Page 52 of Dash

She snorts, pressing a kiss to my chest. “I’ll give you all the time you need.”

My breaths come slower, less shallow, the heat on my skin cooling too. When I feel human again, I drop my arm and give her a lazy smile.

“Babe…”

“You liked that?”

“Yeah.” I cup her face, needing to touch her. “You looked so fucking perfect, taking me like that.”

She traces her fingers over my tattoos. “I like making you feel good.”

I kiss her, tasting myself on her tongue. I always want to be kissing or touching her.

For the last week, I’ve spent every available minute in my day with her. Waking with her draped over me has become routine in a way that makes me crave it on the days I’m not able to stay over.

I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her, and not just because she wakes me up with blowjobs. She’s funny as fuck, kind, and sweet, once she pulls back the barbs she uses to protect herself.

Every day, I peel back more of her layers and fall a little more.

I lace my fingers behind my head as she climbs out of bed. Her curves beg for my fingerprints to paint them, and she sashays her hips like a fucking temptress as she heads for the door. “I’m gonna go brush the protein out of my teeth.”

I laugh. “You did not just call my cum protein.”

“You prefer I call it spunk? Jizz? Baby gravy?”

This fucking woman… “None of the above.”

She flashes me a smile before she leaves, and when she returns, she’s clutching a cloth. I watch through heavy lids as she climbs onto the bed. Her eyes dart to mine, and again, there’s that uncertainty.

“Can I clean you?”

I’ve never had anybody wipe me down after I’ve spilled my load, and my chest is tight as I come up on my elbows.

Every part of me feels soft for her. “Yeah, babe. You can.”

I’ve never had anyone look at me the way she does, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she blinks too hard. Like she wants me too much to put into words. It makes my ribs ache.

The first touch with the cloth makes my hips jolt, my body still sensitive.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, wiping more gently when she tries again.

I don’t take my eyes off her. This is intimacy, devotion. Care like I’ve never experienced. She wants to love me.

“There,” her hand stills, “good as new.”

She tosses the cloth onto the floor with the rest of the dirty laundry, and our eyes lock.

“Are you real?” I ask the question she’d asked me, which earns a smile.

“I am when I’m with you.”

I pull her down on top of me for a bruising kiss. Our tongues tangle, slow and lazy, seeking and feeling. Her skin against mine is warm and soft, and I grip her hips, holding her to me.

“But it’s a waste of time cleaning me up, baby.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m gonna be inside you in less than thirty seconds.”

---