She cries out in jumbles and moans, she arches and bucks under my body, and it’s so delicious, so very delicious, especially hearing my name in those jumbled noises, sean oh sean oh God keep going keep going more more more sean more—she’s an ocean whipped into a restless froth, storming and pitching and nothing but a tempest ignic with lightning and electric tension. I kiss everywhere as I coax her over the edge; I bury my face in her curls and smell her hair, I nip at the nape of her neck, I drop my lips on her cheek and the shell of her ear and the edge of her jaw. And then as I kiss and suck on her neck, she comes underneath me, an ocean out of control, a tempest beyond reckoning. A noise tears out of her throat, something like keening, something delirious and violent and helpless all at once.
All her bucking and rocking under me has me in agony, not only because it’s insanely hot, but because her ass is grinding hard against my cock. I can still smell and taste her, and her pussy is all flutters and clutches in that addictive way that pussies flutter and clutch when they’re happy. And it takes a superhuman act of strength to keep from pressing harder against her ass and coming right then and there—screw chasing snakes out of Ireland and stigmata, this is an actual miracle, that I’m able to keep myself sewn together while Zenny rides out her joy on my hand.
By the time she’s finished, she’s utterly limp, goose bumps everywhere and a faint sparkle of sweat misting her forehead. Her eyes are closed and her breathing slowly evens out, and I take the opportunity to scoop her into my arms and crawl back onto the bed so that I’m sitting with my back against the headboard with her nestled snugly against my chest.
I kiss her head and leave my lips there because it feels nice, because I want to kiss her forever, and she reaches up to trace idle shapes on my chest, eyes still shut. The lashes are long and thick and curved against her cheeks.
“It’s your turn,” she says sleepily.
“I’m fine, Zenny-bug.” It’s a lie, I’m dying, but I also feel like I might die if I have to stop holding her, so maybe it’s not too much of a lie. I’d be content to stay here forever too.
She wrinkles her nose at the childhood nickname. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
She opens her eyes, her hand sliding over the bevel of my collarbone and up the corded length of my neck, and curving to fit the cut of my jaw. With her peering up at me with those copper-ringed eyes and her hand so warm and lovely-feeling against my face, I can’t help but to want to taste her mouth again, and we kiss for a long moment before she sits up in my arms.
“Seriously, though,” she says impatiently. “Your turn.”
There’s a moment when I almost feel guilty, but it dies as soon as it’s born. Or rather, it dies the moment Zenny arranges herself at my left side and puts my right hand on my cock. I wrap an arm around her and snug her close, and she rests her head on my chest as she watches me fuck my own fist. There’s something strangely erotic about having her cuddling me as she watches me beat off; it’s different than the normal performance these acts usually turn into. It’s intimate and real. Nothing but itself—which is frenzied, near-painful release.
Her fingers wander over my happy trail as I pull on my cock, she makes maddening little circles around the base and then down to my balls, which are drawn up so tight that it almost hurts.
“When you orgasm—”
“Say come,” I say breathlessly, roughly.
“When you come,” she corrects herself, looking up at me. “Where will it go? On your stomach? Your hand?”
My head falls back against the headboard in sheer defeat. She’s too much, far too fucking much, sexy and innocent and daring—
“Watch,” I say and with a grunt, several hours of need finally, finally erupts. My body breaks in half, every part of me from my toes to my chest to my thoughts twist into a knot and then snaps, and I’m there. There. Plummeting right into the abyss, static creeping at the edges of my vision and heat hooking deep into my groin and spilling out of me in thick, big ropes.
They shoot onto my stomach—hot, white splatters like paint, all across my abs and into my navel, catching like thick pearls in the hair leading down to my cock and finally spilling out onto my hand, and I keep beating myself through it all, a long groan tearing out of my chest as my balls drain and I’m blissfully wrung out to the last drop.
Until I’m empty and panting and completely, completely spent.
Zenny absentmindedly drags a finger through the mess on my stomach and lifts it to her mouth. My softening cock gives a painful throb as I watch her suck the finger clean.
She makes a cute little face. “It’s bitter.”
I laugh. “Yes, I think the general consensus is that cum tastes terrible. Usually people go to great lengths not to taste it.”
A little shrug against my chest. “I don’t want to miss any parts of you,” she says. “Even the parts other women haven’t wanted.”
I don’t answer that. I can’t, because there’s this sudden and unfamiliar tangle in my throat that keeps the words down. Instead, I pull her tight to my chest, and we stay there for a long time, quiet and sticky, all while I register the fact that I’m feeling things an old man like me has no right to feel about a young woman like her, and I’m not sure at all what to do about it.
Chapter 15
“We should shower,” I finally say, with no small amount of reluctance. “And then we can go to bed.”
She stirs against me (I’m pretty sure she was nearly asleep or totally there) and her curls brush against my jaw in the most amazing way when she lifts her head to look at me. “You want me to stay the night?” she asks, like I just asked her to donate a kidney.
Bossy Sean rears his head. “You’re not driving home this late. It’s not safe.”
Cue eye roll.
It’s adorable, but I still playfully pinch her ass. “Hey, I’m serious. I don’t feel good sending you out this late when I’ve got a perfectly good bed right here. And I’m an excellent snuggler.”
“I drive home from the shelter this late all the time,” she informs me. “And I live in some pretty sketchy dorms. I can handle myself.”
I swallow down my first seven reactions to this. “Sorry. Did you say sketchy? As in unsafe?”
She sighs. “Please don’t be like my parents. It’s perfectly safe if you know what you’re doing.”
I swallow down my next seven reactions. “Are you moving after you take your novice vows? After the semester ends?”
She nods. “It’s why I wanted something cheap and small before. There’s no point in me wasting money on a huge place I’m just going to leave. Plus I feel like it’s good practice for living in the monastery, you know? Basic. Economical.”
I come to a spontaneous and insane decision. “Stay with me.”
“I guess class isn’t that early tomorrow—”
“Not just tonight. For the month.”
Zenny sits all the way up and faces me. “Pardon me?”
“Sleep here, study here, be here between the shelter and class.” The more I talk about it, the better it feels. The more obvious it seems. “Think about it—you were worried about scheduling and finding time to be together before, and you want to see all the things you’re going to miss—what’s bigger than getting to live with someone? Sharing their bed all the time, eating with them, showering with them, seeing them always?”