Page 89 of Bad at Love
Laz tears the foil packet in his hands, the sound bringing me back to what’s about to happen and I watch with big eyes as he takes the condom and slips it on with the kind of precision I don’t want to know about. It goes over his piercings with ease.
His piercings. I guess that’s something I should think about.
“Do I, uh, need lube for those?” I say to him as he comes over to the bed.
“Those?” he asks, brows raised.
“Your piercings. On your dick.”
He grins. “Oh. No. You don’t have any idea how wet you are, do you?” And at that he brings a hand between my legs and with his eyes locked on mine, slowly inserts a finger.
“You’re soaked. “
Now two fingers. Then three fingers. I gasp as I tense up, clenching around him. But it isn’t painful in the slightest. Of course I’d have to multiply three by, like, seven, to substitute his cock.
He moves over me, grabbing the base of his cock and pressing it softly against my entrance. “If it’s too much, I’ll fix you up. How about that?”
I nod but he doesn’t push inside. Not yet.
He runs his hands, palms flat, up the sides of my waist, sliding over my breasts, his thumbs expertly brushing over my nipples.
“Look at you,” he whispers, pinching my sensitive skinuntil I moan. “I wish you could see yourself as I see you. See how unbelievable you are. Every single inch of you is pure poetry.”
He drags his lips over my breasts, his tongue flicking and teasing and tasting. “I want to write you with my tongue.”
It swirls around my nipple as he sucks it into his mouth.
“Sonnets.”
His lips trail up, hot, wet, warm, to my collarbone.
“Stanzas.”
To my neck.
“Lyrics.”
He can write me anyway he wants.
But I’m getting impatient.
My hips buck up toward him, his cock hard and long and thick and so, so close.
“Come inside me,” I whisper to him, holding the back of his neck that’s already damp from sweat. “I need you.”
He moans into my neck. It sounds like a symphony.
“I like hearing that.”
I run my hands down over the muscles in his firm back, marveling at them, that I can touch him like this, that this is what we’re doing.
It no longer feels odd or strange. It feels like this is what we were made to do, to be with each other just like this.
My hands stop at his ass and I grab hold, shrugging him into me.
“Fuck,” he swears. “Okay.”
He adjusts himself slightly, reaches down between my legs to position himself.
