temptation

“You have to go,” she murmured before falling asleep in my arms.

—

I pride myself on my self-control.

But I was nearing my limit.

Even half-asleep, curled naked next to me, she couldn’t help herself; her small curved ass pressed back against me, moving slowly, and I felt myself harden until I was nestled firmly against her.

It was such a small shift, an almost-mistake, and I was no longer pressed up against her — I was inside, my hands on her hips and one leg across her own, moving in the same slow rhythm in which her ass had stroked me into rigid need.

I was startled by how well she fit me, how easy it felt being inside her.

Hands on her legs, I lifted and held them together as I moved on top, driving down, pinning her against the hotel bed sheets. For the first time there were no false protests, no modesty-saving indecision, only: “I like…being fucked…like this…”

—

Later, curled against me again, less asleep, she said, “…but really, you have to go…”