"I will make it good for you, little light," he breathes into my ear. He gives me another hard, filthy thrust, our wet bodies sliding across the bed. "Always good for you."
"Kassam," I pant as a deep, curling orgasm begins to build in my belly from his thrusts alone. It feels different than a regular orgasm, darker and far more elusive, but I want to feel what happens if it surfaces.
He grabs my hips without a word and moves up, just a little, until his weight is pushing my thighs to my chest and he's fucking me even deeper. That does the trick, and that spiral of pleasure keeps growing until it's racing all through me, consuming my thoughts until I feel as if I'm going to die if I don't come. I choke out his name, over and over again, as he plows into me, until the bed creaks and groans under us and we're in danger of falling off the side.
"Carly," he breathes, and grabs my hand in his, nipping at the fleshy part below my thumb. "You belong to me now."
That's all it takes for me to have the hardest orgasm of my life. I come with such force that my body goes rigid underneath him, my pussy clenching tight around his cock as he drives into me. Kassam thrusts a few more times, then groans, and I feel the liquid heat of his release wash through my body in the most curious way. I've never felt that before, I realize. I've never actually felt my partner's seed inside me. It's…odd.
"We…didn't use a condom," I pant as he rocks his hips against mine one last time. That's bad, I remind my pleasure-addled brain. I'm not on the pill, either. Maybe I need to hunt down a pharmacy in the morning and find a morning-after pill.
Kassam slides out of my body, leaving me feeling ever-so-slightly bereft, and rolls onto his back with a sigh. "What is a condom?"
I wake up to a delightfully sore pussy and an empty bed. I yawn, feeling lethargic and yet wonderful, trying to recall the events of last night.
They flash through my mind immediately. Alley. Kassam. Shower. Sex. More Kassam.
Like…four times more throughout the night. He'd just wake me up, roll onto me, and the next thing I knew, we were having incredible sex. No foreplay, no conversation, just a deep dicking that sent me to places I'd never been before.
I look over at the empty side of my bed. The sheets are mussed, still damp from last night's drippy post-shower sex, and the room reeks of fucking, but I'm alone. I hear the distant clank of silverware against a dish and realize he's in my kitchen.
The enormity of what I've done hits me like a ton of bricks. Oh fuck. I found a man in an alley—a stranger!—and took him home and fucked him. Fucked him a LOT. A dirty stranger, to boot. He's probably a hobo.
I had hobo sex and it was fucking great.
I put my hands over my face. What the hell am I doing? How do I get rid of him? My head's clearer now, at least. Last night I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was fucking the guy. Last night, he'd seemed incredibly sexy. The way he moved, the way he talked, those flashing silvery eyes. This morning, though, all I can think about is that I invited a dirty, weird stranger into my home and my body.
We didn't even use a condom.
I bite back a horrified noise and try to remain calm. Maybe I accidentally got splashed with a roofied drink or something last night. Maybe a drop landed on my finger and I—I don't know—licked my finger. Somehow. A roofie seems more logical than me finding a filthy stranger in a back alley and deciding I'm down to fuck.
The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it's a roofie. Or Spanish Fly. Wouldn't that explain why I spontaneously orgasmed when he touched my hand? That must be it, I decide. Sure, it's awful, but I'll get over it. At least the sex was decent if not particularly creative. Just all business.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I see my Mom's name light up on the message.
Oh god. I resist the urge to crawl back under the covers. My mother. It's like she knows what I was up to last night and is sending me vibes of disapproval through the phone lines. I reach over and flip my phone over so I can't see the screen, as if that will somehow make things better. Okay, Carly, I tell myself. Be rational. You made a mistake last night. Actually, you made a lot of them. Now you get to clean up your mess. Go out there, talk to the nice man—Kassam—and tell him that he needs to go home. Then you go to the pharmacy, get some morning-after pills, and pray that you weren't fertile…and pray that he has no diseases. You learn from this mistake and never, ever repeat it--
A dish shatters in the kitchen.
Fuck. I need to get up before he destroys my place. I close my eyes, visualize myself taking control of the situation, and then get out of bed. I grab a shirt from the pile of laundry in my room, throw it on, and then head out of the bedroom and into the hall. As I approach my kitchen, that languid, foggy, almost dreamlike sensation takes over my senses. Maybe that's why I don't panic when I see Kassam standing in the doorway to my open fridge, buck-ass naked.
Instead, I smile.
I'm aware that my head is messed up again. It's weird in that I know it's messed up, but…I just don't care. It's like all caring goes out the window when I'm around him, which makes it really, really hard to think straight. I came out here for…something. Something.
I think, trying to focus, but all I notice is that Kassam's really incredible butt is staring at me as he peruses the contents of my fridge.
Oh! Right. I was going to tell him to leave. Funny how that doesn't seem half as important as going over to him and just taking a bite out of that bubble butt—
Kassam turns. His face lights up with pleasure at the sight of me, even as he takes a bite out of a stick of butter, the paper still on. "Carly. You are awake."
"What…what are you doing?" I take a step forward. "Why are you eating butter?"
"I am eating everything," he announces cheerfully. "Come, try all these new experiences with me."
New experiences? Gnawing on a stick of butter? I mean, I've never done it, but I've also never wanted to. Kassam takes my hand, leading me toward the kitchen, and I'm not entirely surprised to see wrappers all over the floor. There are open boxes all over the counters, single bites taken out of my favorite breakfast pastries, and coffee grounds everywhere. It's chaos on every surface, melted things pooling on the countertop. Even more curious…my herb plant, the one I got when I decided I might try gardening, the one near death because I also abandoned gardening, has gone crazy overnight. Tendrils snake across the countertops, and it's grown so quickly and so wildly that it covers the entire stove.
What the hell?
For a moment, I stare at it, dumbfounded. Is this one of those weird situations like in the movies where I'm going to find out I've been asleep for three years instead of three hours? "What…my plant…"
"It was dying," Kassam says. "Now it is not." His arm slides around my waist and he pulls me against him, tossing down his stick of butter. "Come here."
Then, he kisses me. His lips taste like butter and his mouth like coffee grounds, but there's no denying that his kiss is utterly intoxicating. I moan as his tongue dances with my own, and he kisses me so hard and so deep that I forget almost everything. My toes curl on the cold floor, and when he drags me forward onto his thigh, I rub shamelessly against it, my pussy hot and wet and ready.