Page 87 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“Good!” I assure him. “So, so good. Oh, Ian,” I pant. He’s still watching me, waiting for my go-ahead. “Yes. More.” I hook my heel behind his rear for emphasis, urging him farther in.“More.”
He continues with torturous slowness, rocking slightly, in and out, as my body molds to accommodate him. I roll my hips in time with his, and the muscles of my sex clench and release, pulling him in deeper, my body betraying my impatience. But he takes his time. He moves with the thoughtful confidence of a man who knows he needs to maneuver carefully. And while my brain does produce the inconvenient realization that his is the kind of skill that requires practice to hone, I find that I have nothing but gratitude for every experience he’s had that has led him to this particular performance.
I leverage my hips to meet each thrust, and we fall into a rhythm, my pleasure heightening, the pressure building, climbing—
Pain, sharp and piercing, erupts behind my navel. I flinch, mynails digging into the back of his neck. Ian stills.
“Ellie?” He begins to withdraw.
I shake my head, forcing my fingers to relax as the pain subsides. “Stay! Just…” It takes a moment to get my brain back to word making. “It’s passing. It’s—” I breathe in slowly, allowing my lungs to fill, bearing down internally to maximize the pressure. No pain. “It’s over.” I tell him. “Maybe… let me on top—”
I haven’t fully articulated the request before he’s shifted to accommodate it, holding me with one hand and rolling to his back without extracting himself. I gasp, gripping his sides with my knees, then relax, allowing the full length of him into me. We let out a sigh simultaneously, and I lean over to press my chest to his, needing a moment to adapt to being in a reality where I have access to an experience like this.
He runs his hands over my shoulders. “You’re okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, and then we’re moving again.
Within seconds, I’ve resumed my position at my peak, so, so close to losing myself.
“What do you need?” he insists.
“Press—” He knows exactly what I’m asking, pressing the flat of his palm into the space between my pubic bone and my belly button.
Everything around me stops. There’s only this moment as pleasure claims me, holding me in its grip as my climax washes over me. It’s as endless as the other times we’ve brought me here, but complete in a way I hadn’t known. Forget tasting colors. I’m manipulating time.
Somewhere in the void, I hear myself call his name, losingmyself in the delight of it on my tongue.
Ian goes tense below me, and I fight to maintain my pace as a new crest appears on the horizon. “Ellie—” he rasps, gripping my hips.
I press a hand to the side of his face. “I want to hear you.”
He roars. It’s the sound I’ve been fantasizing about for more than a month, and I’m undone. I follow him into a second orgasm, and I’m giggling through it, because my God, this is nothing if not Vikings-fucking-while-the-ship-is-on-fire sex.
I collapse onto him, his arms tight around me, my face pressed into his damp chest. We lay there panting, for several seconds. Or minutes? What is time?
I smile. My right eye is fogged up.
“Holy shit,” I croak, and kiss Ian’s chest. “The stimmy rules.”
“Yeah, it does.” He gives me a squeeze, then laughs. “I hope Diego was wearing his headphones.”
31
THE DOUBLE DOORS OPEN,the sound of the crowd assembling outside flooding the lobby before the doors clatter shut again, returning the din to a dull murmur.
“Ellie?” Ian’s voice cuts through the darkened space, his form limned by the green glow of the exit light above the doors. The sight is cinematic, but distinctly genre, like things are about to get either veryspookyor verysexy.
Or very judgy.
“Are you ready?” I ask. I sit on the couch dividing the shop from the communal lounge, and when I stand, it activates the motion-sensing lights, illuminating the pro shop behind me. The effect is really dramatic; I recorded my practice run to be sure.
Ian’s attention is fixed behind me, his eyes tracking from left to right. “Wow,” he says, his tone gratingly neutral as he starts toward the pro shop. I move to meet him, stopping to accept the kiss he plants on my temple, and one of his hands finds its way to my side as we move closer to admire the changes.
Even though I worked on the makeover all day, I’m still takenwith how well our vision has translated into reality. It was truly a group effort, with every insurgent in the Coffee Coup staying after the Saturday endurance class to help, but they insisted that I present the final reveal on my own on the grounds that they wanted to help prepare for tonight’s event. Plus, as per Babs, “Ian might want tothankyou.” Her suggestive tone inspired a round of faux-scandalizedoohs. They really do need to find a better way to fill their time.
“Those are the rigs from storage,” he says, starting in the left corner of the shop. We paired them with some banged-up barbells he’d retired, repurposing them into racks to hang T-shirts and tank tops. “Good call.”
“We swiped two pairs of j-hooks.” I point to where they hold the bars “So if we’re ever short on the floor, we’ll have to find another way to hang those.”
