Well, Actually

by Mazey Eddings

With something almost like worship, Rylie kisses my throbbing, pulsing center through the aftershocks, nuzzling his cheek against my thigh as I slump against the bathroom mirror, boneless and satisfied to an unholy degree. He kisses his way up my leg, then arm, neck, jaw, until he’s sipping at my lips with gently coaxing kisses. “Let me take care of you,” I say, somehow finding the strength in my woozy state to reach for him. I don’t miss the fresh flush of pink across Rylie’s cheeks. “That’s okay, Kitten,” he whispers, intercepting my hand and lacing our fingers together. He lifts my arm so it’s wrapped around the back of his neck. I frown at him, old insecurities of past relationships dying hard. Does he … Did he just give me one of the best orgasms of my life and not want me enough to get off himself? Rylie must read some of the panic in my face, because his eyes flash wide, his mouth crashing against mine in a messy, dirty kiss like he wants to embed his need on my skin. “Believe me, I always fucking want you,” he rasps against my lips. “So have me,” I say, voice wobbly. He pulls back an inch, dropping his forehead to mine and closing his eyes. He lets out a rough, sheepish chuckle. “I, uh, wanted you a little too much during all that.” I blink at him for a moment, our eyes so close together mine cross as I try to process what he said. With a start, I rear back, focus bouncing with delight to his crotch, the outline of his softening erection still visible in his fitted...