make love to her like this again. Not even me. Because this is a moment and moments pass into other moments and no two are ever alike.
She thrusts her hips upward, trying to force me to enter her. I just grin, because not gonna happen. Not until I say so, at least.
“Come on,” she whispers, watching me intently. “Let’s go.”
“We’ve got time. There’s no rush.”
She thrusts upward again. “There is a rush. A rush I want to experience again. Don’t make me beg, Lawton Ayers.”
“Begging?” I ask playfully. “Is that something you do?”
She giggles, then gets serious real quick. She frowns. Pouts her lips. Widens her eyes. “Please,” comes out like a whimper. Like she’s been wounded and needs relief. Relief only I can administer.
“Just take a moment, Oaklee. Feel it with me.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. Like she’s trying to figure out what I’m asking.
“The game is over,” I say. “That’s what I want you to feel. We passed it by some time ago. I’m not sure when, exactly. But the game is over.”
“OK,” she says, her face relaxing. The pout is gone. The confusion is gone. And all her expectations seem to melt away. “We’re real,” she whispers.