Have I already told you how much I hate hormones? Ever since I got the cure, my hormones have been all wonky. This must be how pregnant women feel. Sudden cravings in the middle of the night, terrible mood swings and underneath it all constant yearning for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. It has been a year already, and nothing has changed. I’m still as moody and needy as I was immediately after they emptied that syringe in to my arm.
So, here I am, cataloguing stuff we have in storage, taking notes of what we have to order, my mind million miles away from my task. I groan and whine, roll my neck and my pencil drops. More whining, and I bend down to lift it, when suddenly warm hands latch on my hips. Something hard and solid rubbing against my bottom.
“I know what you need…” And I know that voice. Logan. Small moan escapes from my lips when he grinds his pelvis against my buttocks.
“You should know… You have been my personal errand-boy for the past three months now…” I try to laugh, but my throat is awfully dry. All the moisture is slowly flowing down, to another region of my body.
“You don’t need fucking ice cream. Crackers are not enough. There’s only so much beer you can drink. What you need is a good fuck.” His other hand leaves my hip and travels higher, latching to my breast, pulling me up against his body. Only thin layer of our clothes is separating us, and I can feel the heat radiating from him in waves. He gasps when I arch my back, thrusting my ass firmly against the denim of his jeans.
His lips whisper over the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. His fingers are working on my nipples while his other hand sneaks its way in to my pants, cupping me and parting my legs.
“I can’t believe how I have missed the signs so long…” He whispers and licks my earlobe when he finds me wet and ready. He plunges one finger in and my knees buckle. It feels so good. His finger is almost cool against my heated flesh, sliding slowly in, then back out and rubbing my clit.
“Don’t… Don’t stop…” My legs are quivering and I have to lean my hands against the wall to stay upright when he suddenly pulls his hand away.
“You’ll get more soon enough…” He chuckles and opens my pants, pulling them to my ankles. I can hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle opening. Short shuffle of cloth. Then he’s touching me again. Only with his lower body this time. I’m leaning against the wall, my back turned to him. I catch a glimpse of something from the corner of my eye and turn my head to see what it is. Old mirror. Leaning to the wall beside us, just the right angle.
I can see us from that mirror. Me, back slightly bent and legs spread, offering myself to him. Logan behind me, leaning his hands against a table behind his back, shirt open, jeans bunched to his knees, and that thick and long cock slowly disappearing inside of me. He starts slow and long thrusts, his abs bulging deliciously with every stroke. He fills me completely. I feel like I could split half in any second, and I have to bite my knuckles so that I don’t scream out loud.
For a moment our eyes meet in that mirror, then he turns his gaze down, and I can see from the reflection him staring his own cock, sliding slick and wet in and back out from me again. He grips the table harder and throws his head backwards, closing his eyes.
I have read stories about this. About what’s happening to me. From glossy magazines, with articles like “Be the best possible lover”, “Fashion in Paris” and “Personality test: are you two compatible”. Magazines for women. I nearly laughed out loud when I read couple articles about how some women claimed they could reach an orgasm through penetration. I had always needed more. But now, his rock hard cock inside of me was rubbing just the right nerves, knotting up my stomach and making my muscles tense. I can hear my own voice, babbling something incoherent. I can’t make sense of it, but apparently Logan can, because he’s slowing down, other hand rubbing my lower back soothingly.
“Easy, darling… Keep breathing…” He hisses and stops, still deep inside of me. I’m so wound up I will explode soon. Breathe? That would probably be a good thing to do…
“I don’t want you to come yet.” Oh, God… Is he serious? Because I don’t think I can hold back if he… Oh, shit!
He starts moving again, his hands massaging my buttocks and I’m sobbing. I can feel our juices running down my thighs, and I feel like we have been in here for hours. I’m so swollen and sensitive that his cock almost hurts me, but it’s a good hurt. And with every thrust that spring inside of me coils tighter.
Again our eyes meet in the mirror, and I have to bite my lower lip to stay here. To stay in this space with him, because it really should be illegal to look like he’s looking right now. Thin sheen of perspiration covering his skin, hair little tousled, eyes hooded, nearly black from lust, lips parted slightly to reveal the tips of his upper teeth, slight grimace tugging the corners of his mouth. We just stare at each other all the while our hips grinding and flexing, flesh parting and gliding back together again.
My vision starts to blur. My legs are numb. My hands are numb. My head is numb. Only place that isn’t numb is between my legs getting filled with his throbbing cock. I’m ready. This is torture. Every time I’m about to come, he stops moving, or even pulls out completely, and won’t continue until he’s sure I won’t come. How many times? I’m not sure, but now it looks like he’s finally found a stray shred of mercy from the corner of his mind. I’m screaming, my core constricting his cock probably hard enough to cut the blood flow, and he keeps thrusting. He’s quickened the pace, and I have a feeling he’s not too far behind me. I can feel him getting bigger. Suddenly he stops moving and breathing. I hear a small gasp, and he hauls me against him, pushing deeper, almost desperately. I can feel his hot, sticky seed filling me, and that triggers my own orgasm. I can only scream and hang limply on his hold while my internal muscles are cramping. He covers my mouth with his palm. Bad move. I nearly take a bite out of it. I can taste blood in my mouth. That bite makes him buck against me.
I take that mirror with me when we leave. It will look good in my room. Maybe next to my dresser. Or in bathroom. Or above my bed.
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