Page 96 of I Knead You Tonight

I might be staying with Winston for now, but nothing about this is going to be long term. It’s just until I can get on my feet again.

I can’t get attached to any of it.

Especially not him.

“Oh my god, finally,” Winston says from behind me when I stretch my back. “You’re awake.”

Somehow during our nap, we moved until we were spooning.

And based on the hard, hot cock I feel poking against my ass, Winston lost his shorts.

“I didn’t realize when you said you’d wake me in a bit, it would be for sex.”

“Did you expect anything less?” Winston’s lips ghost over my ear and he drives his hips into me. “Hey, Drew, you want some fuck?”

I bust into laughter, shaking my head. “You are a complete idiot. A total moron. A horri—mmmm.”

A moan slips out as his tongue slides over that sensitive spot just under my ear.

“What was that? Something about how horrible I am?”

“Shut up. Just…”

His tongue dances along the spot again and I squeeze my thighs together, the touch going right between them.

“Just what?” he whispers. “Just fuck you already?”

I nod. “But dibs on bottom. My knees hurt too bad to be on top.”

His hand runs up the back of my thigh, and to my surprise, he lifts it until my calf is resting on the same arm that gave me bruises I’ll cherish.

Adjusting himself on the lounger, he snakes his hand between my thighs and slides his fingers between my folds, finding my clit, stroking it just the way he knows I like it.

He plays with me long enough to get me standing on the edge then dips two fingers inside, stretching me.

When I’m good and ready, he guides his cock into me.

Winston takes his time fucking me. His thrusts are slow. Short. Lazy even.

By the time he’s getting close, I feel like I’m about to explode.

“I need to come,” I say to him, practically whining.

“Again? You’re so greedy,” he teases. “Can you stand being on your knees for a minute?”

“For an orgasm after you’ve been torturing me for so long? Yes.”

Laughing, he pulls out of me, and I miss the feeling instantly.

I wonder if I’ll always feel that way when he leaves me.

Will I ever be the same after we’re done doing whatever it is we’re doing? Am I going to be able to walk away from this—fromhim—when it’s all over?

No feelings, no feelings, no feelings.

If I say it enough times, I’ll believe it.

Winston adjusts us until I’m on my knees and he’s behind me, sliding back in like he was made to fit me.

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